Always Watching

  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.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The police had a look around and even fingerprinted the shears, but the handle had been dirty, and only my print showed up on the blades. It had to have been me that cut the branch, but I had no recollection of doing it. Kevin and I talked about my increased anxiety and considered the possibility that it was paranoia, a delayed post-traumatic stress reaction. I’d almost been killed, along with my brother, and I was struggling with immense guilt over all the lives that had been lost. I was also trying to accept the fact that my daughter had probably not survived the fire. It had been over a month, and there had been no sightings of her, no calls on any of the posters we put up. I still clung to hope, remembering how adept she was at changing her appearance and disappearing from the world, but this time I feared my daughter had disappeared forever. Even if she was just missing and hadn’t died that terrible day, in the end my daughter was gone. And I needed to find some sort of closure.

  There was a memorial at the scene of the fire. Now that the initial investigation was over and human remains had been removed, there was a metal chain-link fence and an officer guarding the entrance. People had been coming by for weeks, leaving flowers and trinkets outside the fence, lighting candles. I wanted to bring my own gift, and I also asked Sergeant Pallan if I could visit inside the commune site, something they’d allowed a few family members to do. Sergeant Pallan got permission to bring me there. Kevin also came with me.

  I’d never driven by the site before, unable to face it, and I thought I was prepared now, but when we pulled through the gates, and I saw the charred remains of the buildings, I sucked in my breath, like I’d been punched hard in the center of my stomach. I covered my mouth as my eyes filled with tears, shaking my head at the devastating sight, the harsh reality of all those deaths. As we got out of the car, Kevin said, “You sure you want to do this?”

  I nodded, looking around. It was warm that day and the first thing I noticed was the smell, the sick odor of fire and smoke, not a pleasant, woodsy smell, but a mixture of everything that had gone up in flames. What had once been beautiful buildings and lush grounds now lay sprawled out, ripped open and gutted. The foundation was visible, some walls and parts of the building still standing, black and misshapen. Trees near the burned buildings also showed their scars, blackened trunks and branches. Crime-scene tape fluttered in the breeze.

  We placed our bouquet of flowers with the rest piled outside the gate, a sea of grief that stretched the length of the site. We also took some time to read the poems and sentiments that people had tied to the fence. I cried at the photos of the victims that had been left by loved ones, with mementos, stuffed animals, a child’s toy train, which made me think of the little boy I’d seen in the window.

  When we were finished at the memorial, I walked around carefully through the wreckage, making out the shape of the buildings, where some of the rooms might’ve been, crying when I thought of the last time I’d seen my daughter at this place. We didn’t speak much, Kevin and I, or the sergeant, and when we did, only in whispers, still sensing somehow that the dead lingered. The tragedy that had befallen that spot hung in the air, the energy of pain a
nd death and fear remained with the buildings, and I felt it to my core. My stomach and body were weak and shaky and sick with it. I tried not to let my imagination take over, but I couldn’t stop the flashes of brutal images running through my mind, people screaming in pain, the terror they must have felt in their last moments. I reached out a hand and touched one of the walls, feeling the wood turned to charcoal, rubbing it in my hands and letting the fragments drift to the ground, staring at the ash below my feet. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.

  Then, finally, the one image my mind had never been able to face until this moment, my daughter’s possible death. The smoke trapping in her lungs, the screams of agony. I doubled over, clutching my stomach, sobbing. Then Kevin was beside me, his arms wrapping around me, holding me up as I broke down.

  When my tears had subsided, and I could stand, the sergeant took us down a metal ladder that had been left, leading to the underground chamber. Though it was warm that day, we all felt the chill, the empty chamber with the door hanging open, the toilet dug into the ground, the metal cot with its thin blanket, which had somehow survived the fire. I went inside, rubbing my arms in the dark, thinking of all the members who’d begged to go in there, fasting until they were hallucinating, desperate for their glimpse of the other side. I hoped that Aaron’s beliefs had at least brought them some comfort as they faced their deaths.

  When we left the commune that day, I was exhausted, resting my head on Kevin’s shoulder as we drove home, my hand holding his. I’d hoped for closure, but I’d just found more questions. Why wasn’t my daughter seen those last days? Had Aaron or Joseph done something to her before they came to Shawnigan? My head filled with terrifying thoughts. What if she’d been put somewhere else, but no one came back for her? I tried to remind myself that Aaron had been happy with Lisa. He’d had no reason to punish her, no need for revenge.

  I was still thinking about it when Kevin and I picked up my car at the station, then drove to my home. We were partway up my back steps, Kevin carrying some groceries we’d picked up for dinner, when I heard a noise. I spun around and noticed the door of my potting shed banging in the wind.

  Kevin followed my gaze. “Did you close the latch all the way when you were in there this morning?” His voice was worried.

  “I’m trying to think but—”

  This time we both heard the footsteps running down the road.

  Kevin dropped the bag of groceries and gave chase, yelling over his shoulder, “Call the police.”

  * * *

  Kevin ran halfway down the road, but didn’t catch sight of anyone. He returned to the house a few minutes later, panting and out of breath. When the police showed up, their dogs tracked a scent from my shed, through the yard, until it disappeared in the middle of a street a couple of blocks over. Whoever it was must’ve had a car waiting, which meant they had planned for a quick escape.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  For the next week, the police stepped up their patrol, and Kevin spent every night at my house. We didn’t know if it was Joseph, whose body still hadn’t been identified, or maybe even Daniel, or another member who might be angry at me, but someone was keeping an eye on me. For what purpose, we still didn’t know. If Joseph hadn’t died in the fire, he had to be hiding somewhere. He would’ve been identified at any hotel, so I began to consider that Aaron might’ve had a safe house somewhere. There had also been a day’s lapse between when I was attacked and when Joseph set fire to the commune. Where was he during that time? The police had already spoken with Joy, who didn’t know of any other properties.

  I thought about Levi. He was one of the original members and had been a guardian at the old site. Could he know something? I thought back to my talk with him at the marina. I’d suspected his anger and bitterness toward Aaron had something to do with his drug use and possible eviction, but there might be something else there. It was obvious that he’d known more than he was saying.

  I mentioned my suspicions to the police, who informed me that they had already spoken with Levi after the fire as part of their investigation, but that their interview hadn’t revealed any additional information. I decided to try myself.

  Kevin thought it was a bad idea for me to talk to Levi alone and wanted to go with me. I agreed, and we were supposed to go the next afternoon, but then he got stuck at work. I paced my house, thinking. Every day was a lost day. If Joseph or Daniel were hiding somewhere, I was in danger. I already knew someone was watching me—what was their next plan? Then there was the other thought, the one that I couldn’t voice to Kevin, could barely voice to myself. What if Lisa had been taken somewhere before they came to Shawnigan? She could still be there.

  I left Kevin a quick message at work, telling him I’d keep my cell with me the whole time, and drove up to Shawnigan.

  * * *

  When I stopped to tell Robbie what I was doing, Steve Phillips was there—Robbie and he were going fishing. We sat outside in the sun on an old log picnic table that Robbie had built, a fine dusting of dry fir needles our only tablecloth, while I explained my plan.

  “I know he’s hiding something.”

  Robbie said, “He still might not say anything—he was always a bit of a coward.” He paused, looking down for a moment, then said, “Guess it doesn’t matter now.” He turned to Steve. “Remember that fight you busted up?”

  He nodded. “You put up a good struggle. Always wondered who the other guy was.”

  “Levi, he owed a dealer some money. They were outside the back door fighting. I pulled the dealer off him. Then we went at it, while Levi ran like hell. By the time you got out there, the dealer had split too.”

  Something clicked. I said, “Is that how Levi got that scar on his arm?”

  “No, he had that for years—one of the horses bit him at the commune. He was always sneaking into the barn. He had a pot stash hidden in there.”

  Steve said, “Why’d you cover for him?”

  Robbie shrugged. “I was young and dumb—still thought cops were the enemy.” He drained the last of his coffee. “Let’s go fishing.”

  * * *

  After I said good-bye to the men and promised to call them as soon as I was finished talking to Levi, I drove around the lake. I caught Levi just as he was opening his office door. He startled when he heard my footsteps, then relaxed when he saw who it was. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.”

  “May I come in?”

  He must’ve picked up on the serious tone of my voice because his usual goofy grin disappeared as he said, “Sure, sure.” He opened the door, ushered me inside. “Have a seat.”

  I remained standing while he sat behind the desk. I studied him, taking note of the bloodshot eyes, the dark circles.

  He said, “You okay? I heard what happened out there with Aaron and everything. Then the fire, and your daughter.” He shook his head. “What a mess.”

  I said, “Yes, it is. That’s why I’m here. I was wondering if Aaron ever mentioned anything about a safe house. Maybe somewhere he went that no one else knew about?”

  He shook his head. “Aaron and I weren’t buddies, you know. It’s not like he confided in me about commune stuff.”

  “You knew things, Levi.” We held eyes. “You saw things.”

  “I told you, I didn’t know anything about Aaron’s plans. I told the police the same thing. And I sure as heck don’t know where Joseph is now.”

  He was angry, which could be an attempt to cover his guilt, but I suspected he was telling the truth. About this anyway.

  “You do know about something that happened in the barn at the old site, though, don’t you?”

  “Oh yeah, like what?” His tone was casual, but he’d started to tap one of his pens again. A nervous tic he wasn’t even aware he had.

  “Aaron forced me into a barrel and buried me. To torture me.”

  Levi dropped the pen onto his desk. It rolled off. Neither of us moved to pick it up.

  I said, “I was terrified, so terrifi
ed I’d blocked it out for years. But when I was at Mary’s, I remembered. And I remembered something else too.”

  He rolled his chair back, leaned on the windowsill, trying to look calm and nonchalant, but his hands were tense as they gripped the arms. “What’s that?”

  “There was someone else in the barn that day at the commune. I saw a shadow pass by the door. It was you. You scared the birds.”

  When Robbie had said how Levi got his scar, it had all come clear. I’d just assumed it had been the birds that blocked the light for a moment, but now I realized it was Levi—he hadn’t wanted to be caught with the marijuana.

  Now I expected more anger, defensiveness, and denial from Levi, anything but what I got. He brought his chair down hard, his eyes filling with tears. Then a nod, and another. His body saying, There, yes, I did it. It’s out now.

  He said, “I was in the loft, and I saw what Aaron was doing to you down in the field—then you running to the barn. I wanted to help, but I was scared of what Aaron would do if he found out I’d been stealing some of the pot.”

  The thought of him watching and listening to me scream for help, but just biding his time so he could sneak out of the barn, made me want to reach across the table and slap him, but I was so furious I couldn’t move.

  “So you just left me there?”

  “I waited outside until Aaron left, and then you walked out, so I thought you were okay. I thought you’d tell people after, like your mom or something.”

  He paused, looking at me expectantly. Was he actually trying to justify his actions by blaming me? I waited him out in silence.

  “I’m really sorry,” Levi said. “I’ve felt bad about it for years.”

  He felt bad about it? He watched a man attack me, then carry me into a room, where he nearly killed me, something so traumatic that I’d blocked my memories for decades, and he felt bad. Another wave of rage made me clench my hands.

  He shrugged. “You didn’t say anything about it to anyone, so I figured maybe you didn’t want anyone to know.”