The Following

My name is Adam. And I am a “Follower”.

Who am I following? Well, they call him Brother Ignatius. Some call him a prophet. Sent by God Himself to save us all. He may even be the chosen one. Depends on who you talk to I suppose.

But in reality, no, he’s just a cult leader.

Before we get too far into this, I’m not exactly bought in. Yes, I joined The Following of my own free will. No coercion, no brainwashing. Very little convincing even. I am a willing Follower. But there’s a catch.

I want to write a book. Just out of college, not sure what to do with my life, I was presented with an opportunity. I’d studied journalism, despite it being a dying field here in 2024. I’m likely not getting a job writing for a newspaper or magazine. Maybe a blog or other site, although those jobs are harder to come by than I’d expected. 

Spending my days getting high and watching Netflix was fun for a while. Then came some self esteem issues and mild depression.

Along came an opportunity, in the form of my uncle David. David has been a Follower since the late 90’s. Recruited in college and then whisked off to the California commune, with precious little contact with his family for years. Things have loosened up a little since, and David’s been working on rebuilding his relationship with his sister (my mom) and the rest of us. He was home a few weeks ago, and I made the mistake of engaging him in a casual conversation. 

Oh let the attempt at conversion begin! Every question was pointed, every answer scripted. The man certainly knew his bible. It was a fun little debate for a while, then got annoying and exhausting. Then came my Big Idea. 

Hell, what if I went along with this? What if I experienced The Following from the inside, took copious notes, and wrote a book about this? Maybe a novel. Maybe nonfiction. This could be my ticket. I was practically spending my advance check already. 

So as David packed his bags to leave Pennsylvania and head back to California, I announced to my horrified parents that I wanted to join him. David was thrilled. He spent the entire flight out west just patting himself on the back. I’m sure he gets an extra virgin in heaven or something for converting a new recruit.

Next stop, California! Upon landing, we were swept away from LAX in a Scooby Doo van, enjoying a scenic drive through the California desert. Eventually we came upon the commune. The armored guards at the entrance were a little unnerving, but the big smiles they gave us sure made it seem like we were entering Disneyland. 

I should mention that I wasn’t alone in the Scooby Doo van. With me were an elderly couple - Chuck and Susan - donning Hawaiian shirts and possibly in the wrong vehicle altogether. Also in the van was a middle aged woman named Debbie, who spent the drive muttering something or another to herself quietly. I wasn’t sure if she was praying or talking to the voices in her head, to be honest. Nice group, but not sure if this was the crowd I wanted to spend eternity with if it came down to hopping on a spaceship hovering behind the next comet.

First up on the agenda was a good old fashioned bag search. What they were looking for I had no idea. I certainly didn’t have any drugs or weapons, although they did find my notebooks and pens a little curious. I explained that I like to keep a diary - my therapist strongly recommended it. Mental health is important, damn it! The two guards whispered something to each other, eventually giving a slight nod, and putting my writing supplies back in my duffel.

Next came the wardrobe change. I wouldn’t call what we received “uniforms”, but there was a certain uniformity to them. Overalls and a white t-shirt. Work boots. And - never underestimate the power of merch - The Following trucker hats. I guess I won’t be wearing my jeans and old band t-shirts for a while. But hey, when in Rome…

“So when will we get to meet Brother Ignatius?” I inquired casually.

The guards scowled, as if I’d insulted their mothers in a most egregious way. 

“Brother Ignatius does not have time to meet with every new Follower,” Guard A replied with disdain. “When he chooses to meet you, you will be chosen.”

Well, okay then.

Next we settled into our lodgings. Did you ever go to camp as a kid? Well, it was like that. Each cabin had 6 beds, bunked 3 high. No bathroom, just a latrine outside. This was going to be rough. I was really curious to meet my new bunkmates though. Surely they’d be an interesting cast of characters. 

Guard B came to the door and informed me that I needed to report to the head cabin for my introductory interview.

A few minutes later I settled into my seat in a dark little room with a distinct mildew smell. Simple metal chair and metal table, with a lamp dangling overhead. Was I being interviewed by the FBI here? And was that a drop of blood on the floor? Yikes.

A stout little man entered the room. No, it wasn’t Brother Ignatius. He identified himself as Timothy. He kind of looked like a mouse - he reminded me of that guy in Harry Potter who can turn into a rat. You know, that little doofus who somehow played a big role in bringing back Voldemort?

“What brings you here?” Timothy asked, clearly trying to be casual but not particularly great at hiding his skepticism. 

“Well, my uncle David - “

“We know your uncle.” Didn’t sound like Timothy thought much of good ole uncle David.

“Well, my uncle David was home for a week or so, and -”

“This is David’s home.”

“Well, sure. It’s his home now. But he grew up back in PA, where I come from too.”

Timothy’s annoyance was growing. 

“Anyway, we were talking. And I just found myself so… absorbed… by what he was saying. He’s been with The Following for nearly 30 years. And you can’t help but pick up on his passion. And I just decided -”

“What are you hoping to get out of this?”

“Get out of this? Ummm, religion I guess? Some renewed sense of faith?”

“You don’t seem sure.”

“That’s the point of life, isn’t it? It’s all one big adventure… Or maybe a series of small adventures. Either way, you don’t always know where you’ll end up. It’s the journey that matters… But also where you end up. Even if it’s not someplace you were expecting.”

I was BS-ing like a pro. Was Timothy softening? Was he buying this?

“Why did you pack several notebooks and pens?”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t buying it.

“Ummm… I’ve always liked keeping a journal, a diary. Ever since I was a kid -”

“Would you be willing to sign an NDA?”

Well, crap. 

____

Fast forward three weeks. 

Have you ever picked grapes? It’s mind-numbing. And messy. And HOT in the California sun. Especially while wearing those goddamn overalls. But hey, we all had our jobs there on the commune.

I’d adjusted to life with The Following. Still hadn’t met Brother Ignatius, or even seen him around. I figured he’d at least be hosting services or giving motivational speeches or something. I heard a rumor he’d been meeting with Congress. And the pope. Not sure if either are true though.

But I’d settled into a routine. I woke up at 6, had a quick breakfast - oatmeal. Every damn day oatmeal. Then I’d work in the fields, picking grapes. Every damn day. Then lunch - peanut butter sandwiches. You’d think we’d get grape jelly, right? Nope. Just peanut butter. After lunch I’d pick some more grapes, and then spend a couple hours reading and reflecting on The Following scripture. Then dinner - boiled chicken. No wine, unfortunately. Seriously, where are all these grapes going? After dinner we’d have a group service. Then quiet time for a half hour before an early bed time of 9:30. During this quiet time I’d scramble to write as much as I can in my notebooks.

Despite the rush, I did have plenty of notes. There was a lot of craziness - and some illegal activities - going on at the commune. Polygamy. Heavy drug use. Possibly human trafficking. Plenty of weird sex stuff. I’m not entirely sure what racketeering is, but I think that was going on too. And I was capturing it all! This book was writing itself. 

Then one evening as I got back to my cabin, my ole pal Timothy was waiting for me.

____

I’m back in that dark, mildewy interview room. I think there’s even more blood on the ground now. 

Remember the two guards from my first day? They are here, still wielding machine guns. And Timothy is pacing around the small room as best he can. Trying to appear menacing.

“We know, young man.”

“Uhh, you know what?” I’m legitimately puzzled.

“We found them.”

“Found what?”

“You know.”

“Timothy, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Except I am beginning to figure it out. I have three weeks of information and secrets documented in a couple notebooks under my mattress. Did they find them and read them? Could they even read my hideous handwriting?

It was like he could read my mind. Timothy smiles. God, his teeth are yellow. I really did not like Timothy. 

“Adam… we found your notebooks.”

Not good.

“Do you recall signing the NDA when you arrived here?”

I was afraid of this.

“Did you know that in a past life, I was a lawyer? A damn good one, too.”

Things just keep getting better, don’t they?

“Your notebooks have been burned to ashes.”

Was that really necessary?

“And anything you may recall that were in those notebooks, if you were to take them to the press or publish them yourself… well, we will take swift and ruthless legal action.”

No idea how to respond to that one.

“You will be escorted back to the airport. You will return home, and tell absolutely no one about your experience here with The Following. It will be as if you were never here.”

Man, what a waste of three weeks.

“Your uncle David - and his three wives and many children - will also be banished from The Following.”

Thanksgiving’s going to be awkward this year.

“Just remember - I’m not the only lawyer here. We have many. Each better than the last.”

I never really got that expression. Do they line up in order by talent? Surely at least one or two are on the same level, right? Anyway…

“You talk… we will find out. And your life will be destroyed. Do you understand?”

I nod. Yep, got it. 

“Good. You may leave now.”

Then it dawned on me - I’m never going to meet Brother Ignatius. Does he even exist? Who the hell have I been following all this time?

What a waste of three weeks.