I did not post about Asha Veil on September 9, even though it was an important day: on September 9, 2006, she disappeared from the Ben Lomond Market, vanishing without a trace. Instead, I sat and thought about her, and went outside to see the sky and the amount of light left, knowing, as I have all this year, that it was still light enough outside that, had McClish (her killer) taken her to a place where there was the remotest chance of them being seen, I am sure someone would have saved her and Anina.
I know now that he probably took her to a remote place--not Quail Hollow Ranch or the Ben Lomond dump area, both places where they could be seen--but somewhere else. McClish, a "local boy," surely knew all the remote roads and hiding places. Did she know she was being taken to this place, wherever it was, for malign intent? I hope with all my heart that she was not conscious at that time, that she never knew what happened to her.
And I can only say to McClish: you are an evil demon, on the level of a guard in a concentration camp. You killed a beautiful woman and her baby for money, the root of all evil, because you had the POSSIBILITY of shelling out some child support. And I say to Asha's spirit: I am sorry you came to this country, the country of my birth, with what must have been a sense of adventure and hope, and fun, and got repaid with the worst thing that could befall a human being. Though I had nothing to do with her death, I feel guilty as a citizen of this country and of the county I live in. To say she deserved better seems a statement that is a drop in an ocean of sadness.
So what is different on an anniversary I have never ceased to mark, in ways large and small? Yesterday, worn out from taking Thistle to school, I went home and slept for three hours straight. I dreamed of Asha and her mother, and many members of her family (none of whom I have yet contacted or met), on a white stage that looked as if it were made of marble; I have seen this stage often in my dreams. Asha and her mother were dressed in caftans embroidered with flowers and gold trim; I said aloud in the dream, "How much she looks like her mother! This is what she would have looked like if she had been allowed to grow old!" All the people were doing a very slow, dignified dance, turning to one side, then the other. I woke up feeling as if I had a visitation. Was I watching spirits in a beautiful afterlife? I never know these things, but I hope so.
Here is what is different, this year: I learned that McClish should never have been walking free. I don't know if he was protected by his family--which happens--or if there was simply indifference towards him by law enforcement, taxed beyond belief by the crime in this area. Or--a situation I view with jaded anger--perhaps they didn't care because he abused women, and who cares about women?
I know that her death has left a hole in the hearts of everyone who knew her and loved her, and even with those who did not know her well. How can it be that a person would be so beautiful and good at heart that NOT ONE person I have ever spoken to has said one negative thing about her?
And yet she is gone, and her innocent child with her, a story that reflects over and over in all of this troubled world.
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