Heritage architecture is the highlight of my neighbourhood. Houses are built close together, higher than they are wide, with cedar shingles, and hardy-board siding painted in bright and vibrant colors. Cherry trees line the streets and in the spring their pink blossoms blanket the ground. The water park centered in the middle of our community is a draw to every family within a 10 mile radius. It is the perfect place to raise kids. The neighbourhood is beautiful but it’s the residents that infuse it with life; and no matter how promising that life begins, it can always be corrupted.
I wanted somewhere safe where my son could grow up, where his future siblings might play without my paranoid and vigilant watch. It was this Semi Gated community that promised the sanctuary I longed for. Family dreams are built on the foundation of what it means to be home. Home is first and foremost a place where you feel secure. It’s a recognizable land mark, a number on the front door; it’s the broken path up to a familiar house, and a tree where you carved your name. It’s where lives are lived and memories made. And I wanted something pure. The neighbourhood was so new I convinced myself that darkness had yet to find it. I had no idea that darkness already lurked there.
For four years he lived in our neighbourhood, camouflaged in the laughter of our children as they played. He claimed to be a doctor and because we weren’t given any reason to doubt it, we took him at his word. We trusted his judgement and his unsolicited advice. And on the rare occasion that he was in town (he owned two different homes) neighbours did the neighbourly thing and offered coffee and conversation. He was always polite even as our children played at his feet and ran through his yard. He tried to make the strata meetings, his fees were never in arrears. He was friendly and respectful. He was completely unremarkable. I never feared him, I barely knew him. Brian was the perfect neighbour but Brian did not really exist.
Brian was in fact a fugitive. He is not a doctor but a sex offender. He fled from prosecution and hid in my country.
A predator lived next door to me and I didn’t suspect a thing. Monsters don’t look like monsters. They look like normal people and hold normal jobs. They don’t enter your life with Nazi symbols on their shoulders, or guns in their waistband. They don’t look unkempt or speak in hushed threatening tones. You never see the darkness unless they want you to and by then it’s often too late.
The Heritage architecture is the highlight of my neighbourhood and every spring the cherry trees bloom. He watched and waited for it; a monster in our midst.
randomreflectionz said:
Oh, wow! How scary! How did you guys find out about his true identity?
dalrie said:
He was in the newspaper after he was caught! Of course we recognized his mugshot and the newspaper told the street he lived on. It was pretty surreal!
Stephanie B. (@B4Steph) said:
My gosh, what a story. We always hear that about the sex offenders, and the crazies who go into high schools and shoot students – he was the best neighbor, the best husband, the nicest guy. They hide in plain sight. Psychopaths. Thank heaven they caught him. Your writing here is beautiful even if the subject is not. It flows nicely and the image of the cherry tree is lovely amid the lurking danger.
dalrie said:
I know. My husband always says that everytime hes at a scene people will undoubtedly say “he was the nicest guy”. They can blend in so well. Its pretty nuts that he was in Canada for ten years and nobody suspected a thing. Thanks for the compliments on my writing too! I appreciate it. 🙂
TheJackB said:
That really is scary. You are right, monsters often look just like us.
dalrie said:
Totally freaky! It was really a shock.
triciaraisinghumans said:
Oh my goodness this is chilling. I do and I don’t want to reconsider how I think about my neighbors now… you never really know. So powerful the way you wrote this.
dalrie said:
It is terrifying to know that your trust in people, even those you know well, can be so misplaced. Thankfully I’m a bit of a helicopter parent and my children are never really out of my sight. But I know neighbours who were a lot more friendly with him than I. So scary.
Pish Posh said:
Oh Christ on a cracker!! Awfully scary. Holy balls. Jeez.
At work we have to help someone whose dog was just shot by a PLAINCLOTHES undercover police officer who had THE WRONG ADDRESS and busted down the WRONG door and shot the owner’s dog for protecting the owner.
Makes you feel like there’s nothing you can do to be truly safe. You can only do the best you can do – and you are.
Great writing here!!
dalrie said:
Thanks for the compliment. And OH MY GOD. How traumatizing for that poor guy. Did the dog die? How brutal. You’d figure if you’re going to bust a guys door down that double checking the address would be imperative. *facepalm*