Safer by Sean Doolittle Read Free Book Online Page B

months later, after the spring thaw, hikers discovered a shallow grave deep in the preserve—the same woods Sara’s attacker had likely used to make his escape from our bedroom just twenty- four hours earlier. The grave had been uncovered by animals and had contained the decomposed remains of a young human male.
    On the day the Clark Falls Police Department released its official findings to the media, Clair Mallory had run a warm bath, climbed in, swallowed several weeks’ worth of prescription antidepressants, and opened her wrists with a kitchen knife. By the time Roger had gone up to check on her, the water in the tub had already cooled.
    “The whole time they’re telling me this,” Sara said, “I just kept thinking,
My God, that’s horrible.
And then it just kept getting worse.”
    I didn’t say anything.
Horrible
seemed to cover it.
    “Poor Roger. I can’t imagine how I could keep living in the same house all alone. Can you?”
    “Not really.” A brief image flashed in my mind, and I wished I could unthink it. “No.”
    “Melody Seward told me that when the weather is nice, Roger takes a walk back in those woods nearly every day.”
    I thought of our conversation last night.
I guess anything can happen anywhere,
I’d said. I thought of the way Roger had agreed.
    “Wow,” I said.
    “I just don’t know how you could bear it.”
    I didn’t know either, but thinking about the tiny bunch of tissue growing in Sara’s belly, I couldn’t imagine a whole world of things.
    I couldn’t imagine what it was going to feel like, the day this little surprise life joined ours. At thirty- seven years of age, I’d only just begun to imagine myself as a father; in no way could I claim to imagine what it would feel like to stand over the grave of my murdered child.
    As the sports segment cut to commercials, something made me look at the television. The moment I did, I recognized what it was that had drawn my attention: our new neighbor’s voice.
    Before you and your family leave to enjoy your summer vacation this season,
Roger Mallory said,
remember to ask a neighbor to pick up your mail.
    Roger stood on the front steps of a cozy brick house between a flower box and a mail slot overflowing with circulars and bills. He looked good on camera: comfortable, casual, authoritative.
    Or, arrange for your post office to stop delivery while you’re away. A growing pile of mail can send a message to criminals looking for an easy target.
He pointed to the camera.
For more summertime security tips, log on to www.saferplace.org .
    The screen cut to a variation on the neighborhood watch logo most everyone knows, the familiar “ not- allowed” symbol over a prowler’s silhouette. An announcer’s voice said,
This neighborhood safety message is brought to you by the Safer Places Organization.
    Sara sighed and closed her eyes. She looked like I felt: exhausted, overwhelmed. I sensed a slight change in her posture, a new tension. When I squeezed her hand, she said, “I’m okay.”
    “Can I do anything?”
    She shook her head, but not in answer to my question. It was the same reflexive gesture I’d performed myself a moment ago, thinking of Clair Mallory, at my own mental picture of finding Sara lolling in a tub of bloody water.
    “I swear,” she said, scooting closer, “every time I stop moving for five minutes, I remember what that guy’s breath smelled like.”
    Besides being near just then, she’d wanted only one thing from me that day. It really hadn’t been much. We weren’t even fighting about it anymore.
    But I still wished I’d gone to the meeting with her.

8.
    OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, as we settled in, found places to put everything in the new house, found a doctor for Sara, and found our way around town, we came to know our neighbors in Sycamore Court.
    Pete and Melody Seward had celebrated their eighth wedding anniversary that June. Like us, they’d both been through divorces. Once upon a time, Pete had