Sacred by Dennis Lehane Page B

catapulting grapefruits into our midst.
    I sat up in bed and watched a hunk of wet snow splat into my windowpane. At first, I was happy it wasn’t a grapefruit; then my head cleared and I walked over and saw Richie standing below.
    The miserable bastard waved to me.
     
    “Grief Release, Incorporated,” Richie said as he sat at my kitchen table, “is one interesting organization.”
    “How interesting?”
    “Enough that when I woke my editor up two hours ago, he agreed to give me two weeks off from my column to research them and a five-day, front-page, lower-right-corner feature series if I come up with what I think I will.”
    “And what do you think you’ll come up with?”Angie said. She glared at him over her cup of coffee, her face puffy and hair hanging in her eyes, not at all happy to greet the day.
    “Well…” He flipped his steno notebook open on the table. “I’ve only perused the diskettes you gave me, but, Christ, these people are dirty. Their ‘therapy’ and its ‘levels,’ from what I can see, involves a systematic breakdown of the psyche followed by a fast buildup. It’s very similar to the American military’s concept of break-’em-down-so-you-can-build-’em-back-up approach to soldiers. But the military, to give them their due, is up front about their technique.” He rapped his notebook on the table. “These mutants, however, are another story.”
    “Example,” Angie said.
    “Well, do you know about the levels—Level One, Two, et cetera?”
    I nodded.
    “Well, within each of these levels is a set of steps. The names of these steps vary depending on what level you’re at, but they’re all essentially the same. The object of these steps is ‘watershed.’”
    “Watershed is Level Six.”
    “Right,” he said. “Watershed is the alleged goal of everything. So, to reach Total Watershed, you have to have a bunch of little watersheds first. Such as, if you’re a Level Two—a Desolate, say—you go through a series of therapeutic developments, or ‘steps,’ by which you reach ‘watershed’ and are no longer Desolate. Those steps are: Honesty, Nudity—”
    “Nudity?” Angie said.
    “Yes. Emotional, not physical, though that’s accepted. Honesty, Nudity, Exhibition, and Revelation.”
    “Revelation,” I said.
    “Yes. The ‘watershed’ of Level Two.”
    “What’s it called in Level Three?” Angie said.
    He checked his notes. “Epiphany. You see? It’s the same thing. In Level Four, it’s called the Unveiling. In Five, it’s Apocalypse. In Six, it’s called the Truth.”
    “How biblical,” I said.
    “Exactly. Grief Release is selling religion under the pretext of psychology.”
    “Psychology,” Angie said. “Which is, in and of itself, a religion.”
    “True. But it isn’t an organized one.”
    “The high priests of psychology and psychoanalysis don’t pool their tips is what you’re saying.”
    He tapped his coffee mug into my own. “Exactly.”
    “So,” I said, “what’s their objective?”
    “Grief Release?”
    “No, Rich,” I said. “Burger King. Who are we talking about?”
    He sniffed his coffee. “Is this the extra-caffeine kind?”
    “Richie,” Angie said. “Please.”
    “Grief Release’s objective, as far as I see it, is to recruit for the Church of Truth and Revelation.”
    “You’ve proved their connection?” Angie said.
    “Not so as I can print it yet, but, yeah, they’re in bed together. The Church of Truth and Revelation as far as we all know is a Boston church. Correct?”
    We nodded.
    “So how come their management company is out of Chicago? And their real estate broker? And the law firm which is currently petitioning the IRS for religious tax-exempt status on their behalf?”
    “Because they like Chicago?” Angie said.
    “Well so does Grief Release,” Richie said. “Becausethose same Chicago firms handle all their interests, too.”
    “So,” I said, “how long to link the two in newsprint?”
    He leaned back