THE SIX by Anni Taylor
Prologue
EVIE
THERE’S A SWEETNESS IN THOSE SECONDS in between sleep and waking. A taste and a memory.
Like my childhood summers of standing on sun-warmed sand with Ben, staring vacant-eyed at the distant salty haze, carelessly letting my ice cream soften and drip away to nothing. Ben and I would elbow each other to be the first to go when Dad whistled for us to come and help him clean his boat. In those days, I called the mornings to me and sent the sunsets away, never trying to keep hold of anything. Because there would be more summers with Ben and more melting ice cream cones.
I didn’t know then that Ben’s years were fast counting down and he soon wouldn’t be here anymore.
Numbers, always counting. Numbers you can’t see until afterwards.
My parents had taken Ben and me to stay at the same beach house every summer, like clockwork. My husband and I hadn’t taken our two small girls there yet—there was never enough money for that.
But even on my most stressful days as an adult, I’d wake in that lulled way of childhood, seconds before the worry came thundering back in. Those seconds saved me, I think.
1. Evie
I EXPECTED A CLINIC: WHITE WALLS and floors, medications and the sickly smell of antiseptic.
But the place I’d arrived at was nothing like that.
A faint rain touched my bare shoulders as I stared through the night at the outline of a sprawling monastery. It’d taken two days, two flights and a boat trip from my home in Sydney, Australia to get to this tiny Greek island.
Evie, you did it. You’re here.
Who are you to get a chance like this? Make sure you don’t blow it. Grab it with both hands and get yourself better.
Say it. You’re an addict.
I’m an addict.
Brother Vito smiled at me like an indulgent parent as he showed me up the worn stone steps to the entry. “What are you whispering about?”
“Nothing. Just . . . this is all so hard to process.”
“The monastery tends to have that effect on people. Try to see it as home for the next week, Evie. This will be your week to change everything you need to change.” Brother Vito was still handsome, his blonde hair silvering around his olive-skinned, angular face.
I lugged my suitcase inside, lifting my face to the soaring ceiling. An enormous metal bird hung from a chain in the foyer, wings outstretched.
Brother Vito followed my gaze. “The bird was made in the forge.”
I blinked, too exhausted to check my reactions. “There’s a forge here?”
“Oh, yes, the monastery was built in the twelfth century. All of the original features are very much in use. It’s very late—let’s continue.”
I followed him through dark halls that whistled around corners, coppery scents lifting from the stonework like ghosts.
“Let me take your luggage. You won’t be needing it,” he told me. “For the next week, you are to leave your former self completely behind. Everything will be provided.”
“But I’ll need my—”
“I assure you that you won’t.” His voice, with its thick Greek accent, was soothing but firm.
A moment of panic bubbled to the surface. This monastery was strange enough without my personal things being taken from me. I calmed myself, reluctantly handing over my suitcase, reminding myself that whatever they asked us to do must form part of the treatment. It was true that I needed to tear away all my denials and pretence about myself.
He stowed the bag away in a small room. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”
I stepped beside him into the pulsing darkness—the flicker of the wall lamps making shadows jump—avoiding the scolding eyes of the holy, centuries-old statues that lined the corridor. Three days ago, Brother Vito had invited me into this exclusive treatment program for people suffering from addictions. People like me.
I’d been lucky to get into the program. Places on it were tight—only being offered to twenty-eight people.
The program itself was simple. Six challenges over six days. Ten thousand dollars per challenge. The six people who reached the sixth challenge would receive sixty thousand dollars. And if you reached the end, all your debts would be paid off.
Sixty thousand and all debts paid would be life changing.
A severe-looking statue loomed tall as we rounded a corner. A splash of what looked like dried blood ran down the statue’s right arm. How long had that been there? Did someone die right here in this spot?
A robed, hooded figure passed in the gloom far in front of us—the odd way that he looked back over his shoulder at me sending a nauseating ripple down my spine.