“His mere presence demands attention,” the woman next to me whispered. I looked back to the robed man pacing on the stage and wondered what I had gotten myself into.
I had signed up for a youth retreat, but it seemed a little more like a brainwashing than a yoga retreat. It was fascinating and I couldn’t get enough. The people around me were obsessed. Obsessed with the man on the stage. When I had first arrived, I had been horrified and thought about leaving, but was too enthralled with the other attendees.
I had wondered how I could have missed the fact that this was a retreat for a cult and not for actual yoga. But now I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t miss anything. I knew if I continued on with the ruse that I believed everything the other attendees did, they would tell me all of their secrets.
I had to know why they loved him. I needed to know why. I had to know. I watched and I waited. I listened, wrote and slept. I completely forgot about the yoga part of the retreat when I became so immersed in my writing. But if I didn’t report back everything exactly how it happened, I would be killed. I couldn’t believe my life depended on a man who was completely out of his mind, but I couldn’t decide which one was worse. The one on the stage or the one I was going home to.