“Like Catholicism?”
“Only on the surface,” Karen said, dropping her voice to a whisper as an officer passed by on the way to a far corner of the courtyard for a smoke break. “I’m a Presbyterian these days, but to the best of my knowledge, Catholic priests don’t have two people in the same confessional at the same time, facilitating both of them trading admission of sins while the whole thing is recorded.”
“What?” Jessie asked, flabbergasted.
“Yeah, it’s a thing. The facilitators are called Truth Catalysts or ‘TCs.’ Everything in TEROTH has an acronym or an abbreviation.”
“You’re losing me here,” Jessie said, holding up her hands. “I thought ‘ER” was the shorthand for the group. What’s TEROTH?”
Karen laughed as if her young son had asked some ridiculous question like ‘are clouds alive?’ Jessie was getting the strong sense that her partner’s knowledge about this group came from more than just professional experience.
“‘ER’ isn’t a term they use,” Karen clarified. “It could be confused too easily with the hospital. That’s why I’m comfortable using it with you. No one who overhears us will make the association. TEROTH isn’t something widely used in the outside world. It stands for The Eleventh Realm of Truth and Harmony. It’s how Adherents refer to the group among themselves. It’s kind of like an inside joke; only it’s no laughing matter.”
“I guess I don’t get the joke.”
“There’s no reason you should,” Karen told her. “For them, the ‘E’ is silent, so it becomes TROTH, which sounds a lot like ‘truth.’ Pretty lame, right? Anyway, the point is, through these Truth Sessions, the Realm’s leadership gathers all kinds of personal information on their Adherents, which can be used as blackmail fodder against them if they ever try to leave. That means it’s going to be incredibly hard to pry any information out of people close to Addison, who will likely fear repercussions.”
“What about her?” Jessie asked. “What might they have done to her if she had tried to leave?”
“That depends on who you believe,” Karen said. “According to reps for the Realm, they have no issues with former Adherents who leave. They merely defend their good name when attacked by what they call the Disavowed, or DVs for short, because, of course that’s what they’d be called.”
“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” Jessie said.
“It’s not as clever as they think it is, right?” Karen said, before continuing. “Anyway, the ‘Disavowed’ tell a very different story. There are allegations of harassment, threats, even physical violence. And while the Realm consistently denies those accusations, they’re pretty open about their use of what they call Rightful Targeting.”
“Another glossary term?” Jessie asked.
“You wouldn’t believe,” Karen quipped. “This one asserts the right to come back hard at anyone who makes what they consider false claims against them. That might include picketing outside a DV’s home or business, calling their boss to make disparaging comments about them, often using information gleaned from a TS, that is, a Truth Session. They’ve set up entire websites and Facebook pages devoted to demonizing people who left. And it can get worse.”
“Worse how?” Jessie pressed.
“If they have friends or family in the Realm, those Adherents are prohibited from communicating with the Disavowed other than to make pre-scripted pleas to return to the fold. They can’t directly respond to any comments or questions from the DV and they have to make their plea to return in the presence of a Proctor, who is basically a Realm-sanctioned security officer.”
“That seems pretty restrictive,” Jessie said.
“That’s not all. Adherents in good standing can’t have any physical contact with the DV either. Then, once the plea is formally made, the person being coaxed to return is considered Provisionally Disavowed. If, after eleven days, the Disavowed hasn’t returned to the Realm, made an offering, and engaged in a comprehensive solo Truth Session with just a TC present, the Disavowal becomes permanent.”
“What does that mean?” Jessie asked.
“It means that communication with all Adherents in good standing is irrevocably cut off. No meeting for coffee. No calls on birthdays. No e-mails. No letters. No waving from across the street. No asking someone else to pass along a friendly word. If communication of any kind is uncovered then the Adherent who communicated or willingly received the communication is also Disavowed, only in their case, without any provisional period.”
Jessie shook her head in disbelief.
“I’ll admit that all sounds pretty bad,” she acknowledged, “but it seems like these Disavowed people can at least start over fresh when they leave. Remember, after I was framed by my ex-husband, cops thought I was disloyal and the public thought I was a racist. I had people outside this very station, picketing me personally. I was hanged in effigy. That really sucked, but I dealt with it.”
“I remember,” Karen said. “I saw that on the news. But remember, you still had Ryan and Hannah and Kat and a support system here at the station. Most of these people are so wrapped up in the Realm that it defines their entire life. To them, getting cut off from it is almost like being tossed out of a space station. You still have your spacesuit on so technically you can survive for a while. But everything you’ve depended on is gone and the rest of the people on the planet below seem so far away. It can be terrifying. That’s why so few leave, even if they’ve become disenchanted.”
Jessie hesitated briefly, unsure if she should say what was in her head. But in the end, she decided that to navigate this case together, they couldn’t have any secrets.
“But you left,” she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Karen’s shoulders slumped.
She looked around furtively again, making sure that the cop on his smoke break, flipping through his phone, hadn’t perked up.
“Is it that obvious?” she asked softly.
Jessie smiled sympathetically.
“I’m sorry but no amount of casework would get a detective to that spacesuit analogy. That’s based on personal experience,” she said. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“Do we even have time for this?” Karen asked.
“If we’re going to go up against these folks, I should probably have the whole picture. I don’t want to get blindsided by something you revealed in a Truth Session, excuse me—a TS— ten years ago.”
“Okay, but it was actually longer ago than that, closer to twenty years now,” Karen said. “I was a freshman at Occidental College up in Eagle Rock. I had just moved here from Toledo, Ohio. I went to an all-girls school back there, led a very sheltered life. I never even went on a real date in high school.”
“Oh, Karen,” Jessie groaned.
“Believe me, I know,” she said. “All of a sudden I was in La La Land. One of my dorm mates had a car. On weekends, we would all pile in and she’d take us to Hollywood. On one of those trips, I met a cute boy in a club who seemed interested in me. His name was Derek Burke. He was an actor, a little older, in his early twenties. We exchanged numbers, went on a few dates—movies, picnics in the parks. By the time he invited me to join him on a Personal Potential Realm Retreat with this group he was part of, I was smitten. The event was up the coast near San Luis Obispo. It was over a long holiday weekend and I viewed it as a chance to go on a romantic getaway with the guy I was falling in love with. I figured there was no better way to lose my virginity.”