In Seattle we shopped and shopped. Weighed down with bags, we visited the Space Needle and the Frank Gehry Experience Music Project. We had a sushi dinner, then went back to the hotel for our last night together. We did our teeth, climbed into our pyjamas, and got ready to settle in for the night. The Sydney Olympics were on. During an ad break, I happened to looked down and catch a glimpse of Dash’s toenails. They were curling all the way over the end of his toes and must have made it uncomfortable for him to walk. Dash didn’t care how he looked, dressed, spoke, thought, or acted and it broke my heart because he wasn’t normal any more. He had been made abnormal. He was at rock bottom, with no energy left to decide whether he was going to try and climb out again or just stay there and slowly disappear. I brushed Dash’s cheek, then got up, took my nail clippers from my toiletry bag, held my son’s feet gently in my hands, and without a word from either of us I cut his long nails.
An hour passed. I was engrossed in the Olympics when Dash said, “Pam, Pam! Look at me.” He was lying on his bed, playing with his nipple, looking at me seductively. Oh, my God. “Look at my nipple, do you see, Pam? I remember how you breast-fed me as a baby.” He made grotesque sexual gestures with his mouth and rubbed his nipples.
“Dash, stop it. You’re being disgusting.” I was horrified. I’d never seen this before. How damaged is this boy? How can he bear it? Dash smiled, stopped, and went back to watching the TV.
Half an hour later he rolled over onto his stomach and thrust his pelvis into the bed, groaning and moaning. “Mmm, that feels good,” he said. “Does that feel good?”
“Dash, stop it now. You’re acting repulsively. I’m your mother, and I don’t want you to do that in front of me.”
He began taunting me, chanting “Pamela, Pamela.” Dash always found more and more shocking ways to express his pain, and in that moment, trying to remain calm, I swore to never forgive Peter for the damage he had inflicted on our child. After twelve years of slowly absorbing his father’s names for me — slut, whore, bitch, fucking asshole — this was only logical. Just how bizarre would it become? Peter would say three weeks later in an affidavit, “Dash is an entirely healthy child.… He is very, very healthy, emotionally, mentally and physically.” Dash eventually got bored and stopped. Everything was calm. At midnight, completely drained, I told Dash it was time for us to get some sleep. I curled up in my bed, turned off the light, and, with the room in a weird kind of silence, fell asleep.
At seven o’clock the next morning there were three knocks at the door and my heart stopped. I had already been up for half an hour. I had dressed in a cold sweat and sat in a chair staring at the door, expecting them. I knew they would be on time. I had done what Rick Brennan and the Ascent staff had recommended and had arranged the means by which the vast majority of Ascent’s troubled teens get there. I had hired two personal escorts to take Dash from our hotel in Seattle to the wilderness camp in Idaho. I opened the door and saw two well-groomed men in their mid-30s standing in the hall. I went out and closed the door behind me to talk through the details of the day. Dash slept on. The escorts were gentle and soft-spoken, and I was immediately calmed by their professional manner and their obvious care. They wanted to know all about what sort of a child they were dealing with, and I told them, then breathed deeply and wrung out my hands. This is it. We just have to do it now. I went into the room, sat on the bed and gently shook Dash.
“Dash, I want you to wake up. I know it’s early and you haven’t had much sleep, but this is important. I don’t want you to be afraid. Terry and Brian are going to take you to a wilderness program in Idaho. It’s a six-week program and it’s going to help you.”
Dash’s face filled with rage. “That ain’t going to happen, Pam.” His voice was like ice.
“It’s time for you to get dressed, now, Sweetheart,” I said firmly. He needed to know this was serious.
He rolled over languidly in bed. “You’re cut.”
Brian spoke. He was gentle but direct. He had seen this movie many times before.
“Dashiell, we would like you to get dressed, but we can dress you if you prefer.”
Dash paused, then said aggressively, “I can do it.” He ripped back the covers, pulled on his jeans and sweatshirt, and faced me. “I’m going to call my dad.” It was his lifelong fallback position.
“Your dad knows all about the program, Dash,” I said. “He thinks it will be good for you, too.”
Dash sat down as if winded. “This is your last chance, Pam.” “Dash, it’s a wonderful program. It’s in the country. You’ll be looked after there. You’ll start to feel good again. Dash. You need something. It’s only six weeks.”
“I’m not going back to Glen Eden afterward,” he spat. I was encouraged. On some level he was willing to do the six weeks and then figure out what would come afterward — as long as it wasn’t Glen Eden.
“I understand, Dash,” I said and I meant it. As much as Glen Eden had the staff and the program that Dash needed, it had also made him feel even more different and outcast than before. It hadn’t worked. He needed Cascade, and I had just destroyed my relationship with him to give it to him. “I agree with you. Glen Eden’s out. Now, Dash — Brian and Terry are going to make sure you get to Idaho safely, so don’t be afraid.”
Dash was calm. “I’m not afraid, Pam. I’m mad.”
My mouth was too dry to swallow. No one spoke. I watched Dash for a long minute. His eyes were wet, and I knew he was frightened, despite his words. Please forgive me for this, Dash. Nothing I ever do in my life will be harder than this. He stalled for time, drank the glass of water by the bed, watchfully calm.
“Dash, this is how it’s going to go,” said Brian. “You can be taken with us one of two ways. You can go without cuffs — but I will hold the back of your pants as we go through the hotel lobby. I promise I won’t give you a wedgie. Or you can be cuffed.”
Dash listened, staring at the bedspread. Dash would later write an affidavit saying, “The men grabbed me and pushed me violently against the wall and forced manacles on my wrists. I continued to resist as best I could, but they were too strong. I was crying and protesting throughout, but anything I said or did to resist was ignored.”
“If you go cuffed, then you have to stay cuffed until you get to Ascent.”
Dash was quiet. “I want to go in cuffs.” A heartbreaking piece of bravado.
I leaned toward Brian and said softly, “I don’t think he needs to go in cuffs, Brian,” and at that moment Dash sprang into life. He slapped me across the face. “Slut!” I turned away, shocked. By the time I turned back the three of them had left. I had heard the click of the handcuffs and the door gently closing, but I hadn’t even seen them leave. Now my son was gone.
I sat on the bed and the burden of twelve years poured out of me. They became tears of relief. For the first time in all those years I believed that Dash was going to be safe. I wiped my face and got up. I had work to do. I had to get home. I had to make sure Peter was still on board. Rick Brennan was to have called Peter and told him everything the day before, as I was crossing the border into the United States. Peter hadn’t called my cell that night, mercifully, and neither Dave nor Rick had called to report any problems. I looked at my watch. It was half past seven and Rick would have arrived at Glen Eden. I dialled the school. “Hi, Rick. It’s Pam. How did Peter react yesterday when you told him what was happening?”
“He was really positive about it, Pamela. He said Ascent sounded like a great idea and he wished he was going to something like that himself.”
Dash and the escorts boarded a plane at SeaTac airport, south of Seattle, and flew to Idaho. They drove north into the wilderness for an hour, and Dash was at the camp by lunchtime. Brian called me as soon as they had handed Dash off to the administrators. Dash hadn’t resisted and he hadn’t been any trouble. He had sat quietly through the flight, and on the drive through Idaho Dash had been calm. Stubborn, but calm. With that, I knew he would commit
to the Ascent program. Dash could do it.
Chapter 8
Sabotage
Something was going to come undone. The air was thick with it. I had left the phone number of the Seattle hotel at my home with instructions to give it to Peter if he called asking for it, and I left my cell phone on all day and night in case he called. It stayed silent that entire day in Seattle, that whole night, the whole morning after Dash had been escorted to Idaho and the better part of the afternoon as I drove back to Vancouver alone. Finally, as I was picking up Colby and Quinten from school, Peter called.
“Where’s Dash?”
“Peter, what did you just say?” I asked. I thought he was joking. My heart had started pounding.
“Where is he?”
Think quick, stay calm. Dr. Brennan had told Peter everything while Dash was still with me in Seattle. He’d had nearly twenty-four hours to call. “Dr. Brennan spoke to you yesterday, Peter. Dash is now in Idaho, at Ascent, the wilderness program.”
“Brennan said that it was just something to think about, not that it had actually happened,” he said, a hint of menace in his voice.
“Rick wouldn’t have told you that, Peter. Dash is there now.”
“Did he go willingly?”
“No, he didn’t. He was escorted by the people Ascent recommended. They came this morning.” Silence. “Peter, he’s there. Glen Eden wasn’t working, you know that. He needs this.”
“What’s the name of this place?”
“It’s Ascent, in Idaho. It’s a six-week wilderness program. Peter, you know all of this.”
“I know nothing about this, Pamela.”
A familiar, cold feeling came over me: Peter is going to do something. “Look, I’m at the school picking up Colby and Quinten, but I’ll call you later and answer your questions, okay?” I said.
I spoke to Dr. Brennan about it as soon as I got home, and he confirmed that he had walked Peter through the program step-by-step the day before and told him of the plan to escort Dash there. Brennan had faxed Peter the entire Ascent guide, which explained the program in minute detail and included maps and other information that Peter could follow up if he wished. He didn’t know what to make of Peter’s stance either. I left a message for Peter that night, but he didn’t call me back. He never called me back.
The next morning Rick, Peter, and I were to meet at Glen Eden to further discuss the Ascent program and begin the delicate process of convincing Peter how desperately Dash needed to continue on to Cascade. I arrived with three lattes and waited with Rick for Peter to arrive. He never did.
Meanwhile Dash settled in. Orientation week at Ascent had just passed, and he was getting to know his counsellors and peer group. At first, the counsellors reported, Dash had trouble focusing, applied “little effort,” had a bad work ethic (“although he would have you believe he was giving 100 percent”), challenged staff members’ boundaries, and remained oblivious to the inappropriateness of his behaviour. But once he saw that the counsellors were serious — that they wouldn’t offer him back doors or cower at his challenges — Dash had got serious, too. He began to complete daily chores and writing activities, and he even began to participate meaningfully in the talk sessions.
It is important to the work they do at Ascent that the child’s parents are on the same page — they have to agree that the child needs to be there and then let Ascent do their work. Cascade had the same requirements. The parents need to commit just as much as the child, because they all have to work together toward healing. I was given the same instructions to follow and was sent the same information booklet that Peter received from Dr. Brennan — an extensive guide that walked us through every day of the program, what was happening to Dash, what he was learning, and what was expected. At no time did we not know exactly what Dash was experiencing at Ascent, and the regular contact with the counsellors reinforced this. I referred to the guidebook every morning to see what I was required to do, as a parent, to support Dash that day. Although the parents can speak to the counsellors directly, communication with their children is only permitted by letter, which is a safer method of communication than face-to-face visits or phone calls. Scheduled letter-writing times are crucial to the program.
Because most of the children at Ascent are not told they are going there until they arrive (and many are escorted as Dash had been), an important part of Dash’s orientation week was dealing with my deception in Seattle. Dash’s Ascent counsellor, Lana Galbraith, told me to write Dash a letter, explaining why I had done it, why I was worried about him, and why I believed he needed to be at Ascent. I knew from my research that children entering these types of therapy programs typically feel frightened and angry and view the intervention as a form of punishment. With that in mind, I dutifully faxed off a letter.
Dear Dash,
I am so sorry I had to deceive you in Seattle. I know you trusted me, and that had taken a long time to rebuild. There I was, destroying the trust of a son I love so very dearly. This is a chance I had to take, Dash. Sending you somewhere you don’t think you need to go was a hard thing for me to do. Yes, I could lose you through this, but I would deal with that. I can’t let you lose you. I would risk our relationship to see you mature into a person who can really make the best of his potential, someone who can enjoy life and make good decisions for himself, have positive relationships and a strong sense of who they are. Ascent is the start of all that and more, I really believe that.
Since early this year you have been in the Glen Eden outreach program because the public school system wasn’t working, but outreach isn’t working either. I am concerned about how withdrawn you have become. Yes, you have friends, but they’re all in school. You can’t get up in the morning for your tutor or for your dad. You haven’t completed Grade Ten. You’re bright, you can easily do the work, but still it doesn’t happen. Not much does. We used to play golf together, shop, ski. Now you do nothing. It worries me terribly, Dash. I’m concerned about your inability to sleep. Remember the night in Seattle when you wanted to “chill” in the lobby at 2:30 in the morning?
Dash, you will be in Ascent for as long as it takes to complete the program. I want you to know that you have my full support and as always you have my unconditional love.
It’s time for some positive changes.
All my love, and more,
Mom
The counsellors encouraged Dash to write back to me and “let it all hang out.” That first letter was extremely important. It was an opportunity for Dash to express his frustration, fear, and anger at being at Ascent. Parents are told to be prepared for anything, as the children are typically in shock, and their mail is not censored. (Though the counsellors do ask that letters be rewritten if they contain obscenities or obvious untruths.) Lana Galbraith told me that Dash had written a vitriolic attack, marched up to her and asked her to fax it to me. Lana read Dash’s letter and said, “Okay, I’m going to fax this now, Dash, so are you sure you want me to send it?” and Dash’s bravado had given way. He hesitated and took the letter back. Some time later Dash gave Lana another letter for me. It was just a shade less stinging than the first one, and she asked the same thing. “Are you sure you want me to send this?” Dash hesitated again. “No,” he said quietly. He never produced another letter for me.
By the second week, the children had already started opening up to each other in guided group sessions, where they listened to each other’s stories and began to offer feedback. Lana had told me that these sessions would be crucial to Dash moving forward and that his best critics and advisers at Ascent would be his peers. Two counsellors monitored and facilitated the sessions, and during one of them something remarkable happened: Dash took the floor and began talking about his life, something unheard of for him. He still blamed me for all his problems. He said “Right now, I’m mad at her.” He said I had sent him to Ascent “in cuffs.” He said I had caused the “court battles”; his dad was wonderful, theirs was “the best relationship anyone c
ould have.” He said his home life was “perfect.” But the other children saw right through him. They challenged him. One child said, “If your life at home is so perfect, why aren’t you in school?” Others agreed. Dash could only look at them blankly. And a breakthrough occurred. Right there in front of Lana and his circle of peers, Dash let down his twelve-year guard and started to cry. He talked. He cried. He talked some more. He relived the entire “custody battle” from his earliest memories to the most recent.
“You’re not going to believe this,” is the way Lana began her conversation with me later. “The emotion was incredible,” she said. Knowing his history, she had sat speechless, just listening to him. This was the boy about whom his Grade Seven teacher, Donna Andrews, had said, “I don’t know anything about his home life. He never speaks about his father. He never speaks about his mother.” Parents in the community who knew Dash had told me the same thing. He had never talked to anyone about his life. There was something about being at Ascent — the support, the care, the distance from his father and from me, the safety, that let Dash talk, cry, and remember. This is the boy who couldn’t remember anything in court, but that day remembered everything. It spilled out without cease for two hours. His words might still have been of hate, blame, and his mother’s treachery, but at least they were finally being released from that boy’s body. Lana wasn’t fooled either — her many conversations with Peter had revealed a striking resemblance to Dash’s version of events: denial, blame, and the untrustworthiness and treachery of others (particularly me). Lana recognized the deep pathology that existed between the two of them. She knew Dash had a long way to go to begin healing, but his opening up — in front of near-strangers — was huge.
A Kidnapped Mind Page 27