Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

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.