Always Watching

“Things seem to be going well for him, but I guess you already know that.”
    Another tap of his pen. “Haven’t seen Robbie for years, just his truck around town.”
    I decided to cut to the chase. “Why did you leave the commune?”
    He stopped tapping but smiled his goofy grin, reminding me of the happy kid that he was, at least until his father died, and the grin had become scarce.
    “That’s kind of a personal question.”
    “So you don’t want to answer it?”
    He laughed. “I don’t care, just thought it was a funny question. I left because they were freaks.”
    “I heard some bad things have been going on there.”
    His smile faded a bit. “Aaron, he’s twisted, man. Like really twisted.” His voice took on a bitter tone. “He’d preach all this stuff about freedom, but then he kept a tight rein on all the pot and everything. I hated that place.”
    Aaron had called marijuana our salvation because it was the closest we could come to experiencing the bliss we’d find on the other side. None of the members were allowed any for personal use, and it was only doled out by Aaron. If Levi had a drug problem, as I suspected, it would have been difficult for him at the center. I also sensed there was something deeper to his anger, an embarrassment, and I wondered if he’d been made to leave.
    “Can you tell me more?”
    “I try not to think about that time, you know? I like to just live for today.” He gestured toward the lake. “That’s my religion now.”
    Living for today or running from the past?
    I said, “Is your mother still there?”
    “No, she died before I left.” When he ran his hand through his hair, his sweater gaped at his forearm, showing a crescent-shaped scar. He caught my stare and quickly pulled his arm back down, watching me now, the smile gone, like he was waiting for me to make a comment. I thought of Mary. Had his scar also been a punishment? This time no memories came back, but still the feeling of unease.
    I said, “Your scar. Did you get that in the commune?”
    He laughed. “Nah, just drunk and stupid on the boat one night.” He laughed again, but something didn’t feel genuine. Before I could put my finger on the reason or ask for details, he changed the subject. “So why you want to know about the commune? You writing a book or something?”
    He said it like a joke, but again I had a feeling he might’ve talked to the girl at the museum, and now he was trying to find out what I was up to.
    I decided to go with the straight approach, maybe shock him into answering truthfully. “For years I’ve suffered from claustrophobia and memory loss.” I explained about psychogenic amnesia, leaving out Heather and just saying that a recent event had triggered memories of being sexually abused. “I’ve been trying to find people who used to live in the commune, to see if there could be more victims.” I also decided to keep Tammy and Mary to myself for now.
    He sat back in his chair, his face a portrait of shocked dismay. “No shit , oh crap, jeez, I’m sorry to hear that.” His eyes seemed honest, but the way he said, “Man, that’s terrible,” like he was trying to convince me he was upset, had me wondering. He added, “What’s it called again? Memory suppression?”
    I nodded. “That’s right.”
    “And they just come back on their own?”
    “Some. Some of them I have to focus on.”
    “Isn’t that stuff kind of hard to prove in court?”
    “Yes, well, that’s why I’m trying to find possible witnesses.”
    He said, “Wish I could help. I remember you spending a lot of time with Aaron. You guys were always down at the river, but I never saw anything, you know?” His expression was one of disappointment, his tone saying, Sorry I can’t help more. Still, I thought about how the courts would look at those facts, how they would look to anyone else. He was a nice man, just trying to teach her to swim. She’s making it all up.
    I blinked a couple of times, cleared my throat. “What about after, when you moved down to Victoria. Did you witness any sort of physical violence or abuse? You mentioned they were ‘freaks.’ Care to shed some light on that?”
    He’d been rocking back and forth in his chair, but he stopped abruptly. “I told you, I don’t like talking about that stuff, okay?”
    So, yes, he’d seen something.
    I said, “Okay. I can respect that. I didn’t mean to stir up anything. I know how painful those memories can be.”
    He