When Alain finally left, he seemed lighter, more hopeful. Little did they know the tragedy and the joy that would unfold as together they peeled back the layers of the past.
Chapter 35: Alain
Dreams: A window opens. The breeze flows in to rest upon my shoulder. A brief moment as it whispers words of life into my ear.
Hope: A door closes. But shafts of light sift through the crack underneath it. Not all is dark.
Fear: A dark closet. Filled with imaginings. Concocted monsters that are not there but within the mind, waiting for us to believe in them and give them power.
Hate: A cloaked dagger, concealed as protection but a weapon that wounds all that it sees.
Love: A beacon of life from within, no switch pulled can extinguish its glow. No monster can tear it from the soul. It is a truth that waits for us all to discover.
Alain was lying on the warm sand, its fine grains cupping around his body as though held by a silky giant hand. Lake Ogeechee was moving but gentle, the sound of the waves like the rocking of a chair, back and forth, soothing and comforting.
Behind him, he could see May sitting on the branch of their tree, watching over him. Her face was alight with love. She persuaded him to lie still, to enter further, to go with courage. He felt the heat of her smile. The breeze was gentle, its touch feathery as it caressed the frown etching his forehead, erasing the fear, injecting audacity and encouragement. He let himself go.
Elements around and within me cry out in observation. My eyes are opening to a brand new world where I can see myself more clearly than I have since the fog first lifted. Clarity calls out my name in ecstasy as she enwraps another searching heart in her warm embrace. My footsteps linger in the air as my path rises and dips before me in such a way as to challenge my heart and spur me on toward life and my own evolution.
Joy clots my heart, even in times of bloodshed and pain. For no matter all that occurs, I see my goal before me like a star shining in remembrance of the truths that lie but a choice away. A ripple in time is all we have. Now. Here. How shall we make the best of it? Who will we let ourselves be when the time comes to prove ourselves to ourselves?
So much lies in wait and at the ready for our hearts and souls if we simply see the seeds of the tree, smells the scent of the rosebuds blooming within the moment of our living. There is more to life than the shackles that adorn our necks, for we are the fire that forged them and the hammer that shall break their unsubstantiated forms.
We begin to rise to the stars once we realize that we are already there.
The boy stood by the pond. His shoulders shook as he held one end of a plastic tablecloth. Tears streamed down his face but he was silent in his grief.
The tall man at the other end pulled open the cover and the little body tumbled out. Plop, into the water, pulled down by the bricks tied to its midsection, it floated for a few seconds.
To the boy, she looked as though she were swimming, reaching, begging him to save her. He wanted to jump into the cold depths, but he could not move.
Then very quickly, she was gone. The scum closed over her. The ripples reached the shore and disappeared.
Suddenly he was back in his bedroom, his sister beside him. A terrible smell, a thick, choking stench, came from somewhere in the house. Heart hammering with fear, he tightened his grip on his sister's hand as they silently approached the hallway. Their feet and legs were bare and cold on the wooden floor.
Silhouetted by the moonlight, their parents, straight backed and staring, sat in the darkness of the kitchen. They did not see the children lingering in the doorway. Their eyes were locked on a figure in the distance.
Through a mist of putrid smoke, the boy could see the outline of someone tall and looming, someone with a long black cylinder in his arms.
No one moved or spoke. The clock ticked nervously. A flash of light and a burst of sound made them jump. The first bullet ripped into the woman's head, knocking the chair over backwards.
The boy stared numbly at the mass of blood and tissue that used to be his mother.
The second explosion hit the preacher as he loomed out of his chair. It caught him in the stomach and splattered intestines against the kitchen wall. Blood rushed into the man's eyes as he crumpled across the table.
By now the smoke was moving toward them, covering their eyes, hiding the destruction. They heard an explosion from somewhere behind the kitchen and the roof began to clatter around them. Planks of wood hammered to the floor.
The boy leaned over his sister, who was frozen in place, silent.
"Run," he yelled at her.
She awakened to action, turned and raced toward the front door, her thin little legs pumping up and down with terror, yet she kept looking back, her eyes black with fear.
He meant to follow her, but something stopped him. Something heavy crashed over his head, stopped his legs in midflight, flung him to the floor.
His sister turned at the sound. She looked like she was floating. He began to crawl toward her. Suddenly something broke, spitting and exploding behind them. The sound was deafening. Thick black smoke filled his nose, clogged his throat. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see her.
The next moment, a pair of strong arms lifted him. He was swung toward the front door, where he felt the jarring cold of the night air. She was beside him, dangling in the same saving embrace. He realized their big brother was carrying them to safety. He sobbed with relief, even as the house lit up, licked orange and red and blue with flames and smoke.
Someone else was suddenly there, carrying him into the field beyond. Big Brother laid their sister tenderly on the ground and disappeared.
Surrounded by tall, ragged stalks of corn, a black stream of smoke drifting above their heads, the boy clutched her small body to his side, holding her as she trembled and cried.
A short time later he gave in to the pain. He entered the darkness.
Alain opened his eyes. He realized that he was sobbing.
Doc Murphy was there, lifting Alain's head gently so he wouldn't choke on his tears.
May, her face flushed with sadness, knelt beside the sofa, her fingers entwined with his. She helped him sit up.
They were silent as Alain gratefully sipped warm tea, clutching the cup as though infusing its heat into his body.
He felt weak, shaken, as if he had run a long distance or been through a severe illness. Slowly the strength came back to his arms, his legs. His mind began to scramble toward the present.
"Are you ready to talk about it?" Doc Murphy asked.
Alain nodded his head but said nothing, still sipping on the tea as if it were an oxygen line.
Doc began to lecture for a while, giving Alain time to adjust. May sat beside her husband, touching her shoulder to his, listening intently. Alain's muscles trembled as though awakening from a long period of disuse or injury.
"Lots of health professionals are cautious about using hypnosis to release repressed memories," the physician said. "We have to remember that everything we learn here needs to be researched, to see if it can be borne out in fact. I believe it will be helpful in your case. With luck, it will point Jacob in the right direction. Some patients don't remember what they've said, but before we start telling you what we heard, Alain, I want you to think carefully about what you just experienced."
"Hypnosis actually puts you in a hyper-attentive state. It allows you to access your subconscious mind without all the distractions of your environment and other thought processes. The subconscious is where all your memories are stored, including the ones that you have banished from your consciousness. I'm hoping that uncovering these repressed memories will help us resolve your problems."
He was at the end of his mini lecture. The tap of leaves strewn about by a fierce wind against the window began to fill the silence. The dry dust of a post winter drought sprayed against the glass. Within the warmth of the doctor's office, the three people listened to the rhythmic sounds and allowed a secure, s
afe feeling to permeate.
The speech had its effect. Alain recognized his mission, knew that he must rise to meet the path no matter where it would lead him. He realized that he could do so because May would always be next to him. Even in his subconscious, she had been there.
"I remember a young boy," Alain finally said, clearing his throat and meeting his wife's eyes with determination. "I guess it's me."
He smiled and put the cup down on the table in front of him. "I can also see my sister. She's so pretty, so little and frail. And I think…I know she's here in Burchill."
Chapter 36: Doro
"Let's finish this, then." Cynthia looked over at her husband. "Nic, will you please make us some coffee and slice up that dessert for all of us? I'm going to do a quick clean up while you do that. Doro, do you want to freshen up before we begin again?"
"Yes, thanks, unless I can help…"
"Absolutely not. I have my methods and besides, I wish to speak with Nicolas."
She didn't sound angry with her husband, really, but there was a suggestion of "We've got to talk" in her voice.
Doro went up to the guest room and got out her cell phone. When she heard his voice, she began to weep. Before she descended the stairs again, she had told him everything.
The two women walked side by side down the hallway toward the den of history, Cynthia with her arm still lightly around Doro's shoulders. The touch gave her strength.
By the time they were re-seated in the den, the young woman was again straight shouldered and dry eyed, ready for the remaining revelations. She too had always secretly believed in fate, despite lots of evidence to the contrary. Right now she was grateful to whatever gods had sent Cynthia into her life.
"Let's look at the inquest information first," the historian suggested. "Now that Nic has surprised us with the story about Sam's boy, we can put everything into context. Then you can tell me what you remember, if you wish. That way, we should have a very clear picture. Probably better than what the inquest had."
She pulled out a stack of papers. "I have a copy of the transcript," she said, smiling sheepishly. "I told you I was resourceful—and obsessed. It was a public inquest, so it wasn't too difficult to obtain. There is probably too much information here, so I would suggest that we read the summary at the end. We can go back over anything that you want to know in detail."
She shuffled the stack of papers and showed Doro.
"Here is the list of witnesses. You'll probably want to read the testimony from Ken Patterson, who called in the fire, and the local fire chief at the time, Jean Fournier. The coroner, Dr. Marc André, is informative and so is the report of a woman from the Children's Aid, Mary Douay."
Doro was jolted a little with recognition at the fire chief's name, but she said nothing. She wanted to wait until she had put all the pieces of the puzzle into place.
Ken Patterson related his story to the inquest jury in basic terms. He reported seeing a tall, ash-covered boy who waved and screamed that the farmhouse up ahead was on fire. He stated that he knew the only farm in that particular area belonged to Robert Janot, so he drove quickly to his home and called the emergency services to proceed there.
When questioned, he said he presumed the boy was Elias Janot, as he was around the same age and height. The farmer did not have a good look because of the predawn light and the fact that the young man was covered in soot. No, he did not think of taking the boy away with him because as soon as the message was delivered, the young man disappeared.
Fire Chief Jean Fournier went over the evidence of arson for the jury. Gasoline was the origin of the fire, which spread rapidly up the stairs. Eventually it travelled into the basement, where the stored propane tanks exploded. The fire became hotter and raged ever more fiercely as it devoured the house. The second floor collapsed first, pushing the first floor into the basement. Then the roof plummeted down on top. The fire obliterated almost everything in the house, the chief reported.
Doro stopped reading for a moment. "I can always smell it in my dreams," she said, wonderingly. "It's as though the fire burned its way into my skin. It smells so awful that it's hard to describe."
Cynthia waited a beat before they continued. Both women, in silent agreement, skipped over the description of the remains. The jury was shown pictures, which were described on these pages in detail.
The body of Elias Janot was discovered first, in the hallway. Most of the second floor and roof had caved in toward the middle, so the front areas had been more accessible to the searchers. Dental records were used to firmly identify the boy.
The two adults were found somewhere near the middle of the house. Buried under an enormous amount of debris, burned beyond recognition, the bodies were, in the chief's words, "in several pieces with the force of wooden beams and other debris crashing down on them." Although members of the community reported another child living in the house, no other body parts or skeletal remains were found.
"However," Chief Fournier stated, "if the child was tiny, the remains may have been obliterated in the explosion of the propane tanks or even crushed so completely that we were unable to find them."
Poor little baby, Doro thought. Lived in obscurity, died in obscurity.
"The deceased adults were likely in the kitchen when the fire began," the Chief reported. "Although at first we surmised that they might have been in one of the bedrooms above, we deduced from the amount of debris on top of the bodies that they were probably on the first floor. In addition, you can see from the coroner's report that they were both fully dressed and therefore not likely to have been in bed."
The coroner's report was next. Both women prepared themselves mentally and emotionally. Cynthia placed her hand, reassuring and motherly, on Doro's shoulder. Once again, they strayed away from the clinical descriptions of the terrible destruction the fire inflicted on the bodies. Instead, Cynthia led them to the section about Robert Janot and Cécile Meloche.
"The two adults were deceased before the fire began, though only by a short time," Dr. Marc André asserted. "During the autopsy, it was discovered that the male died from a gunshot wound to the midsection, while the female was killed with a bullet in the head. Clothing was mostly burned away, but often bits of the material become embedded in the skeleton, which did occur in this instance. I therefore concluded that they were fully clothed. In addition, it appeared from the attitude of their bodies that they died in a position other than prone. I was able to estimate that the time of their deaths would have been between eighteen hundred hours and midnight, several hours before the fire was reported, but very shortly after the fire began. Dental records proved that they were Robert Janot and Cécile Meloche Janot."
The same questions that now swirled around in Doro's mind were crowded into the report but left largely unanswered. Who had killed Robert and Cécile? Where were the children when their parents died? Who started the fire? How had Elias rescued his brother and sister? Why did he go back into the house?
Dr. André's credentials indicated that in addition to being the chief coroner, he was the medical doctor for the area. He reported on the conditions of the two survivors.
"The youngest child, a female, was largely unharmed, although she was treated in the hospital for smoke inhalation. The male survivor, however, was in critical condition and his recovery continues to be precarious. He suffered a severe head injury, the cause of which is unexplained. One theory is that he became pinned under a heavy beam from the falling house. His head was split open and the brain exposed."
"Even if the boy does recover from his injuries, it is highly likely that brain damage will have occurred that may be permanent. He remains in a coma and unable to tell us anything that happened. The little girl has suffered amnesia from the shock. At this stage, she is unable to say anything other than, 'my brother saved me.' It is unclear whether the brother she mentions was the older or younger sibling. She speaks only French and her vocabulary is extremely limited. She may be suffering fro
m shock, or she may have limited faculties."
The Children's Aid Society worker's report was brief and to the point. The female child, Dorothée Janot, was relinquished to the care of her mother's cousin, the only relative to come forward.
Cynthia began to read the jury's conclusions aloud, so Doro tuned in. "The deaths of the parents, identified as Robert Janot and Cécile Meloche Janot, are declared to be homicide. The fire caused the death of Elias Janot, but since arson was involved, this death is also deemed to be homicide. Based on the evidence gathered herein, there are no proposals from Chief Superintendent Duplessis of the Ontario Provincial Police, at this time, to charge any individual, alive or dead, with the fire or the murders. The Ontario Provincial Police have decided to keep the case open as unsolved until or unless further evidence is discovered."
There were some recommendations about installing smoke alarms. In homes that used propane, the removal of tanks to a safe distance from the house. Closer tracking of families whose children were home-schooled. A long list of recommendations that Doro knew had been slowly adopted and whose advancements had saved many lives. But she was still overwhelmed by the enormity of what happened to her original family and by the questions that remained.
Chapter 37: Emily
Somehow he seemed taller than he did when he stood that morning in my office. Perhaps the normal stoop that he affected explained the difference in height. Perhaps it was the utterly confident look that made him stand straight shouldered and head high. Self-assurance shone from his face, in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth.
He was a very attractive boy. The red of his hair was not garish, but subtle and soft. The blue of his eyes was like a night sky, the depths dark and swirling. A smattering of light-brown freckles over his nose added to a sense of endearing, innocent charm.
But the appeal disappeared when I really looked into the abyss of his eyes. He was smiling and delighted when I jumped. It was clear that he had achieved his goal of startling me. Though he did not allow it to gurgle to the surface, he was laughing at me from somewhere deep inside.
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