Things were moving the right way from my point of view, and after two months of building a character the self doubt was slowly dissipating. This kind of doubt can slither in unnoticed, and unless arrested early it starts by wrapping itself around your ankle, inching expertly up your leg, around your waist and further north; and before you know it you’re being asphyxiated, by yourself. I had somehow managed to assuage this, and with a measure of composure I swallowed the now manageable bout of disquiet regarding those around me, thinking how my estimations of them had not changed since I began here; or at least my estimations had not grown in any way. These people were zealots, and seemed unable to discern between true and false in a statement any more than I could discern between protons and electrons in the atmosphere around me. Once I’d met enough of them each and every face converged to make a singular disciple, a mere archetype in place of an individual, all of them characterised by the unblinking eyes and twitching mouths, full of reverent exaltations. They followed the prescribed teachings with vacant expressions of servitude and asked questions only to please their higher ups, never to probe or harry. Certainly, I had started on this path with a head full of cynicism, and it had only grown inside of me as the days passed; as I heard more and saw more of what I was surrounding myself with. However, I assured myself that sacrifice is necessary. Thousands of years of wisdom amounted to the fact that sacrifice is necessary to get ahead, or succeed, or reach some kind of zenith. As if forced upon by some natural source of balance my apprehension was lessening as my capacity for unwanted information was flourishing, and I received the instructions of my mentors with convincing fervency; actively – and increasingly, in my view, expertly – playing the role which I felt was required. I would recount details, quotes, and other imparted information with a feigned outward zeal that made me shrivel inside, ashamed to imagine the wide eyed and many toothed expressions that were accompanying my oration. They couldn’t tell? Truly, I had conviction in my deceit and it seemed that they had faith in whatever I decided to show them, for they saw not me, but my product. I had recently considered that I could be moving beyond reproach, and once there I would begin to enact my purpose.

Alas, I was sitting in one of the rooms that was used for sermons and lectures, and I smiled at those either side of me. The room had a pervasive smell of unwashed men. Once the sermon had ended I stood up to filter out with the rest of them. Since arriving I had been required to attend a daily dawn service with one of the senior followers, which lasted anywhere up to an hour, depending on their ability and inclination to hear themselves speak. I’d gotten off lightly today, with the speaker being one of those less proficient in the art of yammering on, and 35 minutes after arriving I was on my way back to my room. Those around me chattered excitedly – though in hushed tones – reflecting on the words they’d heard and bouncing them off of each other, presumably hoping to better understand, and through this attain a small shard of enlightenment. I nodded in concurrence to the ones that engaged me, speaking only when I needed to, offering the affirmations that each of them sought. At times like this it felt as though I were in the midst of another race completely, and though our language was the same and our vocabulary similar, the way in which they formed sentences, the way that they apportioned meaning and value was completely alien to me. Their only area of interest was the faith, with any other topic being brushed aside in a cursory fashion. As a result of this I had quickly learned not to approach anyone with fanciful speculations of my own or talk of outside goings on, as both were regarded with either flat dismissal or wary suspicion.
Back at my room I closed the door, dropped the veil I wore in public and sat at the foot of the bed in contemplation. I thought how lucky I was to have a room to myself, as this wasn’t usually the case for newcomers, but some stroke of luck had seen me arrive at a time when other rooms had already been established, and this small, single dwelling was all that they had available. This was a common reflection. The room reminded me of that you’d find in a long outdated university hall, with a lingering gloom worn into it, telling its story through the scuffs and discoloured marks covering the walls. The furnishings were simple and the bed was in fact too short for me, as well as being rather uncomfortable, but these minor discomforts would have been nothing compared to sharing a room with another of the initiates. As it was, when I didn’t have anywhere to be I could take solace in this space, resting my mind and body, again building the stores of fortitude I required to keep up my charade.
I opened a letter from my mother that I’d received the previous evening. Given the prevailing scepticism of the outside world that simmered here I had half expected any personal mail to be confiscated, but this hadn’t been the case, so far.

The letter read:
‘Eoin, I haven’t heard much from you and will assume that to be a good thing, though I would like you to be in touch more often. We’re both fine and the shop is ticking along nicely, as usual. It still astounds me that people keep buying these old relics, but I won’t complain about it. Your father asks about you from time to time and I don’t have much to tell him, so I just say that you’ll be back before long and he seems happy with that. He sleeps and works, nothing seems to affect him. I know that you can look after yourself, but still, look after yourself. I worry about what goes on in that place you’re staying. Get back to me when you can, Love, Mum’

The rules of the facility dictated that no phones be allowed on the premises, thus I’d given her my address; her being the only one, incidentally. She had written to me within the first week and twice since, each time providing similarly concise messages. I’d write back to her later today and assure her that I was fine and that I was happy to hear of their comfortable state.

It was the middle of winter, and a little under a year ago I had been languishing in a dark, oppressive period, albeit one I had been hopeful of avoiding. Despite my aversion to that time of year, and general disdain for its effect on me, I was at the time experiencing a golden period that carried over from the preceding months. The single factor in this era of promise and hope was Santi. I had met Santi in those clear, coldening weeks of autumn and before long we’d built something that I can only describe as a warm and loving closeness; the kind which comes by very rarely. I’d pressed my interest onto Santi as soon as we’d met, knowing that there was something in him which I wanted, and his slow, calm resignation to life drew me in effortlessly. We would spend most of our days together, drinking, seeing other friends, seeking out areas of the town that we hadn’t yet uncovered, and much of this shared time speculating on the years we were living, both of us perplexed by and drowning in life. Days upon days were spent trying to uncover what it amounted to, and of course we felt that we were tantalisingly close to figuring it out. A few invigorating months were spent in this way and inevitably we became attached; attached to a degree that I couldn’t have hoped to fathom until we were separated. Santi was what I’d needed to fulfil my curiosities, with his straight forward but enlightened presence shining on everything we came across. It seemed as though he was the conduit through which I was able to access the inner sanctums of myself. Those chambers that I hadn’t before known.

In the first few weeks of December I noticed, just barely, a drop off in the amount of time that Santi had available for me; or for us. I didn’t think ill of the change and assumed it to be a natural variance of our friendship, because of course things must move on at some point. When the weeks following this brought even further distance I asked him whether there was something the matter and he told me that things were going exceptionally well, that he’d found something very important, which for unexplainable reasons he could not share with me. I was hurt by this reticence, but didn’t think it wise to inquire further. His eyes had gleamed in an unfamiliar way as he spoke to me and increasingly I felt his emotional detachment, as if the full well he’d had for me and our endeavours were being syphoned off into a dark, unknown channel, trickling away without abate. By this time the weather was frostbitten, turning the city into a dimly lit shadow of itself. The streets seemed increasingly narrow, strangling any vitality that had remained in the season and the sky hung ominously over the people scurrying below, their heads tilted firmly towards the ground. It was my least favourite time of year and the prospect of being able to lighten the load through love and camaraderie had been yanked from under me, all the worse for not knowing why. On December 26th, a day after a Christmas I’d spent wondering about my friend and why we weren’t spending it together, I received a phone call from Santi’s father telling me that he had passed away. Poor, sweet Santi had been found dead at the age of 22 from an apparent overdose, his cold body discovered on the premises of a local religious community. No foul play was suspected. His father spoke with a soft, perfunctory tone, not dissimilar to that of his son. He said that he wanted to tell me as he knew that we had been close, and tearfully I reflected that ‘had been’ was correct. I could lay no claim to him anymore. My head span and my body sank. My core felt as though it had been set with a large, heavy stone that meant to drag me ever down. The cold of the ghastly winter bit into me in a distant way, freezing my exterior but leaving my insides uneasily tepid and burdened. Without doubt I was at my lowest ebb. There was no other time in my life that had left me so utterly bereft and disinterested as to where I would turn next. The darkness, cold and harshly built grief had ensnared me.

Now, after this year of misery I was sitting in the place that he had left me. In a different room for sure, but nevertheless in the hollow of the pit that had killed him. I put away the letter and turned to my next thought, or more accurately, my next process. I had been reviewing my plan on a daily basis, affirming that I had a meticulous understanding of it and also making sure that I could alter it as required, refining the details as my knowledge grew and the full picture became clearer. This is where I was. I had set out to assimilate as soon as I was able, observing the behaviours of those of my peers that were best thought of and mirroring them, even accentuating certain aspects to curry favour with the seniors. Once I felt that I was established I would move closer to whomever I thought held the most sway and might be susceptible to my charms – as I knew that I was not without an ability to attract people – steering them toward my whim. Having gained their unequivocal trust I could then seek to dig into the organisation and pull back the curtain of what was happening here, as I was certain, utterly and completely, that Santi had not died by his own hand, and if he had then this could only have been due to some foul corruption, turning him from the person that I knew into something unrecognisable. This is where the plan ended as I couldn’t imagine what I might find, and in turn, how I might act.

It was time to start pushing things forward, and today I was meeting with one of the senior followers, Thomas, so that we could discuss the texts that we were reading, as well as my progress within the group. Thomas was a softly spoken man and I could tell that he was a blind follower, his life having no other measurement for fulfilment than the satisfaction which he could find here. He was articulate, and sharp in his own way, but his narrow scope would hopefully give me an angle which I could look to penetrate. We were not due to meet for an hour, so I rested for a while, meditating on my being here: where I was, why I was here, what I was looking to achieve and how I could make it possible. I closed my eyes and sank back into what reminded me of my childhood bed, firm and utilitarian; not a bed made for the comfort that adults require, then, as often happens, I floated somewhere between the worlds of deep relaxation and sleep, not exactly sure where the lines were crossing but able to think clearly in this midway state. After an imperceptible spell I returned to full consciousness and felt calm; softly steeled for the trial laying in front of me, only needing to get dressed then leave. We were allowed to wear our own clothes, but anything that was deemed suggestive or divisive was advised against. First of all this would be in a congenial manner, but if these suggestions fell on deaf ears then a certain tone would be adopted which declared in no uncertain terms that you were to stop wearing the item in question, or else. I’d had no issues of this nature as I had been hyper vigilant in adhering to the desired behaviours, adopting those that I lacked instantly. I put on a plain white cotton shirt to go with the khaki pants I regularly wore; my most pious ensemble.

Thomas was waiting for me in a small office space, one of those that was shared by several of the senior figures due to the lack of facilities available. I reflected on the paucity of space, the dribble of resources keeping the place going, yet somehow managing to house such incredible fanaticism in this inhospitable shell of a building. It was undisputed proof of love being blind. He stood as I entered the room and gripped me softly but commandingly on each shoulder, looking me straight on and beaming his impassioned smile at me so forcefully that it seemed a spotlight were being shone into my eyes, daring me to close them. I held his gaze steadily, smiling back with something more restrained, as I deemed to be appropriate. With his hands on my shoulders like this I felt like a child being embraced by an uncle that I hadn’t seen in a long time, standing on parade for them to inspect me for changes that may have taken place. For a moment I felt safe, well regarded, as though this were my protector and I were being protected. He pulled me tightly against him and with his short stature his face rested against my shoulder, his warm breath flowing over my neck. I was cast back to how Santi would also hug me this way when we met each other, his grip and breathing feeling almost identical for a second, until I looked up and saw the back of Thomas’s head reflected in a glass display case, my body switching from soothed to repulsed within a fraction of a second. Thomas seemed to feel this change and released his grip, pulling back to look at me for another moment and then stepping around the table to sit down on a worn-out looking wooden chair.

“Take a seat, Eoin.” he said through his reclaimed smile, gesturing with a limp hand.

I sat down and adjusted my position to face him exactly, knowing the onus that he especially placed on eye contact. I waited for him to speak first, affirming my place as a disciple in the presence of one more learned.

“Eoin, I’m glad that you’re here today.”

I took a moment to respond.

“I’m honoured that you’ve made the time for me. Thank you, Elder.”

I had heard one of the other initiates address Thomas as ‘Elder’ after a morning service, and the look of self-satisfaction that had taken hold of him at the time stuck vividly in my memory. I was wary of overt flattery, but this seemed harmless. Sure to form, his face twisted into a mask of gratification, the creases around his eyes making him look like an everyday, ‘regular’ person, akin to a father watching his child perform some grand feat for the first time, basking in the glow of pride.

“I want to be clear with you. I’m very impressed with your development since arriving. I say I’m impressed but the truth is that we are impressed. You’ve taken our values to heart with a minimum of oversight and by all accounts you are learning the texts at a quite electric rate. Now, this is all good and well, but it does make me wonder, what is it that’s motivating you Eoin? Why is it that you’ve come to us – out of the blue – and set your sights so firmly on a place at our table?.”

I was taken aback. Whilst the tone was not accusatory the words shot through me like a bolt of lightning, striking a nerve in my very core that suggested my guise may not be as slick as I’d convinced myself. I smiled back at Thomas and his wide, gleaming eyes, searching through every memory of my time here to see if I had been exposed, and whether this was the prelude to an interrogation. I had been meticulous. I had left no traces to suggest that I was an imposter. My clandestine activity had been flawless, I was sure.

“You flatter me Elder. The truth is, I do have a somewhat odd reason for being here, or for wanting to be here so badly.”

Thomas’ eyes were shining, beaming the light of his faith across to me and through me, searching my depths.

“I am a proud man, or at least I have been, and I’ve always sought to put myself above others by showing that I am in some way better, or stronger, or smarter than them. It has been a gift and a curse for me. I’ve managed to excel in many areas, but by doing this I’ve also contrived to trample the very people that have supported and shown affinity for me. It took a long time, but I realised that I can only pursue this side of myself in situations that will have no ill effect on others.”

I dipped my head at this point and took three deep, long breaths.

“However, you asked why I’m with you. My mother and father are reasonably well to do, as I may have told you, but for a long time I have known that they are completely deficient, spiritually. I confess that I didn’t even know what spirituality meant just a short time ago, but since finding you, and finding this place, I have realised what it is that I’ve been missing for all these years, and what my parents are even more blind to. They appear to have a rich and well lived life behind them, but when they speak I can see that they’re floundering. The base of their existence is so flimsy that I fear it’ll fall through without warning and I’ll be left picking up the pieces of two shattered lives.”

The words were coming freely. My confidence close to spilling over.

“All of this is to say that I have found a worthy cause to want to grow and improve for, and through this realisation has come the clarity of my own shortcomings. I am here to learn as much as possible as quickly as I can, so that I can attain salvation for myself and my family.”

My forearms and fingers were tingling from the adrenaline, my eyes firmly back on Thomas.

He glared at me with the same trained stare, but I could perceive something else in him that had come to the surface, sitting just below his righteous demeanour.

“Let the wicked man leave his ways, and the evil man his thoughts: Let him return to Jehovah, who will have mercy on him, To our god, for he will forgive in a large way. That’s Isaiah 55:7.”

Thomas recited this verse to me as though it were an automatic prompt to my outpouring.

“You are a sinner Eoin. Your parents are sinners also. You are here to seek forgiveness for your own sins and theirs, I see that now.”

He stood up from behind the rickety desk and walked around to me, placing a hand on my head. Thomas spoke in mumbled tones as he prayed, his soft, flaccid palm sitting atop me and I closed my eyes; of course in keeping with the custom of prayer, but mostly to try to detach myself from this present dread. His hand felt like a warm slab of meat and the doctrine spilling from his lips lapped at my ears like so much liquid poison, seeking to turn me into another of the lifeless drones being produced. Once he had finished his routine he turned back to the desk, scribbled some notes down and handed me the small scrap of paper.

“Here are some Psalms that I’d like you to read. Your schedule will be the same for today, but tomorrow I would like you to come to my office again and we can discuss your next steps.”

I left the room quietly, merely nodding to Thomas as I went.

The next day I went to the morning service, spent time in my room and went to see Thomas, as arranged. He made no allusion to our meeting the day before but handed me a heavy set of keys and a folded sheet of paper.
“You want to become a senior, and we think that you are full of promise, but you must show devotion to earn the favour of God. There you have the keys for all of the senior offices, along with the instructions for each of the rooms. They will need to be cleaned and maintained exactly as detailed. The schedule and where to find the necessary supplies are also stated within, but if you need anything further then just ask me, ok?.”

It was hard for me to suppress a smile – a real smile that is – but I curled my lips in the shape of servitude and bowed slightly. He grabbed my wrist as I raised my head and for the first time I felt some semblance of strength within those soft hands.

“I am placing my faith in you Eoin, don’t give me reason to regret it.”

“I will rejoice greatly in your loyal love, For you have seen my affliction; You are aware of my deep distress. Psalm 31:7. Thank you Thomas.” I was unable to bring myself to say Elder again now that I had what I needed.

The new routine was an improvement on that which I’d kept for the first few months. I no longer needed to attend the morning meetings and outside of some impromptu sessions with the senior’s I could account for my own time, basing this around the cleaning schedule. Of course, my sole focus now was to find what I had come here for. The last three months of my life had been given to the purpose of liberating Santi, my own needs paling in comparison, but with a glint of promise showing itself ahead of me I was invigorated, flushed with the strength of one that has been told there is reason to hope. Each time I entered a room I would pick up from the place I’d left off, scouring for information without breaking character. I would be a wallflower, exhibiting only the behaviour that was desired of me. So far I had found nothing that resembled personnel files, but I knew that I must be getting closer, purely by the process of elimination. Another two weeks passed and finally I found what I had been looking for. The schedule had me visiting this particular room only once a week, whereas I would be in the others two or even three times weekly. This room was in a recessed part of the building and much larger than the other ‘office’ spaces, containing several filing cabinets and dozens of other pieces of furniture, some of which were stacked up in a slipshod manner. Being set away from the social areas I felt easier in my probing, deciding it much less likely that someone might happen by, but I retained my vigilance and only explored one area each time I was here, as per the plan. I was cleaning an area toward the back of the room today and as I looked back towards the entrance there was a tall wooden cabinet and two metal filing cabinets obscuring the line of sight. I sat on the floor and opened the bottom drawer of a new cabinet, pulling out assorted receipts and other pieces of paperwork that related to purchases of stationery. The next drawer up also held nothing of interest, but as I opened the middle drawer I immediately saw lettered tabs protruding from the mass of papers. My heart jumped. I slid one out at random and saw exactly what I’d hoped for, it was a personnel file for an initiate. Included was the same form that I had filled in on arriving, containing basic personal information, contact details etc, and it also had what seemed to be bi-weekly reports on the person, completed by one of the seniors. This was a detailed document, all of the commentary falling into one of four pre-formatted fields:

General Behaviour – Spiritual Progress – Recommendations – Misc
I put it back into its place and opened the drawer above, which I believed would contain the letter M, and sure enough there it was, Santi Maduro. I remembered Santi telling me that Maduro meant ‘ripe’ and since then I had regarded every peach or plum with either maduro or no maduro, never actually checking whether my grammar was correct. A piece of fruit had often since brought me to tears, my appetite for it diminishing greatly. I pulled the paperwork from the drawer and shut it, placing the file into my bag full of cleaning products. I left the room for what I presumed would be the last time.

December 23rd
General Behaviour: Santi has been with us for six weeks now and still shows an incredible sensitivity and vulnerability around others. He is situated in one of our four person rooms, and on several occasions we have had his cohabiting initiates come to us with concerns for his mental wellbeing. As previously documented, Santi arrived with a wealth of personal trauma – which to his credit he has been wholly open about, though less so recently – and whilst we have tried to work on the very prominent issues, there seems to be little progress. He has declined the possibility of any medication – which would be prescribed by an external medical consultant, of course – being provided to assist in his recovery, and it is now the opinion of the board that we may have to refer Santi to an outside facility for more specialised clinical treatment. Santi is quiet to the point of being almost mute much of the time. He will engage with the seniors, but only in a private setting and only on odd occasions; there doesn’t seem to be an exact trigger to prompting his speech. With the other initiates he is detached at best and outright dismissive at worst.

Spiritual Progress: Despite his social aversions Santi is keenly engaged in his spiritual learnings. He will attend services, classes and any of the optional engagements without fail, listening studiously and making extensive notes throughout each session. It is hard to gauge exactly his level or the fruits of his learnings, but one would assume that Santi is taking the faith seriously. We are all praying that this immersion will offer him some respite from his personal struggles.

Recommendations: It is suggested that Santi be further monitored by all of the senior staff mentoring him, the main focus being on his fragile mental state. Potential escalation or referral of his situation is likely if there have not been marked improvements within the next two assessment periods. Moving him to an individual room will also be considered in the hope that this will alleviate some of his social stress.

Misc: N/A