My sister has brought home another date. This one seems fine, but after Evan the fascist—anyone would seem fine. I look him up and down, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Mum and Dad giving him the same scanning stare.
Daniel had arrived exactly on time. He wore too shiny shoes, a too flashy watch, and a far too consistent smile. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wiped it and it smudged; it looked painted on.
There’s something off. He felt… manufactured.
“Wine?” Dad asks.
“I’m actually very mindful about what I put into my body,” Daniel says, with an expression that suggests that Dad offered him bleach.
My sister beams, she’s proud of this one.
“So what do you do?” I interject, stumbling to stifle the awkwardness.
“I work with people,” he says finally.
Okay.
“In what sense?”
“In a transformative sense,” he replies, “I help them understand themselves more clearly. Remove blocks. Become who they’re actually meant to be.”
“Like therapy?” I ask.
He laughs. Not loudly, nor dismissively. I hadn’t intended to be funny.
“It’s much more precise than that,” he says. “There’s a structure. A technology, really.”
Dad glances at me. I glance at my potatoes.
“And where do you do this… work?” he asks.
“Oh, everywhere,” Daniel replies. “But I’m mainly based at the centre. And online, of course. We have a really strong digital community.”
“Community,” Mum repeats, like she’s never heard the word before.
“Yes,” he says, brightening. “It’s incredibly supportive. Once you’re in it, you realise how much you’ve been missing.”
My sister nods too quickly.
“And people just… join?” I ask.
“There’s a process,” Daniel says. “You start with an introduction. A few sessions. Some people stay at that level, but most want to go deeper once they see the results.”
“Results,” Dad echoes.
Daniel leans back, pleased. “Clarity. Confidence. Freedom from past influences. You’d be amazed how much we carry around without realising.”
Mum has stopped eating entirely now. Dad is cutting his lamb into smaller and smaller pieces, none of which he intends to consume. My potatoes look incredibly interesting.
“It’s about the impact,” Daniel continues. “Helping people ascend to a better version of themselves. There are levels, of course, but it’s all about growth.”
Levels.
“Right,” I say. “And what’s the organisation called?”
He smiles again—that same steady, gleaming smile.
“We’re part of a global church,” he says.
Mum’s fork clinks against her plate.
Dad stops cutting.
My sister looks at him like he’s just said something deeply romantic. Oh, she’s in this too.
“And the name?” I press.
Daniel folds his hands, perfectly calm.
“Scientology,” he says, as if it explains everything.
Oh no.
