Always Watching

CHAPTER TWENTY

The rest of the afternoon I stayed close to home, puttering around in my garden, licking my wounds. My daughter’s words, and also my brother’s, had hit home. I knew there was some truth to what they were saying. I’d always had an urge to fix everything and everyone I came across—the same urge that had driven me into psychiatry. I’d turned that trait into a skill and learned that you could only give people tools. They had to do the work themselves. But it was a lot harder to remain a compassionate observer when it came to my own family.

That also made me remember Garret, how frustrated he’d been as a child, angry at his parents’ separation, how hard I tried to connect with him. When Paul and I first started living together, Garret often raged against me, even hitting at one point—saying that he hated me. One of the many reasons it had meant so much when he finally accepted me into his life. I thought again about my plan to give him some tools. When he answered the phone, I’d forgotten how much he sounded like Paul, and grief, sharp and poignant, stopped my voice in my throat.

“Hello?” Garret repeated.

I pulled myself together. “Garret, hi, it’s Nadine.”

“How crazy is this. I’d just been thinking this week that we needed to get together soon.” He chuckled and the warm sound, lighter than Paul’s deep laugh, relaxed me and helped separate them. It had been even harder after Paul first passed away—they looked so much alike, both blond and fair. Though, Garret had his mother’s delicate artist’s hands. Paul’s had been large, yet gentle when he held a scalpel, or a small kitten. Garret had wanted so much to be a vet like his father, but he’d been nervous around animals, having been badly bitten once. Instead he’d picked up a camera and had become very good with it.

I told him that I had his father’s tools and asked if he would like them.

“That would be great. I just bought a house, and I’m building a studio.”

“So you did buy a house. Good for you. And your photography business is doing well?”

“Yeah, it’s going great. Phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m thrilled for you—you have such an eye.”

“Thanks! You should come by and check out my studio.”

“I’d love to.”

“How’s Lisa? Have you heard anything?”

I paused, wondering how best to answer that. It was the same feeling I got whenever anyone asked about my daughter. Sorrow, but also shame at my own failings.

Realizing that Garret was still waiting for me to answer, I said, “She’s still living on the streets, somewhere downtown Victoria.”

“Do you think she’s also still doing drugs?”

Part of me wanted to rush to defend my daughter, against the concern in his voice, but also the hint of judgment—and if I was honest, what felt like judgment against me as a mother. How could you let this happen? You’re a doctor, and you couldn’t help your own daughter?

I said, “I don’t think she’s using at the moment, but I’m not sure.”

Garret said, “That’s too bad—I know it’s really tough on you. I think about her a lot too. But you can’t blame yourself. She’s made her own choices.”

I’d never stop blaming myself, but it was still nice to hear that from him. Then I realized that Garret was almost the only family I had left now, certainly the last link to Paul. We talked for a while longer, making a plan for him to come by one evening that week. I hung up the phone, glad I’d called.

For the rest of the week, I focused on my work, though I hadn’t stopped searching for Lisa every night. I’d caught a glimpse of a tall woman entering an alley, with dark hair and a similar way of moving, and had parked in a hurry. I’d then run down the alley, only to find a prostitute in the middle of shooting up. She’d yelled obscenities at me as I quickly apologized and fled the scene. One night, I got a call from a private number, and when I picked up there was just a dial tone. Was it Lisa? I could only hope.

I bumped into Kevin at the hospital a couple of times, and he was always friendly, asking how I was doing. We had coffee together again one afternoon when we both had a break. I shared my passion for gardening, and he said, “I grow more weeds than vegetables.” I promised to show him some of my bonsai trees, and he promised to teach me to play guitar. I was amused to learn that he was in a band with some of the other doctors, who called themselves “On a Good Note.” I teased him about groupies.

“Hey, we’re hot stuff.” He laughed. “We even put on a show at Christmas and in the summer. The patients love us—and not just when they’re medicated.” I laughed along with him, and it felt good to be taken out of my thoughts for a little while, to remember the good things in life.

We had a staff meeting one day, and my director pulled me aside afterward. Elaine was almost in her mid-sixties but didn’t show any sign of wanting to retire soon—she often came in on her days off. She was respected for her fairness to the staff and her low tolerance for any drama, but she also didn’t miss much.

“You doing all right? You seemed distracted today.”

“Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Her expression concerned, Elaine said, “You’ve looked tired a few times this week. Losing a patient is traumatic, if you need some time off—”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

“Okay. Door’s open if you ever need to talk.”

Despite my answer, I had a feeling she was going to watch me closely, and she was right to be concerned. I had been distracted and tired at work recently.

A couple of nights that week, I’d woken up, sure that I heard the rumble of a car slowing down outside. One time, I got up and opened the front blinds, spotting a green truck, which sped off when I flicked on my outdoor light. And a few times when I’d come home from work, I was sure I felt someone watching me as I got out of my car, but whenever I looked around, I couldn’t spot anyone.

It wasn’t just my personal life that was weighing on my mind. Francine, my dementia patient, wasn’t doing well on the unit, refusing to eat and trying to run away daily. She was also becoming violent, biting and kicking, and had to be sedated. Sometimes I’d come in, and she’d be staring out the window, her face empty, a trapped bird.

We’d also had a young man admitted who’d tried to hang himself after losing his job and his girlfriend in the same week. Young men have a particularly difficult time with depression as they don’t have the emotional skills to work through it. Brandon was struggling, with no idea what he wanted to do with his life when he was released.

“You have lots of options, Brandon,” I told him during our sessions. “This is just a bump in the road.” And we’d talk about employment resources and where he could get help on his resume. I often thought about Heather when talking with Brandon, her ghost still lingering in the hospital halls, smiling at me through his blue eyes. I spent longer than normal with him, hoping to avoid another tragedy.

Thursday, Garret came over. Seeing his grin when I handed him his father’s tools solidified my belief that he should have them. He stayed for coffee while we reminisced. It was sweet when he said, “I’m sorry I was such a brat as a kid.” And I laughed when he said, “You should pose for me sometime,” enjoying the man he’d grown up to be. He showed me his new business cards, and it was clear he was trying hard with his venture. We also talked about Lisa again. It was nice to share my dashed hopes and dreams with someone who also cared for her. I told him about my run-in with her down at the wharf.

His concern was obvious in his face, but he just said, “It might be better to leave her alone. She’ll probably come around on her own one day. I did, right?”

He smiled, reminding me so much of his father I had to smile back.

Friday, I heard from the Shawnigan Lake RCMP—they’d talked to Aaron. I stood with my hand still on the pile of clothes I’d been in the middle of putting away, waiting for the news while my heart thudded in my ears, already knowing instinctively that it wasn’t going to be good. My premonition was confirmed a moment later when Corporal Cruikshank told me that Aaron denied everything, and he had also refused a lie detector test, which they couldn’t force him to take. She explained that without further information, the case would be archived.

I’d hung up the phone with a mixture of defeat and anger, trying to find some peace in knowing I’d done the right thing. Still, a part of me couldn’t shut out the fear that there were other victims out there. I also couldn’t ignore the feeling that one day, maybe even soon, someone was going to get seriously hurt at the center, either by some of his techniques like fasting and sleep deprivation, or by their not letting someone seek medical treatment for some ailment in time.

On Saturday, I’d finished my shopping and housecleaning when my mind drifted back up to Shawnigan. The retired officer, Steve Phillips, would be home from his holidays now, and I wondered if it was worth talking to him. He’d worked on Finn’s case before the commune moved. But if he even remembered one small thing… They couldn’t get Aaron on the sexual-abuse charges, but perhaps there was something else relating to Finn’s death that would make them take a closer look at the center.

I also couldn’t stop thinking about that image I’d had of Aaron burying something behind the barn. When I had mentioned it to Corporal Cruikshank on the phone, she’d promised they’d check into it, but I was sure that was said just to pacify me. They weren’t going to search the woods because I thought I remembered Aaron burying something forty years ago. But this officer, Steve, he’d seen and talked to Aaron, and he might have a different impression of him. I also wondered if he’d ever run into any of the members in town, namely Willow.

That was another thing Corporal Cruikshank, or Amy, as she’d asked me to call her, had said. They had no record of any missing women by the name of Willow. In case that wasn’t her real name, they had checked missing women fitting her description and still hadn’t come up with anything. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Robbie whether he had more information about Willow that might help us find out if she was alive. And I knew he’d want to know why this all mattered so much. Why now, after all these years?

Obviously, I wanted to make sure that there weren’t other victims, but there was also still a feeling that I’d let Willow down. I didn’t know if the feeling came from my argument with her at the river or from walking away that last day, but I feared what else my memory had blocked. Maybe by solving some of these other mysteries, I’d find out what happened to me all those years ago.

Just to be sure, I slept on it overnight, but first thing the next morning I woke up clearheaded—and resolute. I was going back to Shawnigan. I made myself eat a healthy breakfast, taking it easy on the caffeine so I wouldn’t add to my already jangled nerves. Then I made the drive up to Shawnigan, feeling calm and centered. I was just going to talk to the retired officer and visit my brother—if he was home. I’d called his cell but only got voice mail. There was no harm in asking a few questions. But I reminded myself that if this trip still didn’t shed any light on the situation, I was going to have to accept it and move on with my life.

This time, when I pulled into Steve Phillips’s driveway, there was a blue Ford truck parked near the camper and a man was unloading some fishing gear into his garage. When he heard tires on his gravel driveway, he turned around. I climbed out of my car and walked over. He was tall, a little stooped in the shoulders and gray-haired, but he still sported the short hair of the RCMP and a thick mustache. He was also wearing a windbreaker with the RCMP logo on it. He might be retired, but he hadn’t stopped being an officer.

As I got closer, he said, “Can I help you?”

“I’m hoping so. My name is Nadine Lavoie, and I grew up in Shawnigan.”

“Okay…?”

“I was wondering if you could help me. I have some questions about a little boy who died in the mountains in the late sixties. His name was Finn.”

He eased himself down onto his bumper, like all the energy had just left his body. “Yeah, I remember the case. It’s not one I’ll probably ever forget. Why you asking?”

“I was living at the commune when he died.”

His eyes narrowed as he gave me an appraising look. “You don’t look familiar. Did you stay in Shawnigan?”

“I was only thirteen at the time. My mother and my brother, Robbie Jaeger, were there as well—Robbie still lives in town. But I moved away.”

I wondered if he might know Robbie, but he gave no indication, just said, “So what can I help you with?”

As I talked, he finished unpacking his truck. He stopped when I described how Aaron took me down to the river and what he made me do, giving only the basic facts, which was hard enough without adding details. He motioned for me to keep talking while he rinsed out his coolers and hung up fishing rods. His face was contemplative as he listened. Finally, I was finished, and so was he.

He said, “Let’s go into the house. It’s getting cold out here.”

His home was neat and clean, but it was clear a bachelor lived there, with the rugged masculine energy of brown leather chairs and a stainless-steel kitchen. In the living room, he threw another log on the fire and motioned for me to sit. The burst of warmth was nice after the cold. While he stoked the embers, I stared out at the lake through a big picture window as a thick layer of fog rolled across the dark surface.

Finished with the fire, he settled in the chair across from me and leaned forward, his elbows on his legs. His voice was gruff, almost angry, when he spoke.

“I was the one who found the boy’s body. His parents kept saying that he was in a better place now.” He paused, his lips tightening. “There was something wrong with them—Aaron especially. I thought he might’ve had more to do with the boy going missing than he was letting on, but we couldn’t pinpoint anything. And some of the members vouched for his whereabouts.”

“Do you remember which ones?”

He sat back, stared up at the ceiling. “No names coming to mind. We had one witness who’d seen a woman dancing with the little boy in her arms, then walking off with the child. Later, the witness said he’d been high and had just been confused about the timing.”

“Do you think someone told him to take it back?”

“That’s a pretty good bet.”

“What was his name?”

“Levi.”

I had been praying he wouldn’t say Robbie’s name, but I was just as jarred by his answer.

He caught my expression. “Something I should know?”

“No… it’s just.” I strained my memory, thought back. “I can’t really recall much from around the time Finn died, but Levi and my brother were good friends. I’m surprised I don’t remember that.”

“He recanted fast.”

“You think they were covering up something about Finn’s death? Do you…” I cleared my throat, suddenly tight with emotion. “Was he murdered?”

“No, there were no signs of trauma. He died of exposure. His parents had another child—social workers took the baby away… always wondered what happened to him.” We were both silent. Then he said, “We were sure they were growing marijuana, but we couldn’t find anything to bust them on.”

“They were growing drugs. That’s why they didn’t go to the police right away. They were afraid you’d search the barn.”

He shook his head. “We figured they’d gotten rid of it, but there was no sign of burning, nothing. We could never figure out what they did with it all.”

I paused, trying to think. “That’s strange. I don’t know what they did with it, either. They made all the kids go to bed. I was scared for Finn, thinking of him out there alone. Aaron kept saying our positive energy would bring him home.”

“The parents were stupid, but their main crime was listening to anything Aaron had to say.”

“He was very convincing, and manipulative. That’s why I’m concerned now about what’s happening at the center and that there could be more victims.”

“Pursuing sexual abuse cases isn’t easy, especially when someone is well known, like him. That center is a big deal now. Brings in a lot of money, and he has lots of supporters.”

“I realize that.”

He held my gaze, like he was testing my resolve. I didn’t look away, but he was right. Again, I asked myself how far I wanted go with this.

He continued. “I’ve kept tabs on the group since they left. Two young girls, sisters, back in the nineties, claimed Aaron had made them do some things, sexual things. One of my buddies worked the case.”

So there had been more. My breath caught in my throat as I thought of another young girl with Aaron, knowing all too well things he’d probably made them do with him, all in the name of spiritual awareness. “What happened?”

“They had a good case, looked like they might even be able to arrest Aaron. Then the girls got scared and recanted. File’s closed now, but it’s always bugged the hell out of Mark—he had a bad feeling about Aaron. I could get their names.”

“Do you think they’d talk to me?”

“Hard to say, but I can ask. They’re older now. Sometimes knowing there are other victims can change their minds. There’s safety in numbers.”

I nodded and said, “It’s worth a try.” I didn’t want to get too hopeful, but if the sisters realized there were more victims, they might be inspired to reopen their case. Then the police might finally be able to nail Aaron.

I wasn’t sure how much to tell him about Willow, and I didn’t want to lose the ground I’d gained by having him dismiss me as paranoid, but I casually said, “There was a girl, Willow, who left the commune rather quickly. The police haven’t been able to find anything about her whereabouts.” I told him the rest. I didn’t give an opinion on what might’ve happened to her, just let him come to his own conclusions, and that he did.

He tugged on his mustache. “So you’re thinking she might never have left at all? That something happened to her?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m concerned.”

“Can’t do much without any evidence of a missing girl. The RCMP won’t perform a search without more information.”

“I understand, but I wanted to get your take on it.”

He said, “Let’s see if we can get those names for you. Meanwhile, maybe I’ll take a walk around out there and see what I stir up.”

“That would be great.”

He draped both his arms on either side of his chair, and said, “Sorry about your mother. Kate was an interesting woman.”

His words caught me off guard, and so did the shot of pain that her name, spoken out loud for the first time in years, still sent into my heart. I took a moment to gather myself. “You knew her?”

“My buddy bought one of your horses.” I remembered now. When we came back from the commune, Mom sold both of our horses. She’d eventually gotten more, but it was like she couldn’t stand to look at anything that reminded her of the commune, including me. Only Robbie seemed able to crack her shell.

Steve’s face was grave as he smoothed his mustache. “I was one of the first officers at the scene of her accident.”

My head filled with imagined horrors. Police lights shining. Steve, younger, peering into the mangled metal. Mom slumped over the steering wheel, one bloody hand hanging down. I still remember the police coming to the door, my father’s big shoulders shaking as he dropped to his knees, Robbie and I running toward him, sensing something terrible had just happened, that life would never be the same. I swallowed hard, tried to say something to Steve: couldn’t.

Steve changed the subject. “Levi’s still in Shawnigan.”

Glad for the distraction, I grabbed at it. “I thought he’d left with the commune.”

“He came back. Runs a water-ski school on the lake now, rents boats, Jet Skis, paddleboats, things like that. He might be willing to talk to you. He’s always been friendly.”

Levi had always been good-natured and fun-loving, but my memories of him were entangled with Robbie, the two of them talking and laughing with girls, or working together in the field. I’d blamed Robbie’s moodiness when we’d come back home on missing his friend, but now I remembered that in the days before we’d left, just after Finn had died, they’d barely been speaking. I tried to focus in on that time, searching for an explanation, a fight or disagreement, but nothing came to mind. I wondered if Robbie knew that Levi was back in town. He must, but why hadn’t he mentioned him when I asked about former members?

Steve added, “There’s someone else you could talk to, but she might be a tougher nut to crack.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mary. She was also one of the commune members, but she stayed behind after they moved down to Victoria. She has a homestead out toward the river, on the left side at the junction. Hang on. I’ll draw a map.”

He got up and grabbed some paper from a kitchen drawer, then roughed out a diagram. While he was busy, I tried to think of which member was named Mary but couldn’t conjure a face. I was surprised we’d never run into her as kids, and that Mom and Robbie had never mentioned her.

Steve passed me the map.

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll head out there now.”

For some reason I didn’t feel ready to see Levi yet, my mind instantly balking at the idea. Instead my psyche latched on to this new information: There was another woman who’d left the commune. Other than my own family, Willow, and Heather and Daniel, I didn’t know any former members.

“Good luck—she’s a cagey one. I had to talk to her a few years back about some robberies out that way, and she kept one eye on the nearest exit. I’m sure she’s got some stories, but she might not be willing to share them.”

His assessment didn’t surprise me. If she’d decided to stay behind, she might have a very good reason. I was definitely interested in talking to her.

Steve and I exchanged numbers, and he walked me out to my car. I climbed in and started it up. He tapped on the top to remind me to put my seat belt on. When I rolled down the window to thank him again, he leaned over and said, “Drive safe. And hang in there. Let me make some calls and see what I find out.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate your help tracking down the sisters.”

“I’ll do my best.”

I was glad that Steve had validated some of my concerns, but I was upset to learn of the other young girls who might have been abused. How many more could there be? I remembered a recent case of sexual abuse that had gained a lot of media attention because the abuser had been a powerful official at a university. Once one victim had finally come forward, another dozen had followed suit. I thought about all the girls who’d been at the commune the same time as I had been. I tried to think of their names but couldn’t recall many. Some were older, around sixteen or seventeen, most of them runaways. There were also younger ones there with their families, some maybe around eleven or twelve, and some even younger still.

Then another snapshot image came back. A thin girl, with long legs and limbs. Her parents had called her Dandelion because of her fair hair and skinny body. We’d called her Danny for short, and she was only eleven, but bold and talkative. I vaguely remembered arguing with her one day and struggled to focus on the memory. It seemed like it might’ve been later in the summer—and I got the feeling I was sad, so it might’ve been after Willow left. I concentrated harder on the memory. It was something about Aaron; he’d asked Danny to help him pick berries, and I hadn’t wanted her to go. Was I scared for her? I had another brief image, a flash of her calling me jealous or stupid, or something like that, then running off to join him. More hazy images followed: Danny sitting by Aaron at the table, her face smug. I remembered being confused and upset about something, but there was also a feeling of relief.

Now, looking back, I felt sick, wondering what she had endured to earn that privilege. Was that why the memories of the abuse stopped? Aaron had left me alone because he found a new target? It was possible, but I still had a feeling that I was missing a piece of the puzzle, something that would explain my claustrophobia. Something else that had happened that summer.