Always Watching

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I’d just gotten home from the hospital and was unlocking my door when a police car pulled in my driveway. A tall man, with gray hair, dark eyebrows, and a deeply lined face that made him look tired, got out and introduced himself as Sergeant Pallan. He then told me he was handling the commune investigation. His eyes were serious and sad when he took off his sunglasses. I searched his face, my breath increasing, my chest tight, sensing that he wasn’t there to ask me questions.

“What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk, and I think we should go inside.”

It was bad. Whatever he wanted to tell me was really bad. The world distorted. My depth perception off, I stumbled on the doorsill as I led him into the house. Please, don’t let it be Lisa. Don’t let her be dead.

I made my way to the kitchen table, pulled a chair out, and eased my body down. I put my elbows on the wooden surface and rested my mouth against my fists, pressing my lips into them, trying to stop the scream building there. I was aware that my legs and hands were shaking, but peripherally, like a doctor assessing my condition. Shock, you’re going into shock. I was already a stranger to myself.

I searched for words, made them come out my mouth. “What happened?”

“Early this morning there was a fire at the commune and—”

“My daughter?”

“We don’t know….”

I started to moan into my hands, a low, keening sound. Shock cocooned my body, everything slowing down.

The officer said, “I can call someone for you.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“It might be better if you had a friend—”

“Tell me.” I bit out the words, anger and tears mixing on my face.

So he did.

There were only a handful of survivors. Two members had escaped through a broken window—one, a female staff member, was in the hospital with a bullet wound, the other was suffering from third-degree burns. The man who took care of the grounds had been down at the far end of the property mowing the lawn, so he’d also been spared. Another surviving member had been coming back from a horseback ride and was still in the distance when Joseph pulled up. She continued to the barn and began to take off her horse’s saddle. There was silence for a while, and then gunshots.

Terrified, the girl had hidden in one of the stalls, with no way to call for help. She’d been watching the building with horror when she heard a loud whoosh and saw flames shoot out of the windows, quickly consuming the wood siding.

A few moments later, there was an explosion, and every building was engulfed in flames. The girl had released all the animals, then hid in the field until the police and fire trucks arrived.

It took them hours to put the fire out. At least one hundred and fifty people had died, twenty-five of them children. There might have been even more casualties but there hadn’t been any workshops or retreats running at the time.

The members who died had all been locked into the meditation room, herded like sheep for a slaughter. Joy was the surviving member who’d been shot. She’d helped Joseph gather everyone, but when Joseph grabbed her keys and locked them all inside, then said he needed gasoline, she realized something was wrong. She’d tried to stop him, but he’d shot her and left her in the hallway. She’d crawled to her office and barely made it out the window before the gasoline had ignited some chemicals kept in the storeroom and triggered the explosion.

The police didn’t know what happened to Joseph and whether he was still on the loose. It was going to take months for them to identify the bodies. Joy had tried to list all the members that she knew for sure were in the meditation room, but Lisa wasn’t one of them. Joy couldn’t remember seeing her at all that morning or in the previous two days; nor could the other survivors. She was missing.

I kept staring at the officer, watching his mouth move as he explained that there were resources available to me, but nothing was connecting.

I put my head down on the table and sobbed.

The days after the fire were a haze of jumbled images and memories. There were moments where I’d be standing in my kitchen, staring at my hand clutching the soapy sponge, trying to understand. How could Joseph have killed all those people? How could I be washing dishes and doing laundry when my daughter was still missing? I knew grief would shield you from the worst and leak the pain out in small doses, but I remember thinking, No, this is as bad as it can get, surely it can’t hurt more than this. But it could, and it did.

Most days I’d walk slowly around my house, feeling as though my entire body was beaten and bruised, trying to accomplish simple tasks. I’d break it down into moments: put on slippers, pull on housecoat, brush teeth. Then I’d stare at the woman in the mirror, and grief would spill out of my mouth in strangling gasps.

I’d dealt with death before, understood its process. But the loss of so many, combined with the agony of waiting to hear if Lisa was one of the victims, was something I never could’ve prepared for. And I cried for all of them.

Sergeant Pallan endured my frantic late-night calls when I asked him again if they’d searched everywhere for Lisa. Could she be in the basement or one of the chambers, I’d say. But he’d always tell me that she was still missing, then he’d gently add that it would take a while to identify all the victims—many of the bodies had been badly damaged in the explosion. But I couldn’t accept that her body was also in the morgue, not until I had proof. I’d speculate in an endless loop of possibilities: She’d left the center before the fire, or she’d witnessed the event and was now hiding somewhere, fearing for her life.

In all of them, she was alive, she had to be alive.

From the hospital, Aaron insisted that his brother had acted alone, but the police suspected that he’d had a plan in case there was ever a problem. There didn’t seem to be any other valid reason for the commune to have had certain chemicals. He claimed he was devastated by the tragedy, but he was finding comfort in knowing that his members were at peace. I knew it was a lie, that he was not only aware that his brother had a mental disorder, he’d fed his paranoia. He couldn’t stand the idea of the truth coming out, of all his members turning away from him. I saw now that his fear of rejection had shaped everything he’d done all along, building the commune, the family he’d never had, protecting it at all costs, even if that meant destroying it in the end, so he didn’t have to face their abandonment. I was glad that he’d likely spend the rest of his life in jail, rotting in a small cell.

With Joseph possibly still alive and Aaron able to give commands—some members from other countries believed in his innocence—they kept an officer patrolling by my home. They were concerned Joseph might be fixated on punishing me and completing whatever other tasks Aaron had given him. It was a very real fear and one that I shared. I lived in a state of suspense, waiting for something to happen, for Joseph to show up, for Daniel to be caught, for them to find Lisa. I called the police daily, looking for updates.

One of the survivors sold their story to the newspapers, then the others followed suit. When the reporters found out my daughter, a former drug addict, was also presumed to be one of the victims, and that I was a respected doctor, they began to follow me around. “How did you feel when your daughter joined the cult?” “Did you see this coming?” “Do you think she’s still alive?”

After the murders, and facing accusations of being an accomplice, Mary broke down and finally shared her story. She’d known she was pregnant when she left the commune, but had hoped Aaron would never find out. Her parents passed away a few years later, and she inherited a great deal of money. Aaron had seen the obituary. He came up to Shawnigan, demanding a donation, and quickly realized Daniel was his child. He’d allowed Mary to keep him without a custody battle, while she contributed each month to the commune, but he wanted visitations. When Daniel was in his teens, he ran away to live with his father.

When the police investigated further, it became clear that Aaron had made some bad financial decisions and was facing bankruptcy. The land he bought was the final blow, draining the commune’s accounts. Heather’s parents had millions in family money, which is why he’d rushed their murder. When the police checked the commune’s phone records, they discovered that Heather’s parents had called shortly before their death. Joy revealed that Heather’s father had discovered how much money Heather had given to the commune and threatened to sue them for coercion. Joy had passed on the information to Aaron—and the parents’ whereabouts. They’d never been told that Heather was in the hospital.

It was Daniel who had been calling my home and making threats, trying to scare me away from his father and the commune, from everything that he believed in. The police also told me that the member who’d been coming back from horseback riding the day of the fire was Emily—the young girl who Heather had gotten to join the commune. I’d found a small measure of solace in thinking that Heather would be happy Emily had lived, but my own guilt still ate me alive. Morning to night, ghosts whispered in my ear. You set this in motion. You made this happen. Why didn’t you just leave it alone?

I’d pushed against the wind and caused a tornado.

When Robbie was released from the hospital, he stayed with me for a few days; sometimes Kevin would join us, bringing dinner. I took a leave of absence from the hospital. I spent most of those days pacing my house, calling the police, watching the news, and forcing myself to eat the food put in front of me. Then I’d lie inert on the couch, falling into an exhausted sleep. My dreams were filled with images of my searching for Lisa but never being able to get to her in time.

Two weeks after the fire, Aaron was transferred from the hospital to jail, where he’d await trial. There’d been no signs of Joseph, so the police stopped patrolling by my home as often. Desperate to get away from my terrifying thoughts and keep busy somehow, I started to ease back into work. Michelle was a great support. She’d encourage me out into the sun to eat our lunch in the park across the street. Sometimes we’d go for a walk after work to get some fresh air and talk about Lisa. There still hadn’t been any sightings of her either, and though some of the bodies had finally been identified, hers wasn’t one of them.

I decided to talk to Aaron. I wasn’t sure if he’d accept me as a visitor, but I should have known his ego couldn’t stand missing a chance to impart his so-called wisdom. We stared at each other through the glass, the cold phone in my hand. He was pale and washed-out, unshaven. He finally looked his age. My head filled with things I wanted to say, to yell and scream at this man who had caused the death of so many people, who might have killed Lisa. But I had to be careful, calm. He was the only person who could give me any information.

I said, “Where’s my daughter?”

He shrugged. “Where are any of us? The universe is infinite, Nadine.”

His casual response infuriated me. I leaned forward, almost touching the glass, forgetting my vow to be calm. “Don’t give me any more of your bullshit. Was she still at the commune? Did she leave before the fire?”

He was silent, a serene smile on his face. He was not going to answer. I wanted to cry in helpless rage. He knew. He knew exactly what happened to her. It was the last thing he had over me, the last bit of power. But I had power too.

“Your brother is dead, Aaron.” I bit out the words, my voice harsh and unforgiving. We didn’t know if that was true, but I wanted to shake him up, hurt him like he’d hurt me. He didn’t even flinch. Did he know something?

I added, “He was the only family you had, the only person who loved you. Soon, your remaining members are going to lose interest, will find someone else to believe in, not a lonely old man sitting behind bars.”

He was still calm as he said, “There are others who want to learn how to change their lives.” He looked around. “There are many here who need my help.”

My voice turned cold. “You’re forgetting something, Aaron. Once you’re sentenced, you’re going to prison. And when the inmates find out that you like to molest little girls, you’re the one who’s going to need help. You’re the one who’s going to be screaming alone in the dark, begging them to stop. But they won’t.”

He still held his smile in place, but I saw the fear in his eyes. It was all I needed.

I hung up the phone.

Garret was arrested. When the police had gone to talk to him, one of his clients, a young girl, had seen them at the studio. Later, she told her mother that he’d taken nude photos of her before, and she wondered if she was in trouble. The mother reported him, and others soon followed suit. When they searched his home, they found vials of GHB and naked photos he’d taken of other homeless females while they appeared to be drugged. He’d obviously enjoyed the sense of power he had over a woman who was out of her mind, posing them however he wanted, usually in a degrading manner. They also found more photos of Lisa on his hard drive. I hoped Lisa knew her abuser was finally going to pay for his crimes.

Often after work, Kevin and I would go for a drive downtown—searching for Lisa, putting up posters. I knew it was foolish, that we would get more false leads than anything else, but I needed to do it. Sometimes I’d think I could feel her nearby, as though her spirit were still on the streets and in those houses. Kevin and I were still just friends, until one day when he was too tired to drive home. I’d felt myself coming back into my body then, felt the tears beginning to dry.

The cat, along with my daughter, was gone. In the days immediately after the fire, there had been so many people around my home, new voices and scents, she’d bolted. We’d left kibble outside for weeks, but she didn’t come back.

Tammy and I spoke a few times. She’d left her husband and was still struggling with the loss of her sister and parents. It would take a long time for her to heal, but she was strong and making plans for her future. They finally removed Willow’s remains. I imagined the barrel being brought up from the ground, rusted and covered in clods of earth, her bones released from their imprisonment at last. It was hard not to think of her without remembering when Aaron had buried me, the sound of the shovel going into the ground, the dirt hitting the metal, the breath leaving my lungs, knowing that Willow had endured the same fate. But she hadn’t made it out. Sometimes I wondered if that’s when Aaron learned he liked burying women, liked to hear them scream, or if there were others. Willow didn’t have any family, so Robbie and I planned to purchase a plot at the same cemetery as Paul’s. When the police released the remains, we’d hold a service for her.

And we would plant lavender around her grave.

In the middle of May, about a month after the fire, I again started to get the sense that my house was being watched. It was subtle at first. I’d be outside, moving a garbage can, or taking the recycling out, and I’d have the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I’d pause and look around, all my nerve endings alive and ready to run, but never saw anything, so I put it down to stress, or just an overzealous reporter.

One night I came home from work and was getting out of my car when I noticed a movement to my left. I stared hard at the cemetery, catching sight of a shadow quickly walking away. I ran into my house and called Kevin. He came over and had a look around, but didn’t see anything. I reminded myself I’d been tired and jumpy, that it was likely someone taking an evening stroll.

A week later, I was in my potting shed when I realized my pruning shears had been moved. I always kept them hanging on the wall, but they were down by one of my bonsai trees, the one I’d been working on recently. I studied the branches. Fear shot through my body. Someone had cut one of them off.