Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

Finally, nearly fifteen minutes later, the door opened. I held my breath expecting to see Aaron, but it was the woman again. She walked toward me with a smile. “If you’d like to follow me, Aaron will speak with you.” I assumed that Aaron’s offices would also be in this building, but she turned and exited out the front door, saying, “This way, please.”

We walked back to the main building and entered through a side entrance. So she must’ve phoned Aaron from the other office. I followed the young woman down a hall, my eyes taking in everything. So far, the commune seemed simple on the inside, almost rustic, in keeping with the West Coast–resort feeling. The floors were earth-toned tiles, the walls a flat white, the odd tapestry hung here and there. Broad cedar beams were fitted into the ceilings. The air was perfumed but not overly, just a mixture of the wood and something natural, like an essential oil. It reminded me of a spa I’d been to in the past. Doors opened off the hallway, but they were mostly closed. One that was gapped revealed a simple room: wooden single bed in the corner, one chest, a chair, the bedding all in white.

A few more doors down, we passed a room that looked like it was for ceremonies; mats on the floor radiated out from a dais. Large windows behind showed the wind lashing a tree in a courtyard. I could well imagine Aaron standing there, promising to end your suffering forever if you just followed his teachings. Then I envisioned his bringing up members to confess their sins, saw my daughter sharing her darkest secrets, baring her soul for this man to tear apart.

We walked by another room, and I caught a quick glimpse of chairs clustered around small tables, children’s drawings lining the wall, and a blackboard. The schoolroom. When we came to the end of the hallway, the woman turned right and stopped in front of a wooden door. She knocked three times. A man’s voice, low and calm, said, “Come in.” It was Aaron.

The woman entered right away, but I faltered at the idea of seeing Aaron again. Then I felt a rush of anger, at how small and vulnerable this man made me feel—how he’d violated me.

Aaron was sitting behind a large cedar desk, rows of bookshelves on either side of him, and in the center a window, which I imagined had an ocean view. Massive cedar beams crossed the ceiling, and a cozy fireplace blazed in the corner.

To the left was another wooden door, and I wondered if that led to his private chamber. I imagined young girls in there with him and felt ill at the thought. Finally, I focused on Aaron, the man my memories had been avoiding for decades. He was studying me, his hands clasped in a thoughtful pose, a friendly smile on his face, like he was welcoming an old acquaintance. He was dressed in a navy blue sweater and wore a large wristwatch that looked expensive. His face was lined, but he looked healthy, with a tan. The years had been good to him.

The young woman said, “I’ll leave you alone,” and closed the door softly.

Aaron stood up and came out from around the desk. Just the image of him looming over me sent me back to being a child again. I forced myself to stand straight, reminded myself that I was no longer powerless, though my legs were vibrating with adrenaline.

“Nadine, so nice that you came to see me.”

My stomach turned inside itself at his words and the tone of familiarity.

“I didn’t come to see you. I came to ask about my daughter.”

He nodded, his eyes boring into mine. I forced myself to maintain eye contact, trying not to remember the things he made me do to him. His skin cold and wet from the river.

“Yes, Lisa. She’s doing some excellent work, finding her spiritual path again. She was very angry inside….” He shook his head.

A jolt of panicked rage shot through me. So she was at the center—and he knew exactly who my daughter was, which increased my belief that he had targeted her. I wanted to knock the smug look off his face, the serene smile. But my daughter was here, and if I upset him, he wouldn’t tell me anything else.

“I’d like to talk to her, please.”

“I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t be good for her. She’s focused on healing right now.”

Another wave of anger. “How about we let her make that decision?”

“Lisa has turned her spiritual guidance over to me.”

“I’m her mother. ”

“But are you the right mother for her?” The hurt nearly brought me to my knees. He saw me flinch, saw my shame. “I’m sure you’ve asked yourself the same thing. How did she end up on the wrong path? Living with those people? She lost her spirit.” He shook his head. “Such a beautiful girl, so much soul, but so much pain inside.” He tapped his heart. “She needs to release it.”

A sick memory flowed over me. His hands searching under my shirt as he breathed into my ear, You need to release your fear, free your body.

I stepped forward. “If you’ve touched her, I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing.” He also stepped forward. “Lisa is ready for spiritual awareness—she’s willing to do whatever it takes. Are you?”

“My spirit doesn’t need to be saved—yours does. I remember what you did to me as a child.”

“You went to the police.”

No denial, but no acknowledgment either.

“And I’m going to keep going to them.”

He gestured to the room. “But nothing’s happened. I’m still here.” He inhaled and reached above his head with both hands, then let out his breath in a long exhalation as he lowered them back down and clasped them in front of his heart, before dropping them to his sides. He looked at me, his face peaceful. “The Light’s always watching. And he knows I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“It’s wrong to touch underage girls.”

“If what you’re saying is true, the police would’ve arrested me.”

My impotence enraged me. He was clearly smart enough to consider that I might be wired and was gauging his answers accordingly.

He added, “You became a doctor. It must’ve been difficult after your husband died.”

How did he know so much about me? Did Lisa tell him? The idea of them talking about me, the things he might’ve said, terrified me, but I held my tongue.

“Lisa told me you don’t believe in life after death, or that our loved ones return to visit. Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

I wasn’t playing this game with him. “I’d like to talk to my daughter.”

He smiled, then picked up the phone and spoke softly into it. “Please bring Lisa Lavoie to me. Thank you.”

He put the phone down and said, “Why don’t you stand by the fire, you look cold.”

Another memory crashed into me. We were at the campsite with everyone, after swimming in the river, and he’d wrapped his towel around me, pulled me down to sit on his lap. My mother had looked away. Had she known? The possibility stunned me.

When I didn’t move, Aaron said, “You never trusted me, though I don’t understand why. I’ve always cared about you and thought we had a special connection.” He held my gaze, and I felt the sick wrongness, the feeling I’d always had as a child, which was made even worse by knowing that in his warped mind he actually meant it. He said, “Everything I did was to help you and your mother.”

“Help me? You’re a sick pedophile. And I’m going to make sure the whole world knows you’re a fraud. This center will be out of business soon.”

He said nothing, just cocked his head, assessing me. Finally, his voice calm, he said, “My members are loyal and grateful for my help. Your threats have no meaning.”

The door opened, and Aaron turned.

“Lisa, welcome.”

She was here already? Had they been waiting nearby? I spun around. An older man was walking in with Lisa. Her hair was brushed clean, falling down her back in thick waves. She was wearing black leggings and a long beige sweater.