Always Watching

the police.
    When he finished, I said, “Did you take a walk out by the commune?”
    “Sure did, and had a look around the barn.” My stomach contracted at the memory of my own recent visit there. “And at that spot you mentioned, but I couldn’t see much visually. We’d need a cadaver dog to take a sniff around.”
    The words “cadaver dog” hit hard. It was one thing to go from speculating about what happened to Willow to honestly considering that her body might be on the commune grounds. I took a second to gather my thoughts again. Then I said, “Well, there’s no way the RCMP are going to get involved with that.”
    “If you get me more information, I might be able to call in a few favors. Let me know what you find out.” He clipped out the last words, still a sergeant.
    I said, “I’ll try my best.”
    “Be careful.”
    My nerves came alive, remembering the sound of that truck slowing down, then speeding away. “Of anything in particular?”
    “Just make sure anyone you’re talking to about the commune tells you more than you tell them. If they’re still connected to anyone, you don’t want it getting back to Aaron.”
    “He’s already aware I made a report.”
    “Right now he knows you can’t go anywhere with it, but if he finds out that you’re talking to previous members, and you get too close, he might take off. He owns communes all over the world, which means he’s a flight risk.”
    “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”
    “Don’t say anything about Willow either—I’d like to keep that one under wraps for now. Let’s see what other information they produce on their own.”
    His reasoning seemed sound, so I said, “Got it.” But as I hung up the phone, I heard Willow’s voice in my head. If there’s anything you ever want to talk about … I tried to think back to that moment, wondered why those words haunted me, and realized it was because when she’d asked, I had wanted to tell her what Aaron had been doing, but I’d been too scared. Now I wondered how different things might have turned out, for her and for me, if I’d spoken up.
    *   *   *
    After I finished my rounds, I called the number that Steve gave me and was greeted by a cheerful female voice, “Hello?”
    “Hi, my name’s Nadine Lavoie, and I was hoping—” I broke off as I heard a loud crash in the background, then the wailing of a child.
    “Oh, jeez, hang on.” The clatter of the phone being put down, then shushing sounds. She came back. “Sorry about that. My little guy had a fall.”
    “Hope he’s okay.”
    “He’s fine.” Talking quick, wanting me to get to the point, a busy mother.
    “I was hoping I could speak with you about a personal matter.”
    Her voice turned cautious. “Who’s this?”
    “I believe the RCMP told you I might be calling. I’m a psychiatrist in Victoria, and I’m looking into something that happened when I was a child.…”
    “Oh, right.” Now she sounded more curious.
    Steve’s friend had already told her that I’d lived at the commune and was trying to find former members, but until we were face-to-face, I didn’t want to give more details. I just said, “I was really hoping we could speak in person.”
    She was silent again, her baby starting to fuss in the background. “I’m not sure. My husband’s away right now.…” There was nervousness in the words. Insecurity, but also something else. She had given her number, so she obviously wanted to talk. Maybe she was uncomfortable meeting in public.
    “I can come to your house.”
    “Is there a way I can, like, verify who you are?” Embarrassment now.
    “Of course.” I gave her my number, then told her to call me back at the hospital. But she didn’t. After ten minutes I started to wonder if I’d lost her. I was almost ready to give up and head to my appointment when the phone rang.
    “Sorry about that. My son needed his bottle. Can you come over later? My husband has hockey practice on Wednesday nights.”
    It was interesting that she mentioned her husband not being home that night, and I wondered if he knew about her former life. “Absolutely.”
    I took down her address, then hung up the phone. I cautioned myself to remember that she’d recanted before and that this was a sensitive subject, laden with shameful emotions she still might not be ready to face, but I was hopeful that she might share her story with me.
    I was still struggling with the memories of my own abuse. It had made me