It's possible there could be another 15-year-old girl in trouble right now.
Nearly four decades after a youth leader at a Baptist church in Parksville, British Columbia, allegedly initiated a secret sexual relationship with a fifteen-year-old girl, that girl — now a woman — has brought her story before B.C. Supreme Court. Brenda Tombs is suing both the man she says abused her and the institution she says enabled him, seeking not only personal reckoning but structural accountability. Her case asks a question that echoes across many communities of faith: when trusted adults exploit the young, and institutions look away, who bears responsibility for the decades of harm that follow?
- A woman who spent forty years carrying shame that was never hers to carry has finally named what happened to her — and named the institution she believes made it possible.
- The church community that once felt like home became the source of her deepest wound, shunning her after the abuse was discovered while the perpetrator simply left town.
- Trauma, substance abuse, abusive relationships, and years of therapy mark the long shadow cast by a few months of exploitation when she was fifteen years old.
- Civil litigation, her lawyer argues, is the only legal tool capable of reaching institutions — because criminal law can punish a person, but only a civil suit can hold a church, a school, or a scout troop accountable for the culture it cultivated.
- Tombs says her motivation is not only her own healing, but the possibility that another fifteen-year-old girl may be in the same kind of trouble right now.
Brenda Tombs was fifteen when she found belonging at Parksville Fellowship Baptist Church in 1985. Charles Aiken, the twenty-six-year-old youth leader, was charismatic and attentive — and he singled her out. What began as pastoral attention became a secret sexual relationship that continued for months before it was discovered in 1986. When it ended, Aiken left town. The church community that had felt like home turned away from Tombs entirely, leaving her isolated and ashamed.
The weight of that shame followed her for decades. She struggled with her mental health, fell into abusive relationships, and turned to drugs. It took years of therapy before she arrived at a truth that should have been obvious from the start: a fifteen-year-old cannot consent to a relationship with an adult authority figure. The fault had never been hers.
On Friday, Tombs filed a civil claim in B.C. Supreme Court against both Aiken and the Parksville Fellowship Baptist Church, alleging not only abuse but institutional complicity — that the church fostered a culture in which predators could operate without consequence. Neither the defendant nor the church had responded as of Monday.
Her lawyer, Mallory Hogan of KazLaw Injury and Trauma Lawyers, explained why civil court matters where criminal law falls short: criminal charges can only reach individuals, but civil litigation can hold institutions accountable for what they knew, or should have known, and failed to stop. Hogan, who handles cases involving churches, schools, and youth organizations, argues that civil suits are the primary engine of real policy change.
Tombs is clear about why she is speaking now. She has done the work of healing — and she is acting on the possibility that somewhere, another young girl may be in the same danger she once faced. Her case is both a reckoning with the past and a demand that institutions answer for the futures they put at risk.
Brenda Tombs was fifteen years old when she joined the youth group at Parksville Fellowship Baptist Church in 1985. Charles Aiken, twenty-six and the group's leader, played guitar and had a gift for making faith feel alive to teenagers. He was charming, funny, and in control of their social world. Tombs, who hadn't found her place in school, felt she'd finally landed somewhere that mattered. Aiken seemed to see her in particular—he counseled the young people through their problems, and he singled her out.
What began as attention became something else. Aiken told Tombs he wanted a secret relationship with her. She was under his spell, as she would later describe it, and she agreed. For months they carried on in hiding, until 1986, when the relationship was discovered. The aftermath was swift and isolating. Aiken left town with his family. The church community that had felt like home turned away from her. The youth group members shunned her. Tombs was left feeling abandoned, ashamed, and alone—emotions that would shape the next four decades of her life.
She carried the weight of what had happened as if it were her own failure. The shame metastasized into self-loathing. She struggled with her mental health, drifted into abusive relationships, and turned to drugs. It took years of therapy before she understood a fundamental truth: none of it had been her fault. A fifteen-year-old cannot consent to a relationship with a twenty-six-year-old authority figure. The responsibility lay entirely with the adult who chose to exploit her.
On Friday, Tombs filed a civil claim in B.C. Supreme Court against both Aiken and the Parksville Fellowship Baptist Church. She is alleging not only that Aiken sexually abused her, but that the church was complicit—that it fostered a culture that enabled predators to operate without consequence. As of Monday afternoon, neither Aiken nor the church had filed a response. A person who answered the phone at the church declined to comment.
Tombs is not pursuing this case for herself alone. In her statement to the court, she was clear about her motivation: "It has recently occurred to me, however, that it's possible there could be another 15-year-old girl in the same kind of trouble right now. That is the reason why I've decided to proceed with this action." She has worked through her trauma and found the strength to speak. Now she wants to prevent others from enduring what she did.
Her lawyer, Mallory Hogan of KazLaw Injury and Trauma Lawyers, explained why civil court matters when criminal justice often fails survivors. "You can't lay a charge against an institution for rape," Hogan said. "It's just the perpetrator." But in civil litigation, a lawyer can argue that an institution knew or should have known what was happening and had the power to stop it. This creates accountability that the criminal system cannot provide. Hogan handles cases involving boy scouts, cadets, schools, and churches—institutions where children are supposed to be safe. Civil suits, she argues, are the mechanism through which real change happens. "I think the only way that we're ever going to get policy and institutional change is through these kinds of civil cases," she said. "That's how you ensure that children are kept safe when they are within the institution."
It is common for survivors to wait decades before coming forward. The path from trauma to healing to the courage to speak publicly is long and uncertain. Tombs has reached that point. She is ready to tell what happened to her, and in doing so, to demand that the institution that failed to protect her answer for what it allowed.
Citas Notables
As a young person who wasn't terribly popular in school at that age, I felt like I finally fit in somewhere. And at the helm of it all was [Aiken] — charming, funny and in charge of our exciting social lives.— Brenda Tombs, in her personal statement
I think the only way that we're ever going to get policy and institutional change is through these kinds of civil cases against various entities such as churches, or boy scouts, or schools. That's how you get change.— Mallory Hogan, Tombs's lawyer
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did it take so long for her to come forward?
Trauma doesn't work on a timeline. She spent decades carrying shame that wasn't hers to carry. It took therapy to separate what happened to her from who she was. That's not unusual—it's the pattern.
What does suing the church accomplish that a criminal case wouldn't?
In criminal court, you prosecute the person who committed the crime. The institution stays in the background. Civil court lets you say: you knew this was happening, or you should have known, and you did nothing. That's how you force change in how institutions operate.
Is there any chance Aiken will respond to the claim?
We don't know yet. He left town decades ago. But the claim is filed. The church has been served. Now they have to decide whether to fight or settle.
What does she hope will come from this?
She's explicit about it: she doesn't want another fifteen-year-old girl to experience what she did. She's using her voice to protect someone she'll never meet.
How common is this pattern in institutions?
Common enough that her lawyer handles cases against boy scouts, cadets, schools, churches. It's a pattern. And civil suits are becoming the way survivors are forcing institutions to reckon with it.