Always Watching

  So now I said it out loud, for the first time in our lives.

  “They weren’t your responsibility. They were adults. They made their own choices—and so did you. I’m not going to let you blame me for that.”

  The beeping of the monitor signaled the emotions warring in Robbie’s body. Then something changed in his face. He rested his head back on the pillow, his breathing still heavy but his heart rate starting to slow.

  After a moment, looking up at the ceiling, he said, “You’re right. I could’ve left. But I didn’t want to drive over there one day and find Mom dead, hanging from a rafter or something, Dad passed out in his own puke. I always thought if I just watched over them, I could stop it, I could make everything be okay. But they both died anyway.” He paused for a beat. “Maybe I just used them as a reason for not having to deal with my own shit. I never could take a chance, not even for Willow.” He turned his face toward me. “I was glad you got away. I liked thinking of you in your nice house, with your family.”

  Tears were leaking from my eyes. Robbie’s were also damp, his mouth a grimace as he fought back the tears. I’d been wrong. He did know, he did see.

  I said, “When we love people, we want to help them—even when they don’t want it. But sometimes we just end up hurting ourselves.”

  He said, “You’ve done well, though. I’m proud of you.” And he was. I could hear it in his voice. The anger I’d felt from him all these years wasn’t because I’d followed my life’s path: It was because I’d pushed him to do the same. I thought of Lisa, wondered if that was the root of all our problems.

  I said, “My family wasn’t perfect either. I made a lot of mistakes with Lisa.”

  “What happened between you two?”

  “I don’t know.… Maybe too much happened.” I told him about Garret. Then about my own memories in the barn with Aaron, while watching Robbie’s monitor and pausing when his heart rate spiked, reminding him to breathe.

  When he’d calmed down a little, he said, “That bastard—hope he gets the crap beat out of him in prison. You should tell Lisa what happened to you.”

  “Maybe. If she ever speaks to me again.”

  “You haven’t heard from her?”

  “No. I’d hoped she’d leave the commune once Aaron was arrested.” I explained what I’d learned from the police. “But I have a feeling she’s still there.”

  He grew paler, starting to look tired. He rested his head on the pillow, his eyelids drooping. “Keep me posted, okay?”

  “I will. But I should let you get some rest. See you in the morning.”

  * * *

  After I left Robbie’s room, I called the sergeant. The police still hadn’t had any sightings of Joseph or Daniel. Joy, who apparently ran the commune alongside Aaron, wouldn’t let them search the premises, and they still didn’t have cause to get a warrant because neither of the men had been seen entering the building. The sergeant suspected they were probably off the island now anyway, but he said they’d still get Robbie protection—he was a key witness in Willow’s murder. Now that he was awake, they’d also take his statement, and they were assembling a forensics team to search for Willow at the old site. She was finally going home.

  I didn’t understand why none of the members, especially Lisa, had left the commune now that Aaron was under arrest. The sergeant told me that it was possible most of them didn’t know what had happened. They didn’t have phones, TV, or Internet access. Their only information came from the staff, and they were obviously keeping everything quiet until they were able to speak with Aaron.

  In the parking lot, I sat in my car for a moment, staring at the hospital through the thick wall of rain that had started thundering down, and thought about my conversation with my brother. It scared me, how close I had come to losing him—and his story about my earring. Everything on the other side of my window looked distorted now, flashes of colors and pale faces as bodies rushed by, but I couldn’t make out features, couldn’t bring their edges into focus. Aaron’s words came to mind. Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there.

  The hospital was a gray blur, through my tears and the rain. I wondered which room was my brother’s, thinking how at peace he had seemed when he spoke about how he’d nearly died. Then I thought of Paul, of those last moments before he took his final breath and died in my arms, how serene his face had looked as he let go of me. Now I realized I was the one who had never really let go of him.

  * * *

  That evening I spent a lot of time thinking about my life—and how it had also nearly ended. Then I made some decisions. I arrived early to visit Robbie the next day, and after he fell back asleep, I made my way upstairs to Kevin’s office.

  At my knock, his voice rang out, “Come in.”

  I hesitated. Would he want anything to do with me after I’d been so aloof? I’d never know unless I tried. I took a breath and opened the door.

  He looked up in surprise, started to stand. “Nadine…”

  I motioned for him to stay seated and took the chair across from him.

  I met his gaze, thinking how handsome he looked as he brushed his hair back with one hand, his forearm muscles flexing. I said, “I owe you an apology.”

  He cocked his head, a small smile playing about his lips. “You’re just figuring this out?”

  “I’m a bit slow sometimes.” I stepped out on the edge of my emotions, stood teetering for a moment, jumped. “You’re right. I have been running away. I guess I’m scared … of this, of what it could mean.”

  “I’m scared too. That’s a good thing. I like the way you make me feel.”

  We held gazes again, a slow thrum of nervous excitement hitting right below my heart. But there was something I had to make clear.

  “My daughter, Lisa. She’s still in the commune, and she’s my number one priority right now—and forever.”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “That being said, if you’d like to spend some time together, I could use a friend.”

  He raised his brows. “A friend?”

  “A friendly friend. I’d like to see where this could go.” I raised my own brow, pleased to see his answering smile. “We could start by having dinner again?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Maybe I’ll even audition for your band. I play a mean tambourine.”

  “Let’s not get carried away now.”

  We both laughed, then he reached across the desk and held my hand.

  This time there were no flashes of images, no guilt about Paul. But I remembered, when Paul was alive, how he’d try to steal moments like this at the clinic, catching my hand as I sped by, but I’d pull away, intent on my task.

  Death makes you wish you’d done everything differently, had been in less of a hurry. This time I would enjoy the journey.

  Life is for the living.

  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. Sho
ck, 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 motio
n. 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.”