Never Knowing

and help me with my chores, but somehow I just felt more alone.

“You didn’t tell Melanie about my real father, did you?”

“Of course not!”

So Melanie had overheard and probably told Kyle, and then he told God only knows who. Nothing I could do about it now.

On the drive home, I was feeling a little calmer but still worried about how many people saw the article before it got pulled off. Then I remembered Mom saying they were worried and scared for me. I stopped at a red light, focusing in on that moment. Dad’s tense face, the concern in Mom’s eyes, something they were both thinking but didn’t say. What had I missed? Then it hit me.

The Campsite Killer could have read the article.

I didn’t know I was still sitting at the light until a car honked behind me and Ally said, “Mommy, go!” I drove the rest of the way in a daze. I’d been so caught up in defending myself, so terrified of my father’s anger, I’d missed the thing I should be most afraid of. If the Campsite Killer found that article, he not only knew I lived in Nanaimo, he knew my name.

As soon as we got home Ally had a bath, then I read her a story, but I kept stumbling over words and losing my spot on the page. I had to talk to Evan. After Ally fell asleep I tried to call him, but he wasn’t answering his cell. I bundled up in a blanket on the couch, watching mindless TV and waiting for Evan to call back. Just as I was about to give up and go to bed, the phone rang. Before he could ask what I’d been up to, I asked him how his day was.

“We found a pod of humpbacks, so the group was happy.” Evan built his lodge on the remote west coast of the island, so it offers guided kayak tours and whale watching not just fishing charters.

“That’s awesome.”

“Sure looking forward to coming home this weekend, though.…” He growled and I tried to join in but couldn’t pull it off. So I took a deep breath and spit it out. First I told him about leaving Julia a message and her awful call back, then about telling Lauren, and finally that it hit the Internet. He took it better than I thought, a lot better than I would — no surprise there.

“It won’t go anywhere,” he said.

“But people are obsessed with serial killers — half the books and movies made are about them. If they find out I’m his daughter…”

“You know where the shotgun is and the key for the trigger lock—”

“The shotgun!”

“You’ll be fine. That site can’t have that many readers.”

“What if he reads it?”

“The Campsite Killer?” He paused for a moment. “Nah, there’s no way he’s reading a Nanaimo blog.”

“You really think it’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I do. Let your dad’s lawyer handle it.”

“I’m just freaked out.”

He softened his voice. “I’ll be home soon.”

Before I dove into bed last night I couldn’t help peeking at the Web site and was happy to see the article was still gone. I also did a quick Google search and nothing came up. I went to sleep convinced Evan was right — it wasn’t going to go anywhere. In fact, it was good this happened because it forced things out in the open with my family — keeping things under wraps is not exactly a talent of mine.

This morning Ally sang Moose a song in between bites of toast and peanut butter. Ally and I are both peanut butter fiends, you wouldn’t believe how many jars we go through. After I dropped her off at school I grabbed a coffee and headed out to the shop to attack a new armoire. I was in the zone within minutes and didn’t stop for lunch. Finally, in the afternoon, I decided to grab a snack and refill my coffee. Before I headed back out to my shop, I snuck upstairs for another peek at the Nanaimo News for Now site. The article was still down. For peace of mind I did another Google search for Karen Christianson. This time a bunch of new hits popped up.

I set my cup down so fast coffee sloshed over the rim, and clicked on the first link. It was for a serial killer fan club in the States. In the forum someone named “Dahmersdinner” had posted that Karen Christianson was hiding in Victoria and using the name Julia Laroche. Her daughter, a woman named Sara Gallagher, lived in Nanaimo. I stared at the screen, my heart thumping loudly in my ear. There was nothing I could do, no way to delete it. Then I noticed there were comments — lots of them. I clicked on the tab and expanded the page. First they were along the lines of “I wonder if it’s true” and “Can you imagine what his kid looks like?” But then more members joined in.

Someone had gone to the university site and found Julia’s office information. Then they linked to articles she’d written and Web sites that had photos of Karen Christianson. One commenter actually Photoshopped her picture to make it look like the Campsite Killer was standing behind her with a bloody rope in one hand and his other on his penis. They talked about Julia’s looks, complimenting the Campsite Killer’s taste. One jerk said he wondered if I was as twisted as my father. Another compared me to Ted Bundy’s daughter, saying they should hunt these “bitches” down before they could spread the disease. I read every vile comment, sick with shame and fear. I felt ripped open, exposed to the world.

I clicked from site to site as fast as I could — the majority of hits were coming from true crime blogs and a couple of Web sites devoted to serial killers, including the one I’d already found on the Campsite Killer. The more legitimate sites were careful to just say that Karen was “rumored” to have a daughter. It was the commenters, always anonymous, who added my name and that I lived in Nanaimo. Then I noticed a University of Victoria Student Forum was one of the hits. My stomach in knots, I clicked on the link but couldn’t get in without a student ID number.

A wave of panic came over me. What do I do now? How do I stop this? The cordless beside me rang and I jumped.

Lauren said, “I have to tell you something.”

“Is it about the Internet buzz?”

“You’re online?”

I stared at the screen. “It’s everywhere.”

Lauren was quiet for a moment, then said, “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t have a clue. But I think I should talk to Julia.”

“Do you really—”

“If she hasn’t heard, I should warn her. And if she has, she’s going to think I told everyone. But if I call to explain, she’ll probably just hang up on me.” I groaned. “I’ve got to go. I need to figure out what to do.”

Lauren’s voice was gentle. “Okay, hon. Call if you need me.”

After I hung up the phone, I collapsed onto the couch. Moose joined me, grunting and snuffling into my neck. My mind spun in a million panicky directions. The whole world is going to know the truth about my father. The Campsite Killer could find Julia — and me. Evan’s business could be ruined. My business could be ruined. Ally’s going to be teased at school.

The phone rang. I checked the call display. Private number.

Julia?

I answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

A male voice said, “Is this Sara Gallagher?”

“Who’s speaking?”

“I’m your father.”

“Who is this?”

“I’m your real father.” His voice sped up. “I read about it on the Internet.”

A jolt of fear ran through me. Then I realized the voice was too young.

“I don’t know who you really are or what you read, but—”