Always Watching

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

That night, I spoke to Connie about my experience at Heather’s funeral. We also discussed my concerns about the commune, the damaging effect they could have on the mental health of their members, and that if my memory was indeed real, there could be more victims of sexual abuse. I considered making a report to the police. In the end, I decided that I wasn’t ready to share my story—it was deeply upsetting, but I still wasn’t confident enough in my facts and wanted to think about it longer, see if anything else surfaced. I did, however, want to make them aware that they should look into the center’s operations. Hopefully, when they saw that things weren’t on the up-and-up, they’d investigate and shut it down.

After work the following day, I stopped at the police station. In other places in BC, the RCMP service the area, but Victoria and the township of Esquimalt, which borders Victoria, are handled by municipal police. I spoke to a pleasant officer, who listened patiently, then said, “Do you know of anyone being harmed at the commune?”

“No, but if they are convincing people to stop taking their medications, they’re at risk. And there are other concerns.” I shared how they’d harassed Heather after she left, and that she’d been donating large sums of money. Also that I feared Aaron was using mind-control techniques.

He said, “Did your patient say that she was held against her will?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Did they force her to give them money, by means of a threat or any other intimidation tactic?”

“Not that I’m aware of. It’s more about pressure and manipulation.”

The officer said, “If no one at the center has made a complaint, then our hands are tied. The River of Life is a respected business in this community. We can’t just go in there and ask a bunch of questions without a good reason.”

I thought about my memory of Aaron at the river. They obviously weren’t going to look into the commune’s activities without more evidence of a crime. I hadn’t wanted to open this can of worms when I was still uncertain myself, but if it was real, and other girls were being hurt…

“What if the leader was abusing underage girls?”

“Is he?”

I couldn’t waver now or signal any uncertainty. I had to go forward.

“He has… in the past.” I took a breath and briefly explained about my recovered memory and my previous experience with the group as a child.

When I was finished, the officer didn’t give me a sense of whether he believed my story, but his face was sympathetic. He said he could take a statement from me, but it would get sent to the RCMP in Shawnigan, where the crime occurred. His careful explanation that they wouldn’t be the ones following up told me that he personally believed I should make the statement directly to the police who would handle the investigation. When I suggested as much, he said, “It’s up to you. I’m sure it’s been hard for you to come in here today, and you might want to just get it over with. But they’ll probably still want to interview you, so you’ll have to go through it twice. If you don’t mind driving up there, it might be better—”

“I’ll go to Shawnigan.”

I left feeling exhausted—it had been difficult and embarrassing to tell a stranger that I’d been abused, especially when I still didn’t have many memories of the experience. It was like feeling around in the dark, stumbling into sharp edges. The officer told me that someone would be in touch soon, but I still wasn’t sure how far I wanted to go with it personally. I just wanted them to check into the center.

I wondered if I should tell Robbie—in case the police needed to speak with him. He wouldn’t be happy about it. Robbie isn’t the type who likes to discuss his emotions at the best of times, even less so with me, and he’d probably rather drive off a cliff than talk to the police about anything. Still, I didn’t feel right about not sharing this with him. In the end, I decided I’d tell him after I’d met with the police.

The next morning, I got a call from Corporal Cruikshank, a female officer who sounded very professional and matter-of-fact. We arranged to meet the following Friday afternoon at the station. That day, I finished work early and drove up the Malahat Highway to Shawnigan, which is about forty minutes from downtown Victoria. The Malahat could be treacherous in winter, with its winding turns through Goldstream Park, rugged steep slopes, and the occasional waterfall cascading down a sheer rock wall, but that day it was clear and the traffic light. I would have enjoyed the drive if my head hadn’t been consumed with thoughts of the commune, my brother’s reaction, what Aaron might do after he found out I’d made a statement. My body tense with dread, I reminded myself that there was no sense worrying until I had more information, but a small voice still niggled at the back of my mind. Are you sure you’re ready for this?

I took the turnoff to Shawnigan, just before the summit of the Malahat, and followed Shawnigan Lake Road down through the mountain into the valley, noticing that they had logged some of the area. Once I reached the junction at the south end of the lake, I stayed right and headed into the village on the east shore, which is where the police station was located, passing numerous summer cabins on the way. Shawnigan has a population of only about eight thousand people, and most of the vacation homes are owned by residents of Victoria, taking advantage of the quick commute and the lake’s beaches and waterskiing.

The village itself was still small, with two general corner stores, a gas station, barbershop, video store, coffee shop, and a couple of restaurants. If you keep going past the west arm of the lake, it was mostly farmlands and forest, also, from what I remembered, a popular area for hunters and four-wheelers.

The police station was built out of red-toned bricks. It wasn’t very large and reminded me of an old schoolhouse. I could see most of it from the waiting room as I sat on the wooden bench, watching officers come and go in their uniforms, the odd laugh breaking out as they joked about something. After a few moments, a young woman in a dark blue suit came through the door with a pleasant smile. Her blond hair was pulled back in a bun, and she had a heart-shaped face, with big brown eyes. She walked with a certain swagger that made me think she must be an athlete. She also didn’t look much older than my daughter, which didn’t inspire much confidence in her abilities.

I felt a flash of shame at my unkind thought. If she’d achieved this level in her career, then I was sure she was more than capable.

She said, “Good afternoon, I’m Corporal Cruikshank.”

I shook her hand. “Hello, I’m Dr. Nadine Lavoie.” I’m not making this up. I’m a doctor.

We sat down at a metal table in a small gray room, a camera in the corner. She leaned in. “So I understand you’d like to make a report?”

“Yes.” My throat was dry, cracking slightly as I spoke. She offered me some water, and when I said, please, she brought back a bottle.

“We’re going to record you so we can make sure we have everything, but I’ll also be taking notes, just in case there’s anything I need to ask you more about.”

“That’s fine.”

The policewoman, proving she was more in tune than I’d given her credit for, said, “I know how uncomfortable this must be for you, and that the crime was a long time ago, but it’s important you try to give me as much detail as possible. I’d like you to close your eyes and walk me through it. Try to use all your senses, scent, anything you heard, all of this can help.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak—the idea of closing my eyes in the small room suddenly terrifying.

She studied my face. “Just take your time.”

I took a deep breath, waiting until the pulse in my throat had settled down, willing myself to relax, then closed my eyes and began to speak. First I explained how we came to the commune and what it was like living there, opening my eyes to make a point every once in a while. She nodded encouragingly but never asked any questions, just made the occasional note. “My mother said that he used to give me swimming lessons, but I’m not sure if that’s when it started….” The room was so quiet I could hear the officer breathing—the walls pressed in, the sudden urge to run. I opened my eyes. “Can we leave the door open?”

She looked startled.

I said, “Or is there a bigger room? I have claustrophobia.”

“We can open the door, but officers will be walking past. Unfortunately, this is our only interview room. Would you like to take a break?”

“Just give me a minute, please.” I centered myself, taking three deep breaths. When I was ready, I began again. “We were down at the river…” My eyes closed, I noticed a rhythmic sound, a pattering against the roof, and realized it must’ve started to rain. My body relaxed, and I drifted back into a memory.

Now I remembered how it had all started.

We haven’t been at the commune for long, maybe a couple of months, when Aaron starts paying special attention to me, making eye contact at the campfire, giving me an extra piece of fruit, his hand lingering on the back of my leg when he shows me how to sit for meditation. I’m shy with him, barely speaking when he asks me a question, and my mother scolds me, telling me to be nicer to him.

I’m alone in my cabin, having snuck away from the other kids. One of the dogs, a spaniel, has puppies under my bed. I’ve just slid their box out, and I’m holding one, rubbing my nose against its soft fur, when Aaron comes in the cabin.

He says, “Are you okay? I noticed you weren’t with the other children.”

I stumble over my words, confused and flustered by his attention. “Yes, I just… I just wanted to make sure the puppies were all right.”

I can feel him watching me as I kneel down and slide the box back under the bed. When I stand up, he studies my face, his gaze lingering on my mouth.

I’m uncomfortable at the way he’s staring and want to move away, but I don’t want to offend, remembering my mom’s warning to be polite.

He says, “Come to the river with me. I want to show you something.”

I follow him down to the trail as we push our way through shrubs and bushes, wet from the rain that has now stopped. As we pick our way over the slippery moss-covered rocks on the shore, our footsteps are drowned out by the roar of the river. Finally, he finds a spot around the bend, blocked on both sides by dead trees. I shiver in my sweater and jeans, my breath cloud puffs in the air. He comes close and puts his arms around me, burying my face in his coat. I stand still, my heart hammering loud in my chest, wondering why he’s touching me.

I pull away, peeking at him nervously as I look around. “Why are we down here?”

He spreads his arms wide and smiles. “Life, it’s in every leaf and every drop of water.” He tilts his face to the sky, inhales deeply. “Can’t you smell it?”

Confused again, and wanting to give the right answer, I tilt my own face up, take a breath, and say, “It smells good.”

He eases himself down on a flat rock, crossing his legs, and motions for me to sit in front of him. I hesitate.

He tugs at my hand. “Let’s meditate together. It will be fun.”

I sit, cross-legged, our knees brushing. I bow my head and close my eyes, waiting for him to lead the chanting.

He leans toward my ear, his breath, smelling of sweet marijuana, hot against my neck as I stare at the ground, frozen. He whispers, “Look at me.”

I raise my face toward his, confused and nervous. I’ve never meditated alone with Aaron, and I’m worried about making a mistake.

He says, “I had a dream last night about you.”

“Me?”

He nods. “You’re very pretty.”

I blush, embarrassed and uncomfortable that he’s telling me this.

His face clouds over. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

“No, I like you.” I was even more embarrassed that he’d sensed my discomfort around him, wanted to assure him. “I’m just shy.”

He smiles, looks relieved. “You don’t have to be shy with me. We’re friends, right?”

I smile back, feeling more relaxed now. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“Okay, close your eyes and we’ll meditate. It’ll be cool, trust me.”

I close my eyes again, waiting for him to start chanting. He cups his hand around the back of my head, holding me in place. Then his mouth presses against my lips, his beard scratching. I struggle, panicked by the unfamiliar sensation of someone’s lips against my own. His tongue slides into my mouth, the taste of him making me gag. Scared now, I push him hard in the chest. He pulls his face away, his eyes surprised and angry, his lips tight.

“I thought you said you liked me?”

“I do. I just… I thought we were meditating.”

His face softens. “We are. This is a special meditation. It’s just for us, so you can’t tell anyone. It’ll be our secret.”

I feel another surge of fear. This isn’t right. I start to get up.

He grabs my hand, his face now furious. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t have a choice. Not if you want your mother to keep getting better. You remember how she used to be, don’t you?”

I catch my breath. I remembered too well, the dark moods, the threats of suicide. Aaron must’ve seen the terror in my eyes, the moment he had me, because he says, “I can help her, Nadine. And you can help me.”

Then he unzips his pants.

Now, years later, my eyes closed, I described in detail everything he’d done—and everything he’d made me do. “He wanted me to perform oral sex. But I didn’t know how, so he made me open my mouth, then he put it in. And he also touched me, mostly just my breasts. He kept asking if I liked it—I remember that.” I also remembered how terrified I’d been, shaking and crying, not understanding what was happening. “After he was done, he said that if I told anyone, my mom would get sick again. He said…” I opened my eyes. “He said that she’d kill herself.”

I began to cry, reliving all the fear I’d felt in that moment, believing that my mother’s life was in my hands, that if I made one mistake, she’d die. She’d finally crumble under the weight of all her sadness and dark thoughts. The same feeling I’d had most of our childhood, be good, take care of our mother. But who had been taking care of me? Robbie, yes, but he’d only been a boy himself.

And I’d been just a little girl, on her knees in front of this man, scared and helpless, knowing that the things he was doing were wrong, a horrible sick feeling of shame in my stomach, that I was dirty now, that something was wrong with me.

The officer got up, came back with some Kleenexes. I didn’t try to stop the tears. I gave in to them, allowing my grief. For the little girl who didn’t have anyone to protect her. I’d been taken advantage of in the worst way. Manipulated by fear and guilt, trapped and unable to say, No, this isn’t right, stop now. And there was no one who could save me, to even see what was happening. To care.

Finally I took a breath, blotted my tears, and blew my nose, feeling wrung out, the emotions still thick in my throat as I struggled to accept what he’d done to me. I now understood why I’d blocked out the events. It was common in sexual abuse cases where the victim had been threatened, but I was still having a hard time grasping that it had happened to me. I was also scared what else might have happened—I still couldn’t recall how the abuse stopped, or if it did.

The officer said, “Were there any other occasions? Did he ever take you anywhere else?”

I remembered my mother’s confusion. Don’t you remember the picnic? It came back now. He’d taken us to a lake that had an old fishing cabin. Everyone had fun, but I hated the place. I’d already been there, with Aaron and another girl, whose name I couldn’t recall, but she’d been about my age. He’d encouraged us to take off our clothes and go skinny-dipping in the cool lake water. I hadn’t wanted to, but the other girl had, so I followed. Later, he’d wanted us to play hide-and-seek, naked, while he watched. We’d balked, we were too old, but he said it would be fun. The person counting had to sit on his lap. I could still hear his voice in my mind, One, two, three… and feel his hand under my towel.

I shared the memory with the officer. “I think it was usually at the river, though, and maybe just a handful of times over the first few months….” I paused, thought back. My mother was right, after Coyote had died that summer, I became deathly afraid of swimming. Aaron offered to teach me, but it had been a ruse so he could spend more time with me down at the river, with lessons every week. I had vague recollections of him starting off kind and friendly, showing me how to swim, encouraging me, but I’d be filled with dread, knowing how it would end.

I told her about the lessons. “Sometimes…” I took a breath, swallowed hard. “He, uh, he would make me touch myself. He liked watching. Then he’d always make me give him oral sex.” My mind filled with the image, his noises and grunts. My crying and my eyes closed, pretending I was somewhere else.

I wiped away some tears now. “That’s all I remember at the moment. There could be more, though. I don’t know if my claustrophobia was because of what he did to me or something else.”

The officer said, “It may still come back, now that you’ve opened up. You did a great job. I know that was very difficult.”

I let my breath out in a sigh, emotionally drained. I said, “Is anything going to happen to him? I’m sure now that there are more victims.” I explained some of my other fears regarding the commune’s tactics and belief systems.

“We’ll bring him in for an interview and take it from there.”

“Without any other evidence, what are the chances of you arresting him?”

“Our job is to gather information. Then we present the facts to the Crown, and they’ll decide if there’s enough evidence to lay charges.”

“But if he denies it, and I don’t have any witnesses…”

She looked down at her pen and paper, assessing the notes she’d made, like she was trying to decide something.

I added, “I understand how these things work.”

She met my eyes, her gaze kind. “Unfortunately, without any physical evidence, or additional statements by other victims or witnesses, the burden of proof won’t be met, and the likelihood of conviction is slim.”

“You mean nonexistent.”

“When we bring him in for an interview, he may reveal new information.”

“Will you tell him my name?”

“He has the right to know who his accuser is, and we can’t properly question him unless he knows what he’s supposed to have done. You’re not a minor, and unless he has directly threatened you…”

“No, not that I recall, but I’ve witnessed his brother being violent. I believe he might have a mental illness. I don’t know where he is now….”

The policewoman made a note, said, “Can you tell me what happened?”

I explained about Joseph’s attacks on members who broke the rules. “Aaron had a temper as well, but he was better at hiding it. I don’t think many people picked up on it. There was also a teenage girl named Willow who left the commune.” I hesitated. Should I voice my fear that she might have met an untimely end? I didn’t want to sound like a lunatic. “Is it possible to find out if she was reported missing? I think she was from Alberta.” I hadn’t even remembered that until it came out of my mouth. I told her everything else I knew about Willow, adding that I thought it was odd how abruptly she’d left.

When I was finished, she said, “Back then, a lot of teenagers were transient. They’d stay with a group for a while, then move on to the next.”

“I understand. I’d just feel a lot better if we knew where she’d ended up.” I flashed again to the image of Aaron watching her when she fought with Robbie. Then a new memory clawed its way out of the dark. When Aaron had joined all of us at the river after our walk, he’d been sweaty and dirty. Was it from working in the barn, or a far worse possibility? What had he been doing?

She said, “We’ll look into it. But it might take a while to find the records because of the length of time that’s passed. Hopefully she’s alive and well and living in California.”

I hoped so too.