Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

“I don’t.” He nodded in the direction of the hospital. “I had to sign some release forms.”

He might have released the hospital from responsibility for Heather’s death, but I still wished we’d been able to help her. Daniel looked like he needed some help himself. He’d lost weight since the funeral, his skin was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, and it was clear he hadn’t shaved for days.

I said, “How are you doing, Daniel? You holding up okay?”

He shrugged, a sad, defeated motion.

I gestured to the chair across from him. “Would you like to talk for a moment?” He wasn’t my patient, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to treat him, but I didn’t feel right about walking away without offering some solace.

“Please.” There was a look of confusion in his eyes that I’ve often seen in the grief-stricken in the weeks that follow a death. When someone first passes, there’s the business of notifying people and planning a funeral, a focused activity.

Then there are no more distractions, only silence and loss.

After I sat, he said, “I’m back at work, and I make myself go for runs, but I just miss Heather so much…. I haven’t been able to pack up any of her things.”

I thought about Paul, how it took me months to give away his clothes, how I slept in his pajamas for years.

Daniel shook his head. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with any of that stuff. You probably have to go and do your rounds or whatever.”

“It’s okay. But I would suggest you speak to someone if you’re having a hard time. What about a grief-support group? There’s one that meets at the hospital. I can e-mail you a contact name.”

“No, I’m just finishing up this last job, then I’m going back to the center.”

It made sense that Daniel was being drawn to the comfort of the familiar, but I was still alarmed to hear his plan.

“You remember being happy at the center,” I said, “so you think going back there will help you escape the pain. Unfortunately, there are no shortcuts with this kind of loss. I wouldn’t want to see you carry this with you for the rest of your life. It’s hard to find true happiness when you have unresolved grief.”

Daniel said, “Everything just made sense in there, but out here…” He shook his head. “In there, I had a purpose. I was helping people.”

“Daniel, I understand that right now you’re searching for answers, and you’re in pain. But sometimes people who are experiencing grief try to replace the loss, without processing their feelings—”

“I’m not trying to replace her. I just have nothing out here. But I have friends in the center, people who care about me, and they want me to come back.”

“What they want from you and what you might need may be two different things. I know you did a lot of work for them, and—”

“That’s not why they want me back.” He frowned. “Why do you hate the center so much?”

I paused, thinking how best to answer. “I don’t hate the center, Daniel. I’m just concerned that Aaron’s beliefs are dressed up to be spiritual but are really self-serving and might just cause more pain for you and others.”

“What do you mean?” He set down his cup.

It wasn’t the ideal time to open up a subject that would anger him, and upset me, but I also felt he needed to know the truth. I took a sip of tea, composed myself. “The center, Aaron, he’s not what you think. In the past…” I hesitated, thinking of how to put it. “He sexually abused a young girl. There may be other victims.”

“That’s impossible.” His face was angry, shocked. “Aaron would never do something like that.”

“It’s true. I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”

“If there’s a victim, why haven’t we heard anything? He’s never been arrested. It sounds like someone is lying.” He shook his head. “It can’t be true.”

“There’s been a report made with the police.” I wondered why he was still so loyal to Aaron, whether in his grief he just couldn’t deal with another loss.

Now his face was confused, his brows pulling down as he tried to take in the information. “Have they arrested him?”

“Not yet, there’s not enough evidence, but I’ve been talking to some people in Shawnigan.” I gave him the basics, about the girls who’d recanted, and Mary, leaving out Willow. “I’m confident that more information will come out.”

“Are any of them pressing charges?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

His face was earnest. “So it could be lies.”

As I looked across the table at him, I realized again how this would be many people’s reactions, Not Aaron, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. But I know he did. I considered sharing my story but didn’t feel right about it, not given our history and his connection with the commune.

“I doubt it, Daniel. I know for a fact that he has molested at least one young girl.” I held his gaze.

He sat back in his chair, pushing his cup forward as though to block my words. “No way. I still don’t believe it.”

He didn’t want to believe it. I sat back in my own chair, suddenly very tired. Since I’d seen the green truck outside my home the week before, I’d woken up several times throughout the night, listening to every vehicle as it drove past, holding my breath until it was gone. The previous evening, I’d gotten two more calls from a private number, and each time they hung up when I answered. In case it was related to my attack in Nanaimo, I talked to the police up there, but they had no new leads. They told me that I could start marking the calls by pressing *57, and then my phone provider would release the information to them. But they could only do something if the person started to verbally harass me when I answered. They couldn’t do anything about hang-ups.

“There was a reason you left,” I said, gently. “I think if you’d really wanted to stay, you would have found a way to convince Heather. Is it possible that you’ve had your own doubts about some of their methods and beliefs?”

Daniel flinched, his face pulling as he wrestled with his emotions.

I said, “I know you’re hurting, Daniel, and you want to be part of something that brings meaning to your life, to all of this, but the center isn’t it.”

He was already shaking his head before I was finished speaking, refusing to hear me or the doubt-filled thoughts that were creeping into his mind.

“You don’t understand. The whole point is to trust the process, to have faith you’re on the path to enlightenment, or it doesn’t work. Questions are just fear, trying to distract you from your path.” He got up, and before he walked away, he paused by my chair, not looking down, as he said, “I’m going back.”

The next evening after work, I looked for Lisa again. I was encouraged when a homeless woman told me about an abandoned house downtown where she might be staying, but when I got there, the place was empty. I thought about trying to find the commune store, but I needed a break from thinking about that place. I stopped by a store window, seeing an angora scarf in a blue that would look wonderful with Lisa’s eyes. I went in, fingered the soft material, wishing I could buy it for her birthday, which was the following weekend, but realized it would probably get stolen on the street if she didn’t sell it first. I opened a bottle of perfume, inhaled the woodsy aroma, and remembered how excited she was the first year I’d given her a perfume set. Did she still like the sweeter scents, or would something stronger appeal to her now?

While I browsed the store, I reminisced about how I’d tried to make every one of her birthdays a celebration when she was growing up, baking special cakes and decorating the house top to bottom, singing to her at the top of my lungs. Then I remembered that we hadn’t celebrated birthdays at the commune—Aaron said that we were ageless. I felt a sudden surge of anger at my parents, at the choices they made, how they’d let us down. Then I wondered if Lisa also felt that way. What did she blame me for? Her drug addiction? Her father’s death?