to see how he was doing. He said the therapy was helping.
When he was gone, and the twitter of talk died down, the neighbourhood was a quieter place than it had been. More reserved. More self-conscious. The ‘perpetrators’ had never been caught. They were still out there somewhere. People drew their blinds and checked their locks twice before turning in. New people moved in and found this neighbourhood no different than other sections of the city, no warmer, no more welcoming. They wondered why their friends had raved about it. People hesitated before unfamiliar faces. They didn’t strike up conversations over their morning cappuccinos. After all, you never could tell, could you? The world was such a dangerous place these days.
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