Welcome to The Church of Salvation, where your soul checks in but never checks out.
by his drug-addicted mother in the small town of Coraki, Australia, Monroe Morgan is determined to escape a life steeped in misery. At eighteen, freedom is finally within reach—until his neighbour, Indi, turns up bruised and terrified, claiming her family is forcing her to marry the leader of their cult.
Monroe plans their escape, but a violent confrontation with Indi’s father ends with his arrest and a year-long stay in a psychiatric hospital. In a cruel twist of fate, Indi’s father denies her existence, and the doctors and authorities dismiss her as a figment of Monroe’s imagination.
Now free, Monroe returns home determined to prove she’s real. But his visit to the old neighbourhood unearths a web of dark secrets, placing him at the centre of a decades-old cult conspiracy. To discover not only where Indi went, but who he truly is, Monroe must summon all his strength—before more young women mysteriously wind up dead.
(Audiobook version available. Please contact me if you are interested in receiving an Audible code. This title is also available on Spotify.)
Welcome to The Church of Salvation, where your soul checks in but never checks out.
by his drug-addicted mother in the small town of Coraki, Australia, Monroe Morgan is determined to escape a life steeped in misery. At eighteen, freedom is finally within reach—until his neighbour, Indi, turns up bruised and terrified, claiming her family is forcing her to marry the leader of their cult.
Monroe plans their escape, but a violent confrontation with Indi’s father ends with his arrest and a year-long stay in a psychiatric hospital. In a cruel twist of fate, Indi’s father denies her existence, and the doctors and authorities dismiss her as a figment of Monroe’s imagination.
Now free, Monroe returns home determined to prove she’s real. But his visit to the old neighbourhood unearths a web of dark secrets, placing him at the centre of a decades-old cult conspiracy. To discover not only where Indi went, but who he truly is, Monroe must summon all his strength—before more young women mysteriously wind up dead.
(Audiobook version available. Please contact me if you are interested in receiving an Audible code. This title is also available on Spotify.)
∞ MONROE ∞
Flies swarm above the cereal bowl, which has been sitting on the windowsill since this morning, buzzing to their hearts’ content. It’s evening now, and the remaining milk has begun to curdle with the day’s heat. A fierce gush of wind rips through the shack, causing the blinds to flap and the doors to rattle. Ma’s precious tinfoil of ice flies off the coffee table in front of me, scattering the remaining crystals across the carpet.
She races over and drops to her knees, plucking through the carpet fibres in a frenzy. “For fuck’s sake.”
Black speckles of yesterday’s mascara encircle her bloodshot eyes, and her bleach-blonde hair sits atop her head like a wild bird’s nest.
My half-sister, Jackie, says she was beautiful once, but looking at her now, I find that hard to believe. She’s as thin as a rake with more wrinkles than a dried-up prune.
The living room lamp Flickers, along with every other light in this rundown shack.
“To hell with this goddamn place.” She pummels the carpet with her Fists.
My insides bunch as I brace myself for another one of her colossal meltdowns.
Whenever a storm hits, this dump gives the full strobe light effect, and as luck would have it, it’s stormed almost every night since we moved in. This is our tenth home in four years, and the houses get more dilapidated with each move. This disgusting shanty is barely fit for possums to live in, let alone humans.
Ma glares at me, frothing from the mouth.
“It’s your fault,” she wails on repeat. “Your fault, your fault.” Resentment burns within me. She blames me for picking this dump, but I’d never even laid eyes on it until we moved in.
“This is the last place I’d want to move to,” I argue. “There’s nothing in this backwater town. Besides, you’re the one who signed the rental agreement sight unseen.”
“Only because you forced me to.”
She plucks out a cigarette and places it between her twisted lips.
Her accusation is groundless, and we both know it.
My jaw clenches, holding back the argument sitting at the tip of my tongue.
It’s my eighteenth birthday in a months’ time and my half-sister Jackie is letting me move in with her under the condition, I straighten myself out.
“No drinking, no drugs, no parties, no fights,” she made me promise.
She says I can stay with her until I can afford to stand on my own two feet. Her husband, Raj, owns a pub in Coffs Harbour, and they’re willing to pay for my Responsible Service of Alcohol course and put me on as one of their bartenders.
I can’t wait to get out of this hovel and never look back. Ma and her new boyfriend Freddy, or Freddy Krueger, as I’ve nicknamed him, blame me for our dire situation. Meanwhile, they’re the ones who have been digging heavily into the supplies. We’re currently in a world of debt. It’s the reason we left our last rental. Ma knew it was only a matter of time before the drug lords sent their thugs to bash down our door and demand payment, and it wouldn’t be the first time this has happened, either.
“Where’s me damn lighter, Monroe?” The accusations keep coming.
I hmpf. “Don’t look at me, I don’t have it.”
“Don’t start with me. I saw you swipe it off the bench this morning before you left.”
“I don’t smoke anymore,” I retort. “And I haven’t left the house today. My bet is Freddy Krueger took it.” I glance at Freddy who’s sitting on the armchair adjacent to me.
He snarls, flashing a rotten set of teeth in my direction. “I’ve got me own lighter, Boy.”
“Don’t tell me you’re suffering with those damn blackouts again,” Ma spits at me for the umpteenth time in a matter of weeks. She flicks the unlit cigarette at me. “I should have let them lock you up in that institution—for good—when you was a kid. I lost the wrong twin, you hear me, the wrong one. You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you was born.”
I absorbed my identical twin brother, Elias, in the womb, as my mother constantly likes to remind me. Vanishing twin syndrome, the friendly-faced psychologist had called it. As a child, I used to have terrible nightmares about my brother being torn away from me at birth. By the age of ten, my mental stability had become so unbalanced I attempted to jump off the Leycester Creek Railway Bridge. Thankfully, a middle-aged man cottoned on to my intentions and came across to talk me down. The free therapy I’ve received through Health Care and my quick stay at Lismore Hospital’s Mental Health Unit have since helped me to overcome the nightmares. Still, I wish Elias had survived and that we’d grown up close. I could have really used his companionship over the years. Ma doesn’t have a maternal bone in her body. She’s never been the type to give me warm hugs and kisses or tuck me into bed of a night.
“Any blackouts I’ve had have been drug-induced,” I retaliate with venom. “And you only have yourself to blame for that.”
Most mothers leave fruit bowls or cookie jars on their kitchen countertops, but my mother has always left weed, bongs, ice, and crack pipes.
I’ve managed to steer clear of ice—too afraid I’d turn into a weathered husk like Ma—and I’ve recently weaned myself off the weed with the incentive that Jackie will only take me in if I’m clean.
Ignoring my jab, Ma stumbles to the fridge, grabs out a beer, and then slumps onto one of our unpacked boxes in defeat.
We’ve been living in this sorry shack a full week, yet not a single box has been opened. We don’t bother with unpacking anymore. I don’t even know why we keep any of our stuff. Clearly, we don’t need it.
There’s another loud thunderclap and the power completely shuts off.
“You bloody bastard!” Freddy Krueger shouts, and I hear the clank of the TV remote being thrown at the blank screen.
I roll my eyes, knowing he can’t see me in the dark. God forbid he misses any of the football.
When I slip my hand into my pocket to grab out my flashlight, my fingers brush over the smooth guard of a lighter’s spark wheel. Surprised, I slide my hand in further and feel the rectangular casing that holds the butane.
Ma’s lighter.
My legs bounce on the spot as worry worms its way through me.
She’s right about the blackouts. I’ve found myself in the strangest of places these past few months, without any recollection of getting there. I thought with the weed out of my system, the blackouts would stop, but perhaps it’s too soon. My body needs more time to reboot. Not wanting to admit fault, I toss the fluid- filled piece of plastic across the room—the darkness covering my furtive movement—and then dig back in for my flashlight.
I’ve barely even flicked the switch when Freddy Krueger pegs his empty beer bottle at me, sconing me dead on the cheekbone.
“Hurry up and fix the power, you useless sponge.”
The force from the impact has my teeth rattling painfully inside my skull.
Blood boiling, I leap up from the couch and launch myself at him, ramming him back-first into the TV unit. The cheap laminate-chipboard buckles under his weight, and the second-hand TV Ma picked up from the side of the road smashes through the front window with a resounding crash. The hunk of junk had an old coat hanger for an antenna, and the picture was always snowy, so unlike Freddy Krueger, I won’t miss it.
Ma bolts to her feet and steps up in my grill, cursing and squawking like a caged galah. Her voice is shrill and grates on my nerves. It hurts, but it’s no surprise she’s siding with her boyfriend over me. It happens every time.
As soon as she gets to the, “You’re a disgrace, just like your father” and “You should’ve been the one to vanish” spiel, I’m out. We both know the only reason she’s kept me all these years is because she needs my help moving the drugs. She sends me out to do all the work while she lazes around getting high all day, yet she’s the one taking all the dough.
Go figure.
Freddy Krueger’s thudding footsteps sound behind me as I make my way to the front door. I spin to face him—not realising how close he is—and I’m met with a set of hard knuckles to the face. I stumble backwards, cupping my stinging lip.
He’s busted it, the bastard!
I can taste the metallic tang of blood seeping onto my tongue. “You’d better nd a way to pay for the damage you’ve done, Boy, or don’t even think about coming back.”
Freddy Krueger’s breath is as foul as I imagine the fictional character’s to be, and his poxy skin and bloodshot eyes certainly help to complete the picture.
Instead of retaliating like usual, I do the smart thing and take off, honouring my promise to Jackie.
Jackie’s conditions replay in my mind. No drinking, no drugs, no parties, no fights.
I’ve managed to obey three out of the four rules so far, which is progress from last week.
“Good riddance,” I say, slamming the front door behind me.
Within seconds of stepping off the porch, my clothes are drenched. The rain is torrential, coming down in heavy sheets. Most of the houses in town are single-story and elevated on stilts. When heavy rain sets in, the Richmond River floods, and Coraki goes under. Our shack faces the river, which is the one and only positive amidst the negatives. It’s been raining a hell of a lot, and the water’s surface appears higher than it did a few days ago. I sure hope it doesn’t end up flooding, or Ma will be straight on my case.
“It’s your fault, your fault,” she’ll tell me.
Everything is my fault. Even down to the lousy weather.
Not wanting to stick around, I flip my hoodie over my head and duck around the side of the house to grab my bike. I’m unchaining the back wheel when a nearby squelching sound makes me whip around with caution.
“Who’s there?” I squat and grab a fallen tree branch before bouncing to my feet again and pointing the jagged end out threateningly. “Show yourself.”
The tension in my shoulders eases when a tall, willowy young woman with dripping ginger hair steps out from the shadows. A wet, long-sleeved white dress clings to her frame, accentuating her slenderness, and her pasty skin glows in stark contrast to the gloomy night sky.
“Sorry.” I drop the branch, not wanting to alarm her. “You can never be too careful.”
With a sharp intake of breath, she rushes towards me and—to my astonishment—flings her arms around my waist. “Enzo.”
My surroundings ripple around me, and my knees threaten to buckle where I stand.
“I’m sorry, Darlin’.” I blink like rapid-re, attempting to right my vision. “But I think you’re mistaken. My name’s Monroe.”
The young woman skims my face, her ice-blue eyes searching intently for some type of recognition, and then, with a look of disappointment, her arms drop, and she releases me.
“I’m sorry, I can see that now.”
As I examine the young woman in return, I’m surprised to find dirt—or is that dried blood—smeared across her cheeks. The heavy rain has diluted the marks, making it hard to decipher. Concerned, I step back and glance her up and down. Her dress is marred, too, as though she’s been in a scuffle.
“What were you doing hiding in the shadows?” I ask, craning my neck to scan beyond her. “Is everything okay? Ain’t nobody’s trying to hurt you, are they?”
“I heard some yelling,” she says, her strine accent thick like mine. “And a loud crash, so I climbed out my window to investigate.” She tilts her head, gesturing to an open window next door.
Did she fall out her window?
“It sounded like someone here was getting hurt.”
I scratch my hairline, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. “There was just an incident with the idiot box. No big deal.”
Her gaze drops to my busted lip in question, and she takes a step closer, running an icy finger along it. “Was it your father who did this?”
I draw away with a wince.
“That dead-beat inside isn’t my father,” I say in spite.
I’m not about to admit I don’t know who my birthfather is—that my mother has spent the majority of her life jumping from one bloke’s bed to another’s. My sperm donor didn’t even last long enough to make it onto my birth certificate, which means I have no way of ever finding him. I’ve assured myself it’s for the best. He’d only be another low-life scumbag like the rest of the losers she’s brought home. I’m better off without him in my life.
I copped countless “Your Mama” slut-shaming jokes at the numerous schools I’d attended. At first, I would get into brawls over them, but after a while I quit taking notice. Correction: come year ten, I quit showing up at school. Hence, there were no more jokes to take notice of.
Sensing my discomfort, the young woman backs up a step and lifts the sleeve of her dress to reveal multi-coloured splotches and thin scars. Most of the scars are silvery, but there are a couple of risen pink ones too, which indicate they’re fresh.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed.” She swallows and then adds, “My father beats me too. He says I have the Devil inside me.”
“He says, what?” Shocked by the severity of her injuries, I shoot an accusatory glance in the direction of her house. “That ain’t right! You need to tell someone.”
“My complaints only fall on deaf ears. Jerimiah is the church pastor, and he has everyone in our denomination under his control, my father included. He says that young women like me need to be kept in line, by force, if necessary. Otherwise we’ll taint the community. But Enzo says it isn’t true. He says it’s just Jerimiah’s way of controlling us.”
“Who’s Enzo?” I ask curiously. “It sounds like he knows better.”
The young woman glances away, the look in her eyes despondent. “He used to be our clergyman, but our community shunned him because Jerimiah claimed he was doing the Devil’s work.”
“Devil’s work?” I repeat, brows furrowed. I shake my head, unable to fathom how an entire community can be brainwashed with such nonsense.
“What about you?” she asks, backtracking to our previous topic. “Have you spoken to anyone about the abuse?”
I shift uncomfortably, aware I should heed my own advice. I’ve never reported any of the vile things that’ve happened to me, I haven’t even told Jackie, but the abuse isn’t ongoing, it comes and goes in waves depending on Ma’s boyfriend at the time, and the flow of drugs and money. Moreover, I’m too embarrassed to talk about it. Admitting it aloud makes me feel weak.
“I don’t plan on sticking around much longer,” I say, blowing off the question. “My sister Jackie says she’ll take me in. I just have to wait until I turn eighteen so I can work at her husband’s pub.”
The young woman’s eyes meet mine, sparkling in the dim light.
“You’re lucky. I tried running away when I turned eighteen, but my father hunted me down. He said, it’s women like me who brought sin into the world, and that I need to be contained until I’m married, otherwise the Devil will rise out of me, and set this whole blasted world aflame.”
I frown, appalled. “You don’t actually believe that garbage, do you?”
She shrugs. “Folks at my church believe it. All the young women are kept under ball and chain until they’re married. It’s customary in our denomination.”
I stare a moment, mouth agape.
This is some twisted shit.
“I’m not religious,” I say, spluttering against the rain. “But I know right from wrong, and what your denomination is doing is just plain wrong.”
The young woman nods like she’s agreeing with me, but I can tell she’s undecided. For someone who has already turned eighteen, she seems much younger than I am. Almost childlike. Chances are she’s been sheltered and brainwashed with this garbage her whole life.
“My name’s Indiana, by the way, but folks at church call me Indi.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Indi.”
I glance between Indi’s sopping-wet figure and my bike, wondering what I should do. The rain is relentless, but to wish her all the best and then ride off on her seems rude, especially when the poor thing is shaking like a leaf.
“Are you planning on sticking around?” I ask curiously. “If so, our back patio has some shelter.”
Her eyes flick to the empty driveway outside her home and her trembling intensifies. “I’d sure appreciate it if you don’t mind. My father will be home from the pub soon, and when he drinks, he...well...” She swallows.
“Come on.” I gesture for Indi to follow me down the side of the house, and around the back, feeling secure that Ma and Freddy never venture out into the yard after dark.
The patio area isn’t big, and the fibreglass roof has holes in it, but it’s better than being out in the open. I usher her over to the back corner, where it’s the lightest and driest. Thankfully the back neighbour has left his spotlight on, giving us plenty of light to see by.
“You should’ve shut your window,” I say, glancing over the fence separating mine and Indi’s yards. “Your room’s gonna be flooded by the time you get back to it.”
“I need to be able to climb back in again before sunrise.” She lets out a shaky breath and adds, “Before my father wakes up.”
“Won’t he notice you’re missing when he gets home?” I ask.
“Yes, but he won’t remember anything by the morning. Ma says his brain shuts off when he drinks.”
The same could be said for Freddy, I think, praying he’ll forget about our spat by the morning and will simply wonder what in the world happened to the TV.
I drag a couple of old plastic chairs over for Indi and me to sit on, hoping she’ll stay a while. Misery loves company, and it’s going to be a long, wet night out of the house.
Indi takes a seat, smiling gratefully. “Thank you. I shouldn’t really be here talking to you,” she says. “Talking to boys outside of our church group is forbidden. It’s a sin that’ll lead us straight to the Devil.”
“Well, if you’re going to Hell anyway, you might as well tell me everything,” I say.
“I’m gonna be married soon.” She twiddles her fingers as she speaks. “The date’s already booked. June 21st, in line with the Winter Solstice.”
That’s the same date as my birthday, I think to myself.
Ma says the reason I’ve got such a dark side is because I was born
on the darkest day of the year—whatever that’s supposed to mean. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a beacon of light in comparison with the scum she likes to surround herself with. The only thing dark about me is my skin tone, which I must’ve inherited from my father.
“I’ll release my inner darkness to the darkness,” Indi continues as if quoting from a passage, “and then I’ll start my new life in the birth of light.”
I lift a brow in question. “Forgive me for saying, but aren’t you a bit too young to be getting married?”
“My father says Jerimiah is a fine, devout man, and he’ll make a respectable woman out of me.” Indi swallows and then adds, “But the way Jerimiah looks at me makes my skin crawl. I’ve tried telling the other young woman at church, but they don’t see it. They say Jerimiah’s fiercely handsome, and I should be grateful for God’s blessing.”
“Jerimiah,” I repeat in alarm. “As in the church pastor?”
Indi nods with a look of dread, and I find myself worrying about what kind of future she’s going to have.
Glancing away shyly, Indi admits, “I had a secret someone who I was hoping would ask for my father’s blessing, but he up and left without saying goodbye.” Her eyes [1]ick to mine momentarily before continuing. “He’s the reason I took off when I did. I wanted to nd him, but I barely made it past the bridge on Swan Bay Road when my father found me and hauled me back home. Most of the neighbours are from our church, and the biddies in our community like to tattle‐tale. That’s what happens when your denomination lives in clusters. Folks talk.”
I’d heard rumours of a religious cult overrunning the streets of Coraki and asked the local grocer if he knew anything about it. According to him, the group were a satanic cult that practised dark rituals and human sacrifice.
When I’d shown genuine concern, the bloke behind the counter had laughed and said, “Don’t worry, mate, the group has long since moved on. I’m talking way back in the ’70s.”
After everything Indi’s shared with me this evening, I find myself wondering if perhaps the cult never left. It’s an unsettling thought.
“If you don’t want to marry Jerimiah, then don’t marry him,” I say. “You can’t let your old man force you into it. It’s your life, not his.”
“You don’t know my father.” Indi’s whole-body quavers. “I don’t have a choice. I’m afraid if I don’t do as he says, he’ll punish me severely.”
I bite my lip, trying but failing to come up with an appropriate response.
Indi’s ice-blue eyes plead with me for help, but I can’t x this young woman’s problems. I’ve barely got a handle on my own problems.
“You need to tell the cops,” I suggest. “The station is only down the road. I could take you there first thing in the morning on my bike.”
She shakes her head. “Sergeant Adams is my uncle, and he and his wife are a part of our church group. Besides, they’ve got their own two daughters they’re trying to keep the Devil out of.”
“Oh...” A pit opens in my stomach, and acid rises in my throat. “I don’t know how to help you,” I admit at a loss. “And I’m not the best at giving advice, but I’m happy to keep listening if you need someone to talk to.”
A gust of wind blows through the patio, rattling its shoddy framework and she leans against me protecting herself from the wind. Something about the gesture brings out my protective side. I’m not used to being used as someone’s shield; I’ve only ever been someone’s punching bag.
She waits a beat before saying, “I’m nervous that once I’m married to Jerimiah, my life will be nothing but misery. I’m to cook, clean, and obey his wants and needs without question, just like the other women of our church do for their husbands. I’m also never to challenge or argue with him, and I’m to bear healthy children who will help to carry on the Lord’s work.”
“That’s some medieval notion right there,” I say in disgust. “It’s the 20th century. Women have rights. Why don’t you and the other young women band together and fight against the men?”
“Because the other young women all idolise Jerimiah and they’re happy to fall in line with his beliefs. My mother and I are the only ones who question Jerimiah’s word, and that’s why we’re always getting beaten and locked inside our rooms. Jerimiah says we’re being influenced by the Devil.”
Not only am I beyond appalled, but I’m also confused.
“If Jerimiah believes that, then why has he chosen you for his wife?”
“He told my father he would take my hand in marriage to help lead me back onto the righteous path, but he made it clear he couldn’t promise anything after what happened with his first wife, Caitlyn, who vanished without a trace.”
The grocer’s words, “human sacrifice,” immediately replays in my head and my blood runs cold. “What happened to her?”
“Jerimiah told us he tried hard to lead Caitlyn back onto the righteous path, but she was weak-willed and had completely given in to the Devil’s persuasion, following him directly to Hell.”
For alleged Satanists, these people seem awfully spooked by the Devil. Something doesn’t quite add up.
“Do you believe him?” I ask, unconvinced.
Indi shakes her head. “Enzo said never to trust Jerimiah, that he has an evil agenda and a black heart.”
“You need to escape from this life before it’s too late,” I urge, worried for her safety.
“I want to break free, but I don’t know how,” Indi says helplessly. “I’m afraid I’m trapped here forever, just like Ma. Enzo had promised he would save me, but the last time I saw him, he said, ‘It’s too late now,’ that I’m already bound to Jerimiah.”
“But you’re not even married yet,” I argue, irritated by his nonsensical excuse. “I take it Enzo was your ‘secret someone’,” I say, piecing it together, and she nods. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think you should let him go. Clearly, he’s chicken shit, and only looking out for himself. You need to find someone who will put you and your safety first.”
“Enzo has given up on me anyway, and I have no one else to turn to.” She hesitates a moment before adding, “Could you save me, Monroe?” Her lashes flutter pleadingly, and my insides twist. I’d like to be able to help her, but I can’t really afford to be putting my future on the line for someone I’ve just met.
Come the 21st of next month, I’ll be out of here for good, and heaven knows I don’t need any added trouble. Besides, I don’t have the means to get out of this dump without Jackie’s assistance and there’s no way I can ask her to take us both in.
But what kind of person would I be if I left Indi here when I know myself what it’s like to feel trapped, beaten, and broken?
There’s got to be some way that I can help her, I ponder, even if it means doing things I shouldn’t.
My mind kicks into overdrive trying to formulate a plan. “I’ll do what I can,” I say. It’s the best answer I can give.
Monroe has had a rough upbringing, exasperated by lapses in his memory, and things only get worse when his neighbor, Indi, comes to him for help. She claims her father is marrying her off to the pastor of a cult, and she wants to escape, but she keeps confusing Monroe with someone named Enzo. After an incident between Monroe and the man he believes to be Indi's father, Monroe is institutionalized for a year. No one can find a trace of Indi, and the entire family living next door denies her existence, leading authorities to believe Indi is a figment of Monroe's psychosis. Upon his release, Monroe is determined to find Indi and get her to safety, but a new family is living in Indi's house, where she continues to leave messages for "Enzo." Monroe will uncover more than he bargains for in his quest to free Indi from her fate.
Psychosis Diagnosis by Nikki Minty was an incredibly well-written book. Told in multiple timelines across two continents, Minty's storytelling is rich and captivating. The diverse backgrounds of the characters and Enzo and Jerimiah's experimentation with dark magic build the foundation for a haunting and thrilling story spanning decades. The intertwined relationships of all of the characters add complexity to Monroe's challenges. Based on the cover art, this is not a book I would have picked up on my own, but as soon as I started reading, I was immediately sucked into the narrative. I finished the entire book in a single sitting, unable to put it down.
While Monroe is a teenager, the story can be enjoyed by both young adults and adults. There are gruesome scenes, including depictions of torture, but none are exceedingly graphic. I would recommend Psychosis Diagnosis to readers who enjoy horror thrillers, family sagas, and the occult.