Secrets from Myself Page 5

  The garden reminds me of home, of summers with Mom, and further back, with Patty. My memories of Patty are faint; I know her better from summer vacations when we came to the Coast or when she travelled to Nelson. Seeing her again under these circumstances isn’t how I would have planned our reunion, but it was good to see her. I’m certain that if Mom and I had stayed here in the lower mainland, Patty would have been a big part of my life.

  When Mom moved us to Nelson, I was four and a half. At first, I’d thought we were going on a big trip to have a grand adventure. I remember being so angry when I realized we weren’t going back to Vancouver. I had made up my mind to hate Nelson and our house and everything about our new life. And then I met the boy who lived two doors down from me. We were friends almost immediately.

  Bryce had a bicycle, albeit with training wheels. I’d never had as much as a tricycle. Mom and I had lived in a small apartment and she didn’t want the clutter. But in Nelson, our home had three bedrooms and two floors. The only worry for Mom was the steep slope of the hill leading into the city center. We made a deal that, if I only rode my bike on the horizontal stretch of our block, I could get one. Bryce promised my mom that he would teach me and make sure I stayed on our block. I remember the story because Mom told it so often in the years afterwards. She had thought it was so cute that Bryce wanted to be my protector and teacher. My friendship with Bryce had that guardian-and-ward dynamic, even as we grew into the boys-and-girls-don’t-mix years, and even when I came to resent the idea of a boy looking out for me. With high school on the horizon — and my crush on Bryce not successfully squashed — I wonder if our friendship was doomed even before he moved to Vancouver.

  I look up at the house, wishing I had ignored Jane and invited Bryce to be my first visitor instead of Mom. But it’s Rayanne’s tired, pimple-spotted frown I see in the window. She beckons at me furiously and shouts that Jane is calling for me, so I hop off the tire and head inside.

  I am back in Jane’s office, which is really just a con-verted garage at the far end of Arbutus House. She is running late, so I have time to re-read the motivational posters around the room. They feature sayings like, “SUCCESS Is A Journey, Not A Destination,” and “CHALLENGES: Always Set The Trail, Never Follow The Path.” The more I read them, the less they mean. I understand we are supposed to feel inspired and think positive thoughts. I think about the meaning of each poster, and then I think about motivational posters in general. I decide they are nonsense. I won’t tell Jane this conclusion; if she put them up on her walls, I’m sure she likes them.

  “Sorry I’m late, Katelyn. I know today is an important milestone for you, so I’m sure you’re raring to go,” says Jane as she sweeps into the room, flustered.

  “That’s okay. I’ve got nowhere else to be,” I say as sincerely and cheerfully as I can. I twist my hair back, ready to pay attention.

  “Still, it’s important to be on time. It’s how we tell others we value them.” I want to sarcastically ask her why she doesn’t value me. I leave that comment mentally filed with the verdict on her posters.

  “So, I saw my mom this morning.”

  “And how did that go?”

  “She brought my former nanny, Patricia. I called her Nanny Patty, just like I was still four years old.” I wonder if Jane will chastise me for having two visitors.

  “How did it feel, seeing your mom and your nanny?”

  “Great. I was kind of worried Mom was still mad about me taking off on her in Surrey, but I think she was more uncomfortable than anything else. It’s weird that I’m here; we were just coming to Vancouver for an evaluation, not an extended stay.”

  “But how did you feel when you spoke with your mom?”

  “I feel like … I can remember a time when I wasn’t worried so much. It was nice seeing my nanny too. It made me think about being a kid. I remembered when I moved to Nelson and I met my best friend. He’s not really my best friend anymore. You can’t have a boy for a best friend at my age.” I say the words as though they’re common knowledge.

  “Why would you think you can’t have a friend that’s a boy?”

  “It’s complicated.” I will not be telling Jane I developed a crush on my best friend. The deeper I bury that information, the less real it is. “And besides, his family moved to Vancouver, so that sort of put a stop to us really knowing each other. His parents don’t really like him hanging out on social media too much. Or online at all for anything other than schoolwork.”

  “Hmmmm. It’s hard to lose a friend.” Jane looks down at her clipboard and flips up the top page. “Bryce is the boy whose house you went to when you slipped away from your mom. Had you asked your mom if you could visit while you were in Vancouver?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t run just to see Bryce. I wanted to see …”

  “See what?”

  “Isn’t it there on your clipboard?”

  “I’d like to hear your words.”

  “I wanted to see if I could find any evidence that proved Akasha, my past life, was real. If I found something that proved she’d been here, then Mom would have to listen to me, right?”

  “Would you say you feel strongly about your dreams and writing about Akasha?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point. What I was saying was —” I stop short of clarifying for Jane that it is Akasha’s distinct writing in my diary, not my speculating about a dream, that drove my search for proof of a turn-of-the-century stowaway. Arguing isn’t going to get me any day passes. I might even be asked to hand over my diary. I need to strike a balance; stay at Arbutus House, but get some slack in the leash and access to the city center.

  “What I meant was that I understand it’s all in my head. I was going through a rough patch, not just being lonely, but freaked out about high school coming in the fall. I honestly can’t tell you why I got as worked up as I did.”

  Jane nods thoughtfully and makes notes on the top sheet of her clipboard.

  “Well, Katelyn, I think we’re ready to set you up with your day passes,” she says. I am tingling with excitement. Precious freedom!

  “That’s awesome! I mean, I know I need an escort, but it’s great to know I’m moving in the right direction.”

  “I think you are making progress, but let’s not get carried away. Your mother still feels there may be a neurological issue involved in your case and we may yet pursue more testing. I want you to take it easy.” Jane searches for something buried under a few pages on her clipboard. Is she reconsidering? Second-guessing my trustworthiness? Her attention returns to my face. Jane smiles at me.

  “The way passes work here at Arbutus House is that you get three day passes per week. You can turn a pass in with Mariah and you’ve got six hours of free time out-side the house. To be allowed out on your own, you need to be at least fifteen years old, so in your case, yes, you require an escort. It will need to be someone vetted by myself or Mariah in advance of your outing. I’m assuming your escort will be your mom, or possibly your nanny.”

  “My friend Bryce has a brother who’s sixteen. Does that count?”

  Jane frowned. “That wouldn’t be our preference, but it would be up to your mother. She’d need to consent on paper.”

  “She will; she loves Bryce and his family. Mitchell, that’s his brother, is really responsible.” It sounds less convincing out loud than it had in my head.

  “We’ll make sure it all checks out. But regardless of who you go with, remember what I said about being on time. Wherever you go, make sure you’ve got time to get home before your pass expires. If you’re late home once, we confiscate a pass. Twice, two passes. Three times late means we pull you back to supervised house outings only. Does that all make sense?”

  “I’ve got it, loud and clear.” I don’t need to go far to feel free at the moment. I know six hours will become an unbearably small window once I get used to freedom agai
n. Now, though, six hours of unrestricted roaming seems like bliss.

  I wake up the next morning to the sound of “Born to Be Wild” crooning from my phone. Bryce! I reach for the phone and pause mid-air. My diary! MY DIARY! Why is it out? Did that sketchy Rayanne girl touch my stuff? I look over at her bed. It is empty and crudely made. Could it have been her? I can’t think straight. Panic surges through me, clouding everything.

  Okay, I need to calm down. My diary is still here. The worst case scenario is that Rayanne read it. Well, worse than that would be tearing pages out, but that’s highly unlikely. I grab the book and stuff it under my mattress. I don’t want it to see the light of day until I know what to do.

  I check my phone. Bryce wants to hang out next week. Fine, that can wait. I pace slowly at the end of my bed, holding my phone. I look back at my diary. What if Akasha wrote in it again?

  The idea that a new message is waiting excites me. I plunge my hand under the mattress and flip to the section of empty pages towards the back.

  I now know I am in real danger. Sanjay is never coming for me. He has mourned me as lost. Or he has returned to India, married there, or left again for unknown shores. I will never know. Even if I find a way to mail my letter to Laura, it will make no difference. This man is evil. He will simply kill me if he thinks I am trying to escape.

  He took me for a walk in the woods. He offered to show me the splendor that is the coastal rainforest in British Columbia. We walked along a trail not far from the city. It did not take long for him to drop hints that his girls stay with him until he decides to release them. None of the other girls are much older than I am. What causes him to release them, I have no earthly notion.

  At the end of the trail, we reached a viewpoint of the ocean. How beautiful it was! I could not watch the surf crash into the rocks below without feeling fear. Then he softly mentioned how a girl had died at this point last year in an accident. He said no more, nor did he need to. I fully understood his meaning.

  Reading Akasha’s latest confession leaves me chilled and covered in goose bumps. I admit to myself what I’ve pretty much known all along. Akasha wants me to help find her killer and bring justice to her memory. But how can I possibly do that?

  Chapter 9

  A cool morning breeze sends ginkgo leaves fluttering in the tree behind the sidewalk where I’m waiting for Patty. I have my laminated day pass card in my hand, with one circle punched out of the first segment. I’m trying not to sweat too much on the card. I had not expected Jane’s system to be so literal. Since each girl is granted a different number of outings per week, we are on the honor system with these little cards. I’ll soon find it hard to forget that I’m allowed only three outings. But today, I am grateful. Patty has the day off and offered to take me downtown. Mom is catching up on work, so it will be me and Patty on our own, just like old times. Only now I’m chasing down a past life. I’m unsure what Patty will think about my current dilemma. Mom will have told her everything, with an eye towards some sort of neurological or psychological disorder.

  I’m not sure if being outside by myself — technically off Arbutus House property — is some kind of violation, but I asked Mariah if I could wait outside and she said it was fine. After a week of living in what feels like a halfway house, I enjoy little moments of normality; having a shower, watching television, standing outside under a tree. I notice these moments now as they are some of the only reminders that I am not insane or a criminal, instead simply a mixed-up kid with one really big unofficial homework assignment.

  Patty is taking me to the Central Library, Greater Vancouver’s iconic downtown branch. Sure, there’s a library here in Kitsilano, but I want the heart of the city for several reasons.

  I believe the downtown branch will have historical documents, possibly records of immigrants coming into Canada, which are not found online. Even if they are online, I don’t want to risk Mariah or Jane catching me doing research on “unhealthy” topics on the Arbutus House computer. Also, I might achieve a new level of connection with Akasha if I can touch something she touched. The letter will be out of my reach for now, possibly forever.

  In addition to hard-copy documents, I want the history of Vancouver underneath my feet. It would be great to find my way back to Gastown, but even if I can’t, I hope to find remnants of old Vancouver through-out the downtown core.

  I don’t know how long my time at Arbutus House will last. I have to assume that my fine line between being well-behaved enough for day passes, and yet still needing counseling, may backfire and stray over to a “healthy” seal of approval that will send me back to Nelson. So, every outing has to count.

  Patty’s car finally rounds the corner ahead and she comes to a stop in front of me.

  “Hi, Katelyn! Hop in!” Patty is beaming with sparkling eyes that are wide enough to accentuate the lines around them. She is too excited to see a girl who should still be in trouble with her caregivers. “Still keen to see the library?”

  “You bet! I’ve seen it in pictures, but I don’t think I’ve ever been there in person.” I won’t tell Patty exactly what I’m looking for until I’ve had the duration of the car ride to evaluate her motives for helping me. If she’s trying to catch me obsessing about “nonsense” so she can report back to Mom, I need to find a way to shake her once we get to the library.

  “That is a great start to your time in Vancouver. Did you know the downtown branch of the Greater Van-couver Library has been used in many film and television settings?” Patty is driving slowly through the streets of Kitsilano, meandering through side streets too narrow for more than a single lane of traffic.

  “I’ve heard that. I hope it’s big. And modern! I love huge city buildings. We have nothing like that in Nelson.”

  “Well then, you’re in for a treat!” Patty turns onto the Granville Street Bridge. We roll forward on the smooth asphalt until the towers of downtown Vancouver blot out the sun overhead. I can see how little of original Vancouver remains in the world of glass and concrete that exists today.

  Patty reaches the library and we circle the block and arrive on the corner of Georgia and Hamilton.

  “Oooooh, this never happens! Street parking!” Patty hits the breaks and swoops into a spot next to the sidewalk. I look up at the giant spiral building I’ve come to hang my hopes on. On the house computer, I learned that I can access historical photographs if I can find the Special Collections desk on level seven. Compared to the library in Nelson, a building with at least seven levels is bound to be a daunting place.

  “You don’t have to come in with me if you don’t want to.” I open my door as Patty fishes through her purse.

  “Katelyn, your mother would skin me alive if I let you go off by yourself in downtown Vancouver.” She pulls her phone out and swipes it open, tapping away as she looks between the screen and the parking meter next to us.

  “I’ll only be inside the library.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “No, I just don’t want to bore you. I wanted to wander around a library. That can’t be very exciting for most people.”

  “I’m not most people. Besides, I’m sure you’ll need help finding whatever you’re looking for.” I can tell from the playfully cheeky tone of Patty’s voice that she knows exactly what I’m doing. But if she plans on helping me, I’m not going to slap her hand.

  “I need to find the Special Collections desk. It’s sup-posed to be on the seventh floor.”

  “Then let’s go find a directory for this place so we can figure out how to get there.”

  Patty leads me around the corner and we follow the curve of the building to an opening in the concrete spiral. Once we’re inside, huge glass walls showcase row upon row of books. It’s the most impressive thing I’ve ever seen. I follow Patty through the main entrance, straight to a poster board with a map and the contents of each floor.<
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  “We’re already on level two. Looks like we can take the escalators all the way up. Come on,” says Patty as she rushes off towards the core of the building.

  “I’m not sure if I should mention this, but Mom isn’t really keen on me doing the research I want to do here.” As the metal stairs move upward, I feel like I’m leaving my stomach behind.

  “I know that. Your mom is worried about you and I respect that. But she’s always hung on a little tighter than she needs to. I know you’re a responsible girl and I think a little harmless infatuation with the supernatural isn’t going to kill you.”

  “So, you know everything.” My gut churns even though my head tells me I’m all right. We transfer to the next escalator.

  “I know you think you’ve had dreams about a past life and you wrote as much in your diary. Kids your age are already getting up to a lot worse, I can tell you. I told Becky that, but she’s still worked up.”

  “I’m too weird to get into trouble like most kids.”

  “You’re not weird, you’re eccentric. And even if you were weird, it’s better than having no imagination.” We transfer again.

  Patty examines her phone while I look up and around. We transfer again and again until we’re on the top floor of the library. The city peeks in through the windows at the end of the hall and a rush of energy courses through me. We are in the heart of the biggest and best library I could hope to find.

  “Excuse me,” Patty says as she leans onto the Special Collections desk ahead. A middle-aged man is sitting at a computer behind the counter staring intently at his monitor. He finishes typing and rises to assist us. The tired eyes behind his wire-framed glasses are not happy.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m hoping you can help us. My niece is working on a summer school project about … what was it again, Katelyn?”