“But that wasn’t the worst part. It was the hypocrisy. They’d talk about how good your group was. All you innocent boys and girls with your kind and forgiving God. Tell us about how far we’d fallen in sin and that our only redemption was through Christ. And we’d get to believing it, seeing how you all seemed to be so decent and happy. The counselors so kind and caring. You were the kids we wanted to be. The counselors were the parents we wished we had. Which made us crave their approval so much, we were willing to do anything to get it. And then the counselors would come around and talk to us, invite us back to their cabins. We were happy to be chosen. Thought that what they wanted us to do was normal among your group.”

I never saw the church counselors as conduits to God. But they had seemed like decent enough dudes. Guys who truly cared about preaching the gospel and setting a good example. “You’re saying the counselors came on to you?”

Malia smirked. “That’s a polite way of putting it.” You could see the memory hurt. “It’s more like they came in us.”

“Fuck.…” Wrong word choice, but rarely is it used literally. “That’s awful. That’s disgusting, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine the counselors from my group doing that, though.”

There I was, skewered again by her eyes. “They did, trust me. Nothing about that was coincidental. If anything, it was tradition.”

I’d been brought up to believe God had a plan for each of us. Looking at Malia, in her slutty nurse costume with her nightmare childhood, I wondered what He’d been huffing when He concocted His plan for her.

“Still, I’m not sure I see the connection,” I said.

Her hand had turned hot on my thigh. “Don’t you see? We encountered the same evil, at around the same age.”

My heart hammered as I eyed the closed door. That had sounded way too much like a cue. Something was coming, and I wanted to be gone when it arrived.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

It was time to bounce from this room. I peered into my cup and saw coffee grounds floating in the dregs. Swallowed them down for a final boost of energy.

“So, what? You work with this outfit, now? This freak show?”

“Work is not the term I’d use. No.”

“But you’re a part of this somehow, aren’t you?”

“Sure. Same as you.”

I stood. “Well, I want out. I’ll be happy to trade horror stories on the other side, but not here. It feels like a setup. You said you were here to help. Then please, help me. What comes next? Where do I go?”

“Only one way out,” she said, motioning toward the far door.