“Do you think this could be dangerous, though?”
“Not at the moment…” I told him what I’d also told Mary, that Aaron wouldn’t want to draw negative attention. But while I spoke, I thought again about the green truck, the feeling of being watched, and wondered if Aaron did have someone keeping an eye on me. I decided to keep that possibility to myself.
When I was finished speaking, Kevin nodded in agreement. “Yes, that makes sense.” He paused, thinking as he chewed a bite of his sandwich, his eyes narrowed. “The members I met from the center seemed decent—I’m sure they have no idea about Aaron’s sexual abuse or his brother’s history of violence.”
“That’s my thought too, that there’s the center—and then there’s Aaron.”
He nodded again. “Still, it might be a good idea to be careful who you talk to and what you say.”
He was right. I needed to be more careful, especially if Aaron was watching me, but I couldn’t stop now, not when I was finally getting somewhere.
“I will. Thanks.”
We talked for a while about a program he was starting for young men who have lost their jobs, something he connected with because of his own experience as a youth, and how he found relating to them to be the first step in gaining their trust. We also spoke about my patient, Brandon. I found his project interesting and a good diversion from thinking about the commune. We’d been talking for so long that I was startled when I glanced at my watch and realized my lunch hour was over, a thought that was followed with disappointment.
“Shoot. I should get back to work.” I stood up, grabbed my empty tray with one hand. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
Kevin also looked disappointed, which made me happy for some inexplicable reason. He said, “Sure. If you ever need an ear—you know where to find me.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
I had walked all the way to the elevator and was starting up to the first floor before I remembered my next appointment was on the ground level.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After work, I went home to grab a quick bite to eat, forcing myself through the motions, my stomach muscles tight with the idea of talking to another woman who shared my experience. Tammy lived in Fernwood, an older neighborhood near downtown, and not very far from my place. When I knocked on the back door of her lemon-colored Victorian house, I noticed that most of the paint was peeling, and they were in the process of fixing up the back deck. An older car sat in the driveway with two flat tires. Tammy opened the door, a smiling blond baby boy on her hip. She was a sweet-looking woman: round-faced, no makeup, brown hair pulled back into a scattered ponytail, and a fine dusting of freckles that gave her a youthful look. But she was probably in her mid-thirties, judging by the lines at the corners of her eyes.
She said, “Come in. House is a mess, though.”
“That’s perfectly fine.”
I walked into the kitchen, carefully taking my shoes off, and said, “Your home’s gorgeous.”
She turned around from the coffeepot, her face pinking with pleasure. “Thanks. It’s going to take a long time to get it where we want it, but you know.” She shrugged. “Babies take priority.”
“It looks like you’ve done a lot of work already. I love the treatment on the cupboards.”
“Thanks.” She smiled as she glanced at them. “I did that myself.”
She’d done a nice job. I imagined her carefully painting each cabinet, screwing on the glass doorknobs, making a home for her family. I felt a twinge, remembering that when I was pregnant with Lisa and close to my due date my nesting instinct had been so strong, I’d made Paul repaint most of the house, something he did with a smile, even while cursing my hormones.
Tammy put her baby in a playpen in the corner, poured us each a coffee, and sat across from me. She studied my face, hers intent, with her body leaning forward—a good sign. She was open to talking.
She said, “So you lived at the commune too?”
I nodded. “Yes, back in the late sixties, when they were in Shawnigan Lake. I was hoping you could tell me about your experience. You have a sister?”
She gnawed at her lips and glanced at the door. I followed her gaze. “Does your sister live with you?” Maybe she was expecting her home.
“No. She went back to the commune.”
I stared at her in surprise. I hadn’t anticipated that.
She said, “I didn’t tell the cop because I didn’t want him to try to contact her in there and get her upset at me. She doesn’t call anymore because she knows I want her to leave.”
“Why do you want her to leave?”
Now she sat back in her chair a little, putting some distance between us. Hands tight around the mug as she eyed me, suspicious.
I said, “Is it Aaron you’re concerned about?”
She said, “He’s important, like in the community and stuff, not just at the center. People really like him.”
Testing me, seeing how I feel about Aaron.
“Some people do, yes, but I’m not one of them.”
Again she gnawed on her lip, looked around, and hunched her shoulders like she was trying to pull in on herself. “He’s not what people think.”
“No, he’s not. You’re right.” I was relieved to talk to someone else who saw Aaron for what he truly was—a fraud. I took a breath, let it out slowly. I hadn’t realized how alone I’d felt in my thoughts, and in my fears.
“We were only there because of our parents—that’s why Nicole went back. They wouldn’t leave, and she missed them.” Before I could inquire further, she said, “As long as I’m out here, they won’t have anything to do with me.” She looked at her child, playing in the crib. “They’ve never met Dillon.”
“I imagine that’s been very hard for you.”
She sighed and turned back to me. “My husband, he knows about my time in there. But he doesn’t like to talk about it. He and Dillon are my family now.” I wondered at that, if those were his words or hers, wondered what kind of husband wouldn’t let his wife talk about something that was so obviously important.
“When did your family join the commune?”
“Nicole was ten, and I was twelve. Our younger brother died of leukemia, and our parents joined a support group. There was another woman there, Joy, she’d also lost a son, and she told them about a retreat she’d gone to that helped.”
Joy. I remembered her well. I wondered if her child really had died or if her story had just been a ruse to connect with new recruits.
I said, “Does Aaron get many members from support groups?”
“I guess so—a lot of them have lost family. We also get street kids and drug addicts. Aaron doesn’t charge them. He just picks a few each year to come live at the commune, people he says need our help the most.”
Fear made my back stiffen in my chair. Would he find Lisa? I forced myself to relax. Lisa wouldn’t go near a spiritual center.
Tammy was still talking. “He says most people’s problems come from a fear of death, that’s what causes anxiety, depression, drug addiction, and all that. He said that if everyone understood what a beautiful place they’d go to when they died, they’d live better lives down here.”
Unless they had the bad luck to meet Aaron.
I said, “The commune seems to have expanded into other countries.” I didn’t want to tell her how much I knew from my online research, preferring to hear it from her. “When did that happen?”
“Aaron said that we needed to reach more people. More bad stuff was happening to the earth, and we needed to help. He picked members and sent them around the world to start new communes. He always knew who was the most committed to their practice, or if anyone said anything against the commune.”
“Do you know how he might’ve been able to do that?” I had my suspicions, but I wanted to see what she thought.
“There are cameras in every room—even the bathrooms.” I flashed to Heather’s reaction to the ca
meras at the hospital, now understanding. “He says it’s so we let go of our inhibitions. Some of the members knew spots on the grounds, or in buildings, where they could talk in private, but he still found out what they’d said. He said he could read their energies, but I think he just had spies.”
He probably did. I remembered Aaron’s uncanny way of always knowing who was wavering or spreading doubt. That person would be singled out by Aaron in the next cleansing ceremony, forced to confess, then ignored for a few days. A couple of days later another member would be given special privileges.
She said, “If someone was talking about leaving, he’d be really upset.”
“Upset how?” My mind filled again with the image of Joseph kicking that man on the ground, the machete coming down while Mary struggled.
“He’d take the member into his office, meditating with them and talking to them for hours and hours, until they’d agree to stay. He’d also have other members talk to them—sometimes people could be really mean. They used a lot of guilt, like saying that you wouldn’t get to see the people you love on the other side after you die. If a member ever did leave, they’d call them nonstop.”
“What happens to members if they break a rule?”
“Usually we just weren’t allowed to talk to people, even if they were standing right beside you. Or they had to get an adjustment.”
“What’s an adjustment?”
“Sometimes it was just talking with Aaron, but if he didn’t think you were getting the message, you had to go for a full adjustment. They had these electrical things that sent currents through your brain and cleared you out. They said it’s like you get cysts, where energy gets trapped in your cells, and it disrupts your health and your thinking, so you have to break it up, then release it.”
It sounded like he was experimenting with some sort of biofeedback or brain-wave system.
Tammy said, “That wasn’t so bad, but then it got worse.” She looked over at her son. “He started putting people underground.”
At first I thought I’d heard wrong. “I’m sorry, did you say—”
“He has isolation chambers built under the center. He doesn’t let you out until you’ve surrendered to your fears and let go of your past.”
My body stiffened, horror at her words, and something else, an uncomfortable feeling that I wanted to escape from, but I didn’t know what was causing the unease. I took a breath, stayed in the present. “Doesn’t anyone refuse?” I knew how closed off cults could become, how over time members could, and did, tolerate numerous abuses at the hands of their leaders, but I was still surprised so many people went along with Aaron’s crazy ideas.
“People said that the adjustment really helped them—and they did seem happier after. Some people would pay so they could go through it again. They have a special area in the basement called the Adjustment Room.”
“What about the other chambers? Where are they?”
“In the basement too, but I never saw one. Only the senior members and the office staff can go there without permission. Everyone else has to wait for Aaron to decide if they’re ready. It’s a privilege to enter the Isolation Chambers.”
“I thought it was punishment?”
“It was at first, but then a couple of the members who’d gone through it said they left their body and had visions, like of their spirit selves and stuff.”
It sounded to me like they were having autoscopic hallucinations. “How long did he keep them down there?”
“Sometimes for days. And they weren’t allowed food or anything.”
Which would explain their visions, but he must be able to get air to them somehow.
Tammy said, “Now people beg to go down. He uses it as a reward—but he says that he’s the only one who can communicate with the other side. What everyone else sees is just a window, but he can open the door.”
I shook my head, stunned at how far Aaron’s mind control had spread, wondered if it had increased in other ways. “Does he still hold Satsang?”
“Yeah. Every week he has new chanting sequences and we had to memorize them. He also makes video podcasts, for when he’s away. We weren’t allowed personal computers—there are just the ones that the office staff uses to run things. So they’d play them for us on a big screen in the meditation room.”
“I heard that they also have a store?”
She nodded. “Near downtown. They sell organic food, books, CDs, and jewelry. That’s where people can also sign up for retreats. Sometimes they give out food. That’s how we meet a lot of homeless people and street kids.”
Tammy was warming up, looking visibly relieved to be sharing her experience. “He doesn’t do many personal vibrational-healing meditations anymore, only for people he has a vision about. But there are speakers in the rooms, so he can talk to us. Sometimes he’d come to the kids’ school and lead us in chants. He said our minds were more pure and open to the earth’s vibrations.”
I thought of children clustered around Aaron, kneeling at his feet. Then I remembered kneeling before him, his hand pushing down the back of my head.
Tammy was watching me. It took a moment for me to find my voice again and gather my thoughts. The next part was going to be difficult.
“There was something else that I wanted to share with you today.” I cleared my throat, took a sip of my coffee. “Aaron … he also sexually abused me when I was a child.” Tammy’s eyes widened. I continued. “He convinced me that I had to let him do things to me, or my mother would get sick. When I remembered what he’d done, I started getting concerned that there could be more girls.…”
For a minute, I thought Tammy might cry, but she focused on her son, blinking hard, trying to regain control.
“He told me that I was special and that he could help my family,” she said. “But I couldn’t tell anyone. It had to be our secret.”
I nodded, feeling a mixture of sadness and anger, over our lost innocence, at how he’d abused our trust. Everything she was saying all too real and familiar.
She said, “He also said that if I didn’t help him, he wouldn’t treat my parents or sister anymore, and they could get cancer.”
So he was still using the threat of illness to manipulate people. After already watching their brother die, it would’ve been a powerful motivator. My voice gentle, I said, “Did you ever tell your parents about the abuse?”
“We tried, but they didn’t believe us. They said it was an honor to have a private healing with him.” Her eyes filled with tears again.
“I’m so sorry, Tammy.” It was a sad fact that many parents didn’t want to believe their children in these cases, especially if it involved another family member or a respected member of the community.
“I know they’re just messed up, because of him, and because our brother died, but I don’t know how you can’t believe your own kid.” She looked again at her son. “If anyone hurt Dillon, I’d kill them.” Tammy turned back to me. “Joseph found us after we went to the police.”
So Joseph was still alive. I wanted to ask about his position at the center, and his mental health, but Tammy answered that question with her next sentence.
“Something was wrong with him. He’d always been kind of creepy, but he was ranting, saying crazy stuff. Like that if we didn’t recant our stories, the Light was going to punish us. We were scared he was going to hurt us, so we told the police we’d made it up. Nicole was still freaked-out and went back.”
“But you didn’t?”
“I’d met my husband by then. He saw Joseph outside my house one day and told him that he’d kill him if he came near me again. We didn’t hear from him after that.”
I remembered when my father had shown up to claim us. It seemed like they were all for pressuring people until there were any confrontations with angry fathers or husbands. They were careful to fly under the radar.
Tammy’s tone had been proud, happy to have a protective husband, but then it changed to sad as she said, “It�
�s hard, not being able to talk to Nicole or anything. She was my best friend.”
I gave her a sympathetic smile, and said, “I imagine you miss her a lot.” I waited a moment, then asked, “Did you ever see Aaron with other girls?”
She nodded. “Sometimes he’d be really nice to a new girl and ignore me or Nicole so we’d know what he was probably doing. But the weird thing is I’d be jealous, like it meant I wasn’t special anymore or something.”
“It’s normal to want to feel special, but that doesn’t mean that you wanted his sexual attention. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of those feelings.”
Tammy looked a little relieved. “I think sometimes that’s why Nicole went back. She wanted to be there, where that stuff was normal, because then she didn’t feel so weird about it. Out here, she felt more ashamed … and dirty.”
I felt sad, thinking of this young girl struggling on her own with these emotions. “Some people have difficulty adjusting to a new environment with less structure, where no one is telling you what to say or do all the time, especially without your family and friends for support. That may be another reason Nicole chose to go back.”
“It was tough sometimes. I’d remember how scary Joseph looked, and I’d have nightmares about him showing up to take me back. I still do.” She even glanced at her door, like he might hear her speaking his name.
I said, “Was Joseph ever violent at the commune? Or what about Aaron, if someone did something wrong, or wanted to leave?”
“Not that I remember…” She squinted, thinking back. “The counselors just consult with Aaron, then he takes that person for an adjustment.”
“Who are the counselors?”
“Members who’ve been there a long time,” she said. “They’re sort of like our mentors, and they helped us when we were having problems. Sometimes they told us how to help the other members. Mostly, if someone did something wrong in meditation, like drank water early or went to the bathroom, we weren’t allowed to talk to them.”
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