Chapter 3

THE O’NEIL’S NOTIFIED THE police that I had run away, even though technically, they had kicked me out. They must have realized that they needed the income, which meant getting me back. After a short reunion with my mother, the police showed up at her house to take me away again. I begged them to leave me, but their hands were tied.

“Well, Shannon, I understand what’s been going on,” one of the officers told me. “But unfortunately, because of the court order, we have to take you back.”

“No! Please!” I screamed.

The officers seemed apologetic, but again told me firmly that it wasn’t up to them. They had to follow the law. 

“I will behave. I promise,” I said, panic taking over my thoughts. I could already imagine being back at the O’Neil’s. What would they do to me once the police were gone? When they no longer had to pretend? Jack had already tried to kill me once. What if he succeeded after a second attempt? I thought for a moment to tell my mother about what the O’Neil’s had done to me, but I knew that she wouldn’t believe me. She would only think I was lying to gain attention.

No matter how much I begged and pleaded with the police, they wouldn’t budge. And so, tearfully, I said goodbye to my mother and then got into the police cruiser. The police drove me back to the O’Neil’s. I looked out the window as my mother’s house disappeared from sight.

When we arrived at the O’Neil’s, Evelyn answered the door, and predictably, she was incredibly welcoming, smiling at the police officers until they left. With nobody around to protect me, she told me to go back to my room in the basement and not say a word. I was too scared not to comply. Thankfully, there were no other major incidents at O’Neil’s house. I kept my head down, did as they said – at least for the most part – and just tried to stay out of their way.

At some point, I was able to talk to my case officer about what was going on in their house, and finally, she got me removed, and I was able to return home. The file was closed in 1982. Around this time, my mother got a new boyfriend named John. She became pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy. Afterwards, they got married. John became very controlling. He would tell me what I could and couldn’t do. I guess he thought that because he had a baby with my mother, he had the right. But there was no way I was about to take orders from him. I didn’t give two shits about anything he said because he was a stranger to me—just some guy.

In 1983, my file was opened again. I was arguing more with my mother, and I decided I didn’t want to listen to her anymore. She had always been snotty towards me, no matter what I said or did, and as I grew older, I became sick and tired of being put down all the time.

Occasionally, a friend would come by, and that’s pretty much the only time she acted nice. My friend even told me that he thought my mom was really nice. And she is, when she wants to be.

Later that year, a letter was sent home from school about some problem I was involved in, but I didn’t show it to my mother. I don’t remember whether I forgot about the letter or purposely didn’t show it to her. But when she found out about the letter, a big argument broke out between us, and I tore my room apart, so my mother contacted the agency and said she wanted me out of the house again. I was placed in foster care again for five days, and then sent to stay with relatives for the summer. I didn’t have any behavior issues while staying with relatives for the entire summer. Soon after, in August, I returned home to my mother and John. In October, my mother phoned the police and the agency because I did not return home until late. She told them I stole money from her and skipped school. She read my diary and found out I was drinking and driving around in cars with older boys. She also told them that I was taking any pills I could find in the house. On December 15th, I was made a crown ward of the court. I would be placed in many different care homes for the next year.

In 1984, I resided at Wedgewood group home. I had become extremely violent, and they brought in extra staffing in order to restrain me. I had no interest in listening to the staff and I hated everything and everyone. One night, a police officer came to see the social worker. They closed and locked the office, and soon I heard a rhythmic thump… thump… thump. It took me a while to realize they were having sex! Not one to waste a good opportunity, I decided to escape.

Later in the year, I was suspended from school after only two weeks. Soon after, I was charged with assault and placed in juvenile detention. There were many other teens there. It was basically a prison for youth offenders. Everyone had their own cell, and meals were had in the cafeteria. We had to follow rules if we didn’t want to be locked in our cell for the entire day.

After being discharged from detention, I was placed in Madame Vanier Child Service, which was a kind of halfway house. School and housing were on the property. It was different from the other places I was sent. I liked the social workers and the teachers, as they were always positive and friendly with everybody. I could tell the social workers wanted to be there, and that it wasn’t just a paycheck for them. They joked around with us and laughed a lot, and they made sure to drop whatever they were doing if one of the residents needed to talk. They even planned celebrations for the residents as their birthdays came up. The staff made whatever dinner the birthday boy or girl wanted, and there were plenty of activities afterwards. I was really happy there and everyone got along. Most evenings, the staff and the residents made dinner together. We sat together around a large table, sharing our thoughts about the day as well as how we were feeling. I started to do exceptionally well in school. Some of the teens were rambunctious, but for the most part, everyone was just trying to get by and stay positive. In fact, I did so well that within five months, they discharged me. I absolutely did not want to leave, and I begged to stay and started to cry. Within two nights at the foster home I was placed in, I went AWOL again. I returned home to my mother and John, my stepfather. I enrolled in high school, but within a month, things at home were awful, and I was always being bitched at, either by my mother or John. I stopped attending school and started hanging around street kids. Sometimes I stayed out all night, and for that, my mother told the agency I was a prostitute. I actually can’t believe my mother called me such a horrible thing, but at the same time, I can. It’s hard to explain if you’ve never met her. She could be so loving and caring one moment and the next a total bitch.

 I admit I was emotionally unstable, but I don’t see how I could have ended up any other way after 14 years of my mother constantly telling me I was never good enough. And after years of physical and sexual abuse. I was taken to the hospital numerous times after breaking down and trying to commit suicide. I would be admitted to the psych ward and locked in several times for weeks at a time.

In 1985, I was sent to Craigwood Youth Center, which was just outside of the city. I went AWOL from there again and went home, but within a month, I was picked up and returned to detention. After some time there, I was sent back to Craigwood group home. My mother did not want me home, but that was okay because I refused to live with her or John. My mother and John also had another baby boy.  

 Eventually, I settled into a routine at Craigwood and did very well. Home visits, however, did not go well, and I began having outbursts at Craigwood and having my privileges taken away. I ran away again, and again I was returned. Often, I was given extra chores because of my behaviour, or, as punishment, I was only allowed so many cigarettes a day. We were allowed to smoke cigarettes inside back then. They allowed each of us seven cigarettes a day, but when I was defiant, I was only given 3 or 4 for the day. I began experiencing sleep disturbances and violent, disturbing dreams while there and often woke up crying. At the end of the year, Children’s Aid wanted to extend my wardship until I turned 16, but my mother and John refused, and when I was 15, I returned home to them.

When I became 16, I was able to live on my own. I moved in with my boyfriend and lived with him for a while, even though he was physically abusive towards me. But it was still better than being with my mother and her new family. I know she was glad I was gone because she had her new family with John, and they had their two golden boys. At that time, my oldest brother had been gone for years, living with my aunt and uncle.

One day, I spotted John downtown with another woman. They seemed a little too friendly. I told my mother that same day. They got divorced soon after. However, John made good money, and he took the boys on weekends and on some holidays, and he provided for them for all their sports, and when they were older, their schooling was paid. I tried not to be jealous but it was tough that they got so much when I had to fight for scraps.

At the age of 17, my boyfriend got me pregnant. I remember being so scared, but also so excited to be a mother. But how was I to raise a child? I had no role models, and nobody had shown me what good parenting looked like. And it wasn’t as if my boyfriend was going to provide for us. I suspected him of being on drugs because he acted strangely at times, but I didn’t know a whole lot about drugs yet, so I really didn’t know.

When I went for an ultrasound, I discovered that I was going to have a girl. It was the happiest day of my life. I named her Natalie-Ann. The pregnancy was tough. I was vomiting most of the day. Then one day, I started to have contractions, but it was too early to give birth. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but I knew this wasn’t it. Surely, the baby wasn’t coming yet. But the contractions didn’t stop. I called my mother, who said she would meet me at the hospital. I rushed to St. Joseph’s Hospital to deliver my baby girl.

When Natalie-Ann came out, she was rushed onto a breathing machine before I could even see her. I started to cry. This wasn’t happening to me. It wasn’t fair. What had I done to deserve this? I lay on my back, exhausted, looking up at the ceiling and waited anxiously for the doctor to come around. He eventually came to talk to me after seeing Natalie. He spoke in a soft voice, telling me that he didn’t think that Natalie was going to make it because she was very premature and that it was best if they unhooked the machines, so she wouldn’t suffer.

I told the doctor I wanted to hold her, and he agreed. The nurses unhooked Natalie from the machines and gave her to me. I hugged her impossibly tiny body against my chest, giving her all the love I had. My mother had brought a white christening dress for her. A priest came and baptized her before she took her last gasp of air before she died. I just closed my eyes and cried and cried, not sure about anything anymore. I didn’t have any service for her, but we buried her in the cemetery. At least she had that. The casket they put her in was so tiny. It didn’t seem real.

I didn’t know how I could get back to normal—whatever that meant. A short while after Natalie died, I was once again admitted to the psychiatric unit in the hospital because I couldn’t handle anything anymore. It had all just become a little too much. There, I was given some pills and was able to check out for a while and not think about anything else. I’m not sure how long I was in for, but it got me away from my abusive boyfriend and away from the struggles of day-to-day life.

My psychiatrist, Dr. Lefcoe, came to visit me and see how I was doing. I had met him on another occasion because I slashed my wrist, and when the police brought me to the emergency department, and he was the psychiatrist on duty. While I’ve had so much pain in my life, I was blessed that Dr. Lefcoe has seen me through pretty much from the beginning. He always took such good care of me, no matter what, and I’ll always be thankful for him. He monitored my treatment and listened to me, which not a lot of people bothered to do. Eventually, Dr. Lefcoe would start his own practice, and I followed him. Seeing him was never part of any court order or agency requirement. I knew I needed a psychiatrist because of my life. He continued to treat me until he retired in 2023.

When I left the hospital, I bounced around a couple of homes before I found another boyfriend and moved in with him. He, like a long string of boyfriends, wasn’t very good to me and would yell and scream, push me around and smash things. But thankfully, I had a next-door neighbor named Felicia who took me under her wing. Whenever my boyfriend would beat me, I would knock on her door, and she would make me a plate of food and listen to me vent. She was eighteen, easy-going, and fun to be around. She was also really pretty, elegant, and graceful—in fact, she reminded me of Marilyn Monroe the way she did her hair and makeup. Eventually, we became good friends. One day, we were out on the porch, drinking peach schnapps, when she asked me if I wanted to make a little extra money. Was that a trick question? I thought. 

“Uh, yeah.”

Felicia always seemed to have a ton of extra money, and I always wondered how she got it. I suspected that she would bring guys home and they would pay to be with her, but I never knew for sure. I had a feeling that I was about to find out.

“What do I have to do?” I asked.

“Just come with me tonight and I’ll show you.”

I nodded, excited to be able to tag along, and the prospect of easy, fast money was alluring, but also scary. Later that evening, we hitched a ride to the other side of the city.

“So, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Felicia grinned, “Just do me a favor, be cool. Don’t act like a little kid, okay?”

“No problem,” I said, feeling instantly annoyed. Would I regret this?

We were dropped off and walked another couple of blocks before we reached a nightclub called the Velvet Curtain. The difference was that the neon lights were shaped like women rather than the usual club signs. I had been to nightclubs before, but I instantly knew that we were at a strip club. We entered. The air smelled like sweat, booze and cigarette smoke. I watched, partly in shock, partly in fascination, as naked women danced around poles on various stages around the main room. I had never been in a strip club before, so I took everything in. I was fascinated by the way the naked ladies would swing around the pole doing various tricks.

“This is my friend Shannon. She’s looking to make some money.” Felicia said, grabbing my elbow and pulling me into the conversation she was having at the bar.

“Hello, Shannon. Pleased to meet you.” The well-dressed man reached out and shook my hand.

“So, she’s looking for work,” Felicia said

“Well, I think we have somewhere we can put her in the lineup.” He spun me around, looking me up and down as if I were a piece of meat. “You ever danced before?”

“Danced? Uh, no.” I had never even taken a dancing lesson in my life, let alone danced anywhere. I glanced back and forth between Felicia and the man, terrified that I was saying the wrong thing.
            “No problem. It isn’t too complicated. I will get you set up, come with me” He flicked a finger over his shoulder and led us into the area behind the bar.

I looked over at Felicia, who grinned back at me. Could this be how she had made all that money? Clearly, she was happy with how I had acted so far, and that made me relax some. I didn’t want to let Felicia down.

“You’re eighteen, right?” The well-dressed man asked as he led the way into an office.

“Uh, yeah.” I lied, hoping he believed me.

“Great. ID?”

“Oh, I left that at home.” The lie came easier the second time.

“Fine, don’t forget to bring it in next time.” He said, waving me off, “Felicia, show our new girl around.”

Felicia grabbed me by the elbow again and whisked me off backstage. There were about a handful of girls in various stages of undress. Suddenly, feeling embarrassed, I tried not to look.

I looked around. My eyes were wide, taking in the women who wore little to no clothing. Some of them strutted around in nothing but a thong. They seemed so confident in their bodies! Mirrors ringed in lights hung over the make-up table, with rows of stools set up down one side.

“Oh my God, Shannon, stop fucking staring.” Felicia hissed.

“Right. Sorry.”

            “Okay, we need to figure out your outfit,” Felicia said. “You need to see if someone can loan you something until you get up and running,” she said, as we entered the dressing room. Somehow, Felicia found something that fit my slender body.

Stepping up on stage for the first time was such a rush. To my own surprise, I found it wasn’t a problem to perform or take my clothes off. The lights, the attention from the men and the money. It was addictive. It didn’t take me long to find my groove.  Felicia had been right about one thing: it had been easy money. I started doing table dances at $5 each–table being a generous word for it. The girls were slightly raised on a little box where we didn’t have any area to move around in. The other girls immediately became jealous since I was younger and brand new. All the guys wanted me to dance for them. The first night, I went home with a couple of hundred dollars, the most money I had ever made in a couple of hours of work.

The next weekend, I went back to the Velvet Curtain until I became a regular girl there. I kept putting off giving the manager my ID. I’m sure he knew that I was underage, but he didn’t seem to push the issue.

I learned pretty quickly that the club had a toxic atmosphere. The girls chattered behind my back and lobbed questions at me constantly. The entire situation was making me feel mildly uncomfortable. I told Felicia that I thought the other girls hated me, but she told me not to pay any attention to them and that type of behavior was common in the club scene.

The girls would always fight over tips and customers. There was a lot of gossip, made-up stories, and infighting among the girls.

One night, I was just finishing my set when the police arrived. One of the officers strode up to the edge of the center stage and motioned for me to come closer. He said he wanted to speak to me before going back over to the bar to wait. Panic shot through my body like a bolt of lightning. I knew one of the girls had ratted me out, telling the police I was underage. They were here to arrest me.

As soon as the music stopped, I jumped down from the stage. I didn’t even bother to pick up my clothes, bolting out the side door that was next to the stage into the night.

Running as fast as I could, I darted completely down an alleyway behind the club that led to one of the residential streets. I could hear the cops hollering for me to stop, but there was no way in hell I was going to.

I ducked into some bushes and cut across a driveway onto a side street with no traffic. I ran across the lawns, banging on doors as I ran, until one house opened the door. The woman, middle-aged and homely, wore a look of shock at the sight of the young girl standing on her front stoop, completely naked.

“Help. Please,” I begged.

She hurried me inside without asking any questions until the door was closed behind her.

“You have to help me. My boyfriend…” I gasped, trying to catch my breath as I talked. The older woman handed her a jacket from the front hall closet. “My boyfriend called the police, because I left him, and if the police catch me, they will make me go back to him.”

The woman looked at me and quickly sized up the situation. “Alright, come with me.”

She took me to a back bedroom and told me to hide in the closet. The door of the closet had no sooner closed tight when I heard a banging at the front door. I listened, holding my breath and clutching the jacket around me.

The woman got up to answer. She turned the knob and opened the door. A police officer was standing on the front porch.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“Yes, sorry to bother you, but we are looking for a young lady who ran down this

road.”

“Uh—okay.”

“I’m just wondering if you’ve seen anything or heard anything?” There was a pause. My heart pounded in my ears.

Thankfully, the woman lied. “No. Nothing.”

My breath came out in a whoosh. The woman had believed me.

 “Are you sure?” The officer asked, dubiously.

“What did she do?” The woman asked.

“We can’t discuss that, ma’am. Are you sure you didn’t see anyone come down here?”

“No. I didn’t see anything. I was in my back room putting laundry away until you knocked.”
            Silence. Did the officer believe the woman? Would he ask to search the house? Would the woman let him in if he did?

The blood thumped in my ears as I strained to hear anything that would give away what was going on at the front door.

“Alright,” I heard the police officer say. “Can you let us know if you see anything?”

“Of course, officer.”

I heard the door close and footsteps coming towards me.

The door to the closet opened up, and I instinctively shied away.

“You can come out now, sweetheart,” she said quietly. “They are gone.”

The woman reached out a hand to help me up. I stumbled as I got to my feet, the jacket falling open.

“You alright?”

“I think so.” I wrapped the jacket around me again.

“I’m Victoria,” the woman said.

“Clare,” I said, lying again. While this woman seemed to be someone I could trust, in truth, I didn’t want to take my chances.

“Your man must be a piece of work if you ran out of there with no clothes on.”

 I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything.

The woman just stared at me as if she was trying to figure me out. Did the woman know I was lying? She seemed to suspect something, but she didn’t say anything to me.

“Well, let me see what I have that you can wear. You’re kind of on the smaller side—slender, I think they call it, but in any case, we can’t have you running around the city naked.”

She walked over to the dresser by the door to the bedroom and started rooting around for clothes. Victoria passed a pair of baggy sweatpants and a massive hoodie.

“I’ll leave you so you can get dressed in peace. Think you’ve had enough excitement for one night. I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”

I stood there as Victoria left, closing the door quietly behind her. I finally looked around the bedroom. The room itself was neatly furnished, with a large bed, and a wing-backed armchair tucked in one corner piled with clothes.
            Taking off the jacket, I quickly put on the clothes Victoria had left for her. Everything was so big on me, but the sweatpants had a drawstring, so I could at least keep them up on my hips.

I folded the jacket neatly on the bed and took a deep breath. I didn’t want to answer the questions that I knew were coming. Victoria seemed sweet enough, and I didn’t want to continue to lie to her, but I knew that Victoria was waiting for me, and it wouldn’t do any good to wait any longer.

Making my way quietly down the hall, I found the living room easily enough, just off to the right of the doorway. Victoria was sitting in the recliner in front of the TV, a small loveseat and a coffee table filled the rest of the room. I took a seat on the loveseat, across from Victoria.

For the next hour, I told Victoria a made-up story about my abusive boyfriend. The fake story tumbling out of me like it was real—which, perhaps, wasn’t surprising since I had a lot of experience with abuse.

“You can stay here a little while until the police stop looking for you. A couple more hours should do it.” She leaned over and patted my hand. I felt terrible for lying to her, but what else could I do?

Afterwards, Victoria made some sandwiches, and we settled in to watch a movie while we ate. Once the movie was over, Victoria gave me some shoes and socks, then hugged me goodbye.

“You going to be alright, girl?”

“I think so. I have a friend I can stay with. Thank you so much—for everything.”

“No problem. Be safe. Don’t let him get away with that shit, okay? You stand up straight and start your life over. You don’t need that in your world, okay?”

“I got it.” I smiled, feeling even more guilty.

Even though it had been hours since the police had chased me, I still felt scared as I slowly walked down the driveway to the sidewalk. Pulling the hood over my head to cover my blonde hair that sat on my forehead, I kept my head down. I moved quickly, keeping my face shielded as cars passed by. I just needed to get back to the club and collect my things.

That is, if they were even going to let me in the door. There was always a chance that the police were still there waiting for me, but I decided it was a chance I was going to have to take. I had left my wallet, some jewellery and my clothes. I couldn’t leave my things there.

Coming up to the back parking lot of the club, I looked around at the cars parked there. No cruisers were in her line of sight. That was good news, at least. I kept moving, paying attention to anything that moved on the street as I headed towards the front door.
            A man in a dark coat came out of the club and headed my way. I had to resist the urge to turn and run the other way.

Don’t be an idiot. If you do that, then someone is going to get suspicious and pay even more attention to you, I chastized myself.

One last look up and down the street. There was nothing that indicated I should be worried. Obviously, the cops had gone to another call and had stopped hunting me down.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the front of the club, which felt like trying to move a large boulder, before walking in. The stale beer and sweat hit me like a wall. I kept my head down, hood still up, and headed straight for the back of the stage to where the dressing rooms were.

I was hoping that nobody would pay me any attention, but the bartender must have seen me sneak by because he called out to me.

“Hey, Shannon… Hey Shannon.”

I didn’t even look up, but rather moved faster towards the dressing room.

The bartender called my name again, but I ignored him. I pushed open the door, smashing into one of the other dancers who was close to the door, just as she was coming through.

“Hey! Fucking watch what you’re doing!” She shrieked and stumbled to catch her footing.

“I’m sorry,” I said nervously.

I grabbed my things, which were in the locker just as I had left them, before I turned on my heels to quickly get the hell out of there. I tried not to make eye contact, but someone grabbed my arm and hauled me over to the corner closest to the door. It was Felicia.

“What the hell happened?” She hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You just fucking disappeared.”

“Someone – probably another girl – called the cops on me.” I looked around the room at the other women, who weren’t really paying attention, wondering who it had been. Any one of them could have been jealous about the tips I had received or wanted a client that had requested me…

“What?” Felica asked, her thin eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yeah, I was doing my set, and some cop came up to the stage and was all like we would like to talk to you after you’re done.”

“So, you ran?”

“What the hell was I supposed to do? Buy them a beer?”

“Oh my god, Shannon, you’re screwed, you know that?”

“I’m screwed, anyway.”

It wasn’t as if they were going to keep accepting my excuses about my ID, anyways, but I hadn’t come up with any long-term plan.

“I think you should lie low for a while,” Felicia said, taking in a deep breath. “Just until this blows over.” 

“I think that would be wise.”

The next night, I returned and spoke to the manager and the bouncer who were just happy that I managed to elude the cops. They didn’t want to be in trouble, and neither did I. They weren’t too upset with me and laughed at the fact that I went out the door buck naked. They just said to return when I was of age.

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