Vancouver — They were six women with little in common except a rapacious addiction to drugs. Their final years were spent on the chaotic streets of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside, a notorious enclave of poverty, flagrant drug abuse and prostitution.
Each had parents and siblings and some bore children, whom they telephoned and visited on occasion. They sent Christmas and birthday cards to their friends and loved ones, until one day, the cards and calls stopped and the women simply vanished.
They left behind haunted parents, foster parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters and 10 children between them. Some parents are wracked by guilt, and wonder if they could have done something to halt their daughters' spirals.
Some of their children have grown into young adults without knowing their mothers. Kristina Bateman, 22, wishes her mother, Georgina Papin, was alive to meet her new boyfriend.
The last time Kristina Bateman saw her mother, Georgina Papin, she was 12. (Jane Kalinowsky for The Globe and Mail)
Robert William Pickton is accused of killing all six women and his long-awaited murder trial begins on Monday.
Nearly five years after Mr. Pickton's arrest, the faces of these six women are familiar to many Canadians. Their photographs have appeared in countless newspaper articles and television programs. Most of these photos are the grim, unflattering mug shots that were used for the police posters of Vancouver's missing women.
Their families barely recognize these photos. Some say they bear no resemblance to the girls and women they remember.
Over the years, they say, the case's notoriety has stripped the missing women of their individuality. Many of the missing are simply referred to as "the drug-addicted prostitutes," a term that offends many relatives. One grandfather of a victim ended a brief email exchange as soon as the phrase "drug addict" was written.
Elaine Allan, who once worked at a Vancouver drop-in centre for prostitutes, knew five of the six women. Ms. Allan said drug addiction, in its final stages, robs people of their personalities.
"The reality of it is that addicted women are lonely and they're vulnerable and they're isolated and they're afraid and they get beaten up a lot. Once you're here, there's no way out."
At least three of the women suffered unimaginable abuse as young children, and simply never recovered. All six women began using drugs as teenagers.
In interviews with dozens of family members, The Globe and Mail compiled portraits of Georgina Papin, Marnie Frey, Sereena Abotsway, Brenda Wolfe, Andrea Joesbury and Mona Wilson.
Real life for little Mona Wilson was more frightening than the worst imaginable childhood nightmare.
As Mona cowered under her bed, her mother would chase her out with a broom, then hand the little girl over to her boyfriend, who raped her.
Mona was eventually rescued after a neighbour discovered the little girl bleeding and sobbing in an apartment hallway.
Mona's mother and boyfriend were jailed for their crimes and at age 8, Mona was sent to the hobby farm of Norma and Ken Garley, who lived in the B.C. Fraser Valley community of Langley with their brood of six children, chickens, turkeys and peacocks.
For a time, Mona thrived, and she revelled in the simple childhood pleasures that her natural family denied her; playing with baby chickens on the farm, camping and fishing with her foster family and one memorable trip to Disneyland.
Her foster brother, Greg Garley, was four years older than Mona, and remembers the small, dark-haired girl with a tough exterior, who softened instantly when she was near animals.
"You'd have to search her, just about, at dinner time because she'd smuggle in baby chicks and stuff," Mr. Garley, 43, said in an interview. "She'd bring them into her bedroom at night.
"She'd be out there, laying in the mud with them, all day, anything to do with the animals. Anywhere Mom went, Mona went, tagging along in her rubber boots.
"She absolutely flourished."
Despite the love offered by her foster family, Mona carried the scars of her early childhood.
They revealed themselves in a dark temper, a defiant attitude, and, as she reached her teen years, long episodes of crying jags.
Puberty seemed to rekindle memories of her childhood attacks, Mr. Garley said. "She would shriek and shriek and shriek like someone was killing her. She associated the blood with the rapes. (My mother) would be in her room all night. She thought she was being hurt again."
Eventually, the social services ministry removed Mona from the Garley's, saying it was better for the teen to try a stint at independent living. They placed the 15-year-old in a home in East Vancouver with a single mother of a teenaged boy.
Mona did not thrive there and eventually, contact between the Garleys and the young woman grew sporadic. The family retired to British Columbia's Okanogan but they still heard from Mona on birthdays and holidays. She did not visit.
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