CHAPTER 1
Sierra
“Oh shit.” The words slip out as the engine gives its first protesting sputter.
I was expecting it. We’ve been crawling up this mountain for five minutes already, and while we’re nearly at the top, the incline only gets steeper before it finally levels out.
“Come on, baby,” I coax as the car struggles. It can’t hurt, and maybe—just maybe—it’ll help, even though the rational part of me knows it won’t. I’ve had my silvery gray 2012 Chevy Impala since college, and aside from the sunroof occasionally sticking, she’s usually rock-solid reliable, but these Colorado mountains are brutal.
I have no idea why they’d build a retreat in the middle of nowhere on top of a treacherous peak. It feels like something only a psychopath would do. One thing’s for sure, they definitely won’t have uninvited guests dropping in unannounced.
Apparently, though, the location hasn’t hurt business.
That’s the first suspicious thing about the New Life Retreat Center—nearly all five-star reviews. That’s incredible for a wellness retreat specializing in so-called Reiki healing and other “woo” treatments.
I’ve been in this profession long enough to know that type of rating is suspicious as hell. Either they’re deleting bad reviews, or they’re brainwashing people up there, and ridiculous as it sounds, I’m leaning toward the latter.
It’s not just the reviews. Most recently, one of my physical therapy clients, Bertha, spent a weekend here and she hasn’t stopped talking about how much it changed her, how “balanced” she feels, and how the retreat “turned her entire life around.” I mean… one weekend? Come on.
Here’s the thing: Bertha isn’t the type to fall for spirituality fads or chakra-alignment nonsense or whatever they’re peddling. She’s a rational, no-nonsense businesswoman who came to me for chronic back pain.
I had her on a course of TENS treatment, gave her stretches to do at home, and taught her effective pain-management techniques. She’d been improving steadily.
Then she went to this mountain retreat for a weekend. When she came back, she canceled her next appointment. Said her back pain was all but cured.
I explained—gently—that her pain wasn’t going to be magically cured by Reiki or anything they were offering over a single weekend, but she was insistent.
What’s more, she booked herself back in—this time for three whole weeks. God knows what they’re charging her, but it has to be expensive. They rate their own accommodations and restaurant as “six stars,” but they don’t list prices, which is suspicious in itself.
That’s what really drew my attention to the place, and one glance at their overly glossy website confirmed everything I suspected.
“The New Life Retreat Center,” it gushes. “Nestled in the sun-drenched mountains of Colorado’s Rocky Mountain National Park. An ideal environment to refresh your mind, body, andspirit in peace and harmony with nature. Swim in the crystal-clear waters of our private lake, hike our beautiful mountain trails, or relax and watch a perfect sunset from the balcony of our pine-lodge restaurant, all while enjoying our world-famous holistic wellbeing treatments. Come as you are… leave relaxed, refreshed, and rejuvenated.”
Of course, it’s all pseudoscience and nonsense, so how did they convince a smart woman like Bertha they’d cured her?
The only explanation that makes sense is that she told me she’d recently lost her husband to cancer. Even intelligent, rational people can fall for things like this when they’re vulnerable. Bertha’s grief must have made her more susceptible. She’s grieving, and she’s willing to spend a fortune to feel okay again. Yes, she can afford it, but that doesn’t excuse what I think they’re doing.
If I’m right—and I think I am—I have to put a stop to it.
Which is why I’m here: to figure out what’s really going on up there, and if necessary, to pull Bertha out before she signs any more checks.
The last thing I need is my car dying on the way, but that’s exactly what’s happening. After two more coughs, the engine cuts out completely. The car shudders to a halt, and sudden silence presses in after miles of engine noise. No people. No traffic. No buildings. No wind. Not even a bird in the clear blue sky.
I turn the key, trying to bring it back to life, but all I get is the whirr of the starter motor.
“Come on, baby,” I murmur. “You can do this. We’ve been together fourteen good years. Don’t die on me now.”
To give her credit, she tries. She really does. But even when the engine coughs back to life, the moment I press the gas pedal, it dies again.
Like she’s just… done.
I sigh, frustration tightening my chest.
What now?
I push open the driver’s door, wincing in the heat after the cool air inside. Might as well check under the hood and see if anything looks obvious. I’m not exactly a car person, but I’ve fixed her enough times to know the basics.
I climb out, stretching and rolling my neck after the long drive, fanning myself in the harsh sunlight. It’s brutally hot, and at this elevation there’s very little between my skin and the sun.