I laugh instinctively, then hesitate. “What do you mean?”
Saul considers his words carefully. “When’s the last time you took a shower?” he finally asks.
In my previous world of youthful drama and high school politics, I might’ve been offended by this, or at least gone through the motions and pretended to be. Now, I just take his question at face value.
I take a lock of my own hair and hold it before my face, inspecting the ratty blond tangles. “I slept in my car last night,” I admit. “We were friends?”
“Yeah, we were friends,” Saul offers, then hesitates slightly. “I was your counselor.”
This revelation hangs in the air between us, settling as we sip our drinks. I briefly consider anger, but the feeling passes quickly. Saul is tethered to a demon, just like I am.
“I didn’t know,” he assures me, an emotional weight in his gaze that’s difficult to fake.
“Okay” is all I can think to say.
We’re both giving this our best shot, but it appears brief mental flashes of some previous relationship aren’t quite enough to cut through the awkwardness of strangers reuniting.
Suddenly, I tense up as a cold gust of air washes across my body, reacting to the stimulus in exactly the way I’ve been trained.
Pachid.
Something’s not right, a break in the pattern. I erupt in a flurry of calculations, desperately wondering how this could happen while my mind remains free from impure thoughts.
“You good?” Saul asks, noting the concerned look on my face as my eyes dart across the room.
Eventually, my gaze finds its way to a gaping hole in one of the dining room windows, the glass corner broken just enough to let in a chilly gust of air.
“I’m okay,” I reply.
Saul looks skeptical.
“What about you?” he continues. “What do you remember?”
“I remember the ceremony,” I state. “That’s about it.”
Saul’s eyes widen. “You remember the tethering ceremony?” he repeats, shaking his head. “I’m glad that’s one of the few parts that hasn’t come back to me yet. Hopefully it never will.”
“Yeah” is all I can offer.
Saul nods, his expression changing slightly as a heartbreaking realization washes over him.
“Listen,” he finally blurts, leaning forward. “I know why you’re here, because I did the same thing for way too long. You’ve gotta drop it and move on.”
I laugh. “There’s nowhere left to move on to.”
I can tell this simple response cuts my host deep, chilling him to the core. He seems viscerally unsettled by my words, thrown off course a moment before pulling himself together.
“I’m serious,” he finally continues. “When I started remembering things I wanted nothing but justice. I read everything I could find on Kingdom of the Pine, just devoured the literature. I looked up old biblical texts. I even broke into three churches hunting for documents.”
“You’re way ahead of me.” I laugh. “I’ve only done one.”
Saul sighs loudly. “Well, keep it at that,” he suggests. “There are no answers, Darling. Once they’ve got you tethered, there’s no going back.”
“But what is tethering?” I ask. “If you know there’s no escape, then you must have a pretty good idea how it works.”
Saul hesitates, staring off into space. “You’re the one who actually remembers it,” he finally counters. “Why drag me back into this? What else could I possibly offer?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, growing a little frustrated. “Listen, I understand this whole thing has become too much for you, but I’m not there yet. I’m still trying to sort it out, so if there’s anything I should know, just tell me.”
Saul straightens up a bit. He takes another drink of whiskey, but it’s not the same casual sip as before. This time he downs the whole glass, as if to get that out of the way so he can focus on delivering his information. “Tethering means possession,” he states bluntly. “It’s demonic possession.”
“But the church is doing it!”
Saul shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “Kingdom of the Pine runs Camp Damascus, the most successful ex-gay conversion therapy program on the planet,” he expounds. “This whole city, whether it’s the congregation or the tourism or just local traditions, it all revolves around the success of that program.”
I’m listening closely, nodding along.
“Have you ever stopped to ask yourself how Camp Damascus is so successful?”
The official answer is that it “just is,” and they can get away with this nonresponse because the numbers speak for themselves.
There are several rumors, however. One theory is the program relies on cutting-edge cognitive studies, developed with the help of Pastor Bend’s Silicon Valley business connections who would rather remain anonymous. Using huge swaths of online data, they’ve determined exactly what steps one can take to remain pure.
Another theory is Prophet Cobel left behind additional sacred texts, a trove of hidden documents containing secrets of the universe from Jesus himself. These informational writings provide the congregation with a leg up against our competition.
Of course, the most common response is the classic one: it’s just God’s will.
I immediately recall these answers, tired regurgitations of congregation propaganda, then push them aside. “I have no idea,” I finally admit.
“The church is invoking their own possessions,” Saul explains. “They assign a demon to each member of their program—a watcher to keep every graduate in line. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
I nod, picturing Pachid’s filthy, broken grin.
Saul climbs to his feet, heading to a study in the next room and calling out while he roots around. “The demons will keep you free from sin. They’ll scare you away from impure thoughts and, typically, that’s enough. In extreme cases, the demons will resort to violence. Sometimes they’ll torture the one who’s possessed, sometimes they’ll eliminate the target of desire. Either way, Kingdom of the Pine has a thriving business with a spotless success rate.”
“What about you?” I retort. “You’re not a success. I’m not a success!”
Saul returns with a thick, leather-bound tome in hand. “We’re not successful conversions? Really?” he retorts with a laugh. “I’m certainly not living the gay lifestyle I envisioned.”
He’s right. While our trips to Camp Damascus have left chaos in their wakes, any shred of my homosexuality has been pushed deeper into the closet than I could’ve ever imagined. Forget acting on my desires, it’s dangerous for me to even think about them.
“But … you’re still gay,” I finally counter. “I mean, it doesn’t actually work.”
Saul is clearly intrigued by my choice of words.
“I’m still gay,” I continue, using myself as the example.
Saul nods. “You’re right,” he admits.
“How did you learn all this stuff?” I continue, overwhelmed with curiosity. “I keep hitting dead ends.”