Safe as Houses

Melissa Walker

Chapter 1

To say it was the first time I had seen a dead body almost seems trite and arrogant. Why would I
assume that I would see more corpses in my own lifetime? I had not even seen the body of my
grandmother when she passed away just a year ago. But here I am, looking at my neighbor Julie. This
shell, this now empty husk of the woman I knew.

I once saw tidbits of a true crime show my mom was watching, and as I passed through the living room, I
heard the narrator describe the dead woman as “lifeless.” I laughed at this. Lifeless. Like the life had
accidently fallen from her pockets, or she had lost it in the sticky floor of the movie theater. Poor thing,
she was without life. I howled at my brother as we cried through our laughter making up all the ways
someone would misplace their life. Like somehow one morning that person awoke and couldn’t find it,
or like it was the keys that we always seem to misplace. I understand that writers for these shows need
new and interesting ways to dramatize events, but really, who is lifeless?

My neighbor, she was lifeless. At this moment, I have no better way to describe her, because that is
exactly what she is. Her life seems to have jumped right out of her and run away. Now she lies here,
cold, pale and empty. Lifeless. That word stuck in my throat as I explained it to the cops after they
came. A young guy in a uniform asked me how I had found her and I laughed a little when I told him I
had found her lifeless, without life. He looked at me like I was crazy for a moment, then the pity set in. I
supposed he assumed that I was in shock, or maybe I was, but there she was all the same. Her body was
empty because she had plucked the life right out of it.

I wondered where the life went and where we store it in our bodies. For her, for Julie, her life must
have been stored in her head. If not, it would never have escaped past the rope around her neck. Or
maybe it lay dormant there while the cops cut her down and snuck out once the rope was loosened.
Would her chest move? Would it have passed her lips and tongue while the cops took their pictures
unnoticed?

All these things rambled through my mind while I did my best not to look at her face again. It definitely
wasn’t like the movies. She wasn’t serene or peaceful. Her eyes bulged a little and her face was
relaxed, but also seemed to be afraid at the same time. Her tongue pushed past her lips like it was
trying to escape before she died. Almost as though it thought it could get out and make a break for it,
all before the event closed. Maybe that’s where her life was stored, in her tongue. Her hair had fallen
over her face when I first found her, so I hadn’t had time before to wonder all these things. I just saw
her and then bolted downstairs to call for help. I couldn’t stay up there with her, and it was only later
that I realized I never checked to see if she was actually dead.
Lifeless. I didn’t look to see if she was all the way dead. What if I had lifted her legs, or supported her.
Could I have saved her? I just ran, my chest heaving and my stupid breakfast burrito rising in my throat.
I didn’t want to hurl on her carpets, I just wanted to get downstairs and call the police.

My stomach lurched violently at the memory and I jumped from my place on the front steps to finally
release my breakfast into her manicured bushes. I stood there, half bent over, panting. I wanted to cry,
but the tears wouldn’t come. All I could do is wonder where my own life is stored while I stared at
chunks of flour tortilla, eggs and what must be bits of onions.

“You found her?” A male voice said behind me.

I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my jacket and slowly turned around to face my inquisitor. My
stomach jumped a little knowing I would have to re-tell the story of my discovery. I could feel my face
redden, hoping I didn’t puke all over the man in the nice coat with the deep voice.

“Yeah, I found her.”

“I need to get some information from you. Do you think you are able to answer some questions?”

“I hope so.” I mumbled. I clutched my stomach and looked up at the cop. He was dressed in a suit and
tie, so I assumed he was a detective. Or at least all my experience with television and movies tell me
that he must be a detective. Of course, he looked like a cross between a school principal and an
executive in the city. He had a really nice pair of shoes on that seemed out of place for some reason and
I wondered if his life is stored in his feet and he just really needs to keep them in high fashion so it didn’t
run away.

I was still staring at his shoes when I realized he was asking me questions. “I’m sorry; I didn’t hear any of
that. What did you say?”

“Your name, your age, your address, why you’re here…” He tapped his notepad and shifted his weight
from foot to foot. His eyebrows raised and I saw the clear expression of annoyance. I knew that look
pretty well. I got it a lot from my teachers and parents.

“Dylan, I’m fourteen, I live across the street and she’s my tutor.” I practically spat this at him I was
talking so fast. I always ramble when I’m nervous and this guy was making me want to hork whatever
else was in my stomach all over his fancy life-storing shoes.

“She’s my friend too I guess.” I said this as he was writing and he only raised an eyebrow at me, not
altering his gaze from his furious scribbling.

I could hear the chatter around me, but not really around me at the same time. The neighborhood had
gathered in the street and I could see my brother sitting on his bike, watching me. He made his “what
the hell” face at me and I only shrugged. I wanted to go home. I really wanted to just go home and
pretend I had never come over. I would rewind the day and fake a cold or flu and just skip today’s visit.
I would never walk into this house and find her like that. I would never have seen her hair in her face
and her feet still and hovering over the tile floor. In fact that was the first thing that hit me when I found
her. She was floating and what a cool trick.

“No, she didn’t seem different in the last few days. She seemed like she always does.” I answered the
fancy footed detective’s question that I barely registered.

“Is there anyone in the neighborhood or in her life that you know, that might hold some grudge against
her?” He tapped his pad again.

“Everyone loved her.” Wow, how completely cliché of me. I may have to hire myself out as a writer for
that true crime show.

“No one in the neighborhood had anything against Julie.” I continued. “She was quiet, but really nice.
We all hung out for pot lucks once a month and I never heard bad things said about her.”

“Your whole block got together? Regularly?” He seemed surprised, but nowadays I guess people didn’t
socialize like that anymore. I remember my friend Jade telling me that it was unnatural to have get-
togethers with our neighbors.

“Sure.” I shrugged at him, but when my shoulders made their downward jump, they suddenly felt like
bricks. So I stood there slumped and looked up at Det. Fancyfeet. I think he said his name was Ferris or
something memorable, but it was never going to stick in my mind now.

He tapped his pad again and turned from me. I guess I was done, but I wasn’t totally sure. I hadn’t been
dismissed. I knew better than to bolt, since I have had this happen with my mom a lot. She’d trail off
during one of her talks; I’d assume we were done and leave, only to get grounded for a week. So, I
stood there slumped in the sun and looked at my brother with the jealousy of a prison inmate staring at
a bird outside his window. Well maybe not a bird, maybe a retarded squirrel or something that fit
better in the place of my brother Justin.

I could see how the detective might wonder about our neighborhood. My parents and the other adults
always laughed about how lucky they were to live in this little cul-de-sac, separate from the rest of the
development. It seemed that when it was planned out, this area was almost an afterthought. We were
slightly up a hill and the road to our street was around a bend that hid us from the view of the rest of
the suburb.

My bet was that this little bit of land was the last to be added because it was owned by the lady at the
end of the street. Her house stood out from the rest. In this U shaped neighborhood, hers was at the
bottom curve, with the largest lot. It was much older and also bigger. She was an old lady by my
definition, although my mom says that it’s not nice to refer to her that way. There were four other
houses making up the rest of the neighborhood, two on each side of the U shape. It was our own little
secluded suburb up in the shady hill in the prime development in Normalsville. Until today, until I found
Julie. Lifeless.

“Can I go?” I said a little too loudly to the back of Det. Fancyfeet.
He turned and stared at me for a moment. There was that annoyed look again. Then slowly a softer
look came into his eyes and he nodded at me. That was all I needed. I jumped to grab my notebook so I
could make my escape.

“Dylan, one second.”

I turned quickly, hoping that I could put some real distance between us before he got out what he was
trying to say. No such luck. I felt his hand on my shoulder and while I’m sure he meant to be firm, I was
smaller than he thought and he almost spun me on my butt.

Grabbing my other arm to balance me, he smiled. He then reached into his pocket and handed me a
small card. A business card I’m sure, but I didn’t bother to look at it. I shoved it in my pocket and felt
my shoulders fight their attraction to the cement.

“I’ll be in contact with you to set up an interview so we can discuss this more in depth. If your parents
need to speak with me, they can reach me at the number on that card. That also applies to you. If you
need to talk to me, or remember anything, just call me.”

“Sure.” I pulled away from him and bolted towards my house. Justin stared at me as I ran past him, and
turned to follow me. Luckily, I made it to my bathroom before the urge to throw up hit me again.

Justin was outside the door when I finally pulled myself off the bathroom floor. He was twelve and a
huge pain in my butt. My parents decided I was old enough to watch him during the summer, even
allowing him to be alone when I was working with Julie. They thought this was some type of reward for
being responsible. I thought it was complete crap. Who wants to be saddled with your little brother all
summer long?

Justin thought it was an awesome decision. He knew I would ignore him as long as he didn’t get killed or
kidnapped. So, we agreed that he would stay in the neighborhood, try to resist the urge to injure
himself, and I would never tell Mom that I had caught him trying on one of my new bras that she finally
decided I was ready for.

I changed my shirt and tossed it and my jacket into the laundry as I headed to the kitchen to call my
mom. Something else I really didn’t want to deal with. I sat on the stool placed by the wall phone and
thought up all the possible euphemisms for suicide. There was another word that seemed too small for
its meaning. There should be some new politically correct term. Self-shortened. Hope-impaired.
Living-disabled.

“I’m on my way now. You both stay in the house.” My mom said firmly and hung up the phone. I barely
had a chance to explain what happened.

I sat there for a bit, holding the phone in my hand, not caring that the line was still open. I closed my
eyes and leaned against the wall, letting the coolness of it wash over my face. For a moment, it felt
almost comforting until I thought about how Julie’s face was cold now, and would be cold forever. She
would never pat me on the shoulder again when I managed to get the history dates right, she would
never sneeze again, or have Chinese take-out, or bake cheesecakes for the potlucks.

A little shudder ran up my spine and I let myself think again about not checking to see if she was really
dead. Shame washed over me and I felt a cold settling into my belly. I closed my eyes as tight as I could,
willing the thought from my head. Needing a better distraction, I hung up the phone and headed into
the living room to wait for my mom. I tried to read my biography on Elizabeth I, but had a hard time
comprehending the sentences. After reading the same paragraph more than three or four times and
still having no idea what was written, I gave up and turned on the television. At least I could count on
finding some mind numbing rerun.

It wasn’t very long before my mom burst through the front door. Her short blonde hair was ruffled and
her shirt was askew. Her name tag was barely holding its place on her shirt almost as though the name
of her bank, “First Savings and Loan” was about to slide off onto the floor. Her name, Margaret, was
tilted and half in the pocket of her button up blouse. It looked like she had pushed her way through a
wind tunnel to get here.

Usually my mom and I had a bit of constant friction. Normal mom and daughter stuff. But today I didn’t
care about any of it. At this moment, I just wanted my mom. I ran into her arms and the tears finally
came. I just sank into her and cried. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t even ask if I was ok. She just
held me tightly and sank with me to the floor. She pulled me to her lap and rocked me like she did when
I was little. We sat there for a long time, or at least it felt that way. She smoothed my hair and didn’t
complain that I had soaked her nice blouse. When I finally stopped, I didn’t feel much better. I think I
had only used up the tears I had at the time. Like some weird water heater for tears. I had used up the
reserve and now it needed time to create them again.

My face felt swollen and hot, and I started to feel embarrassed about crying like a little girl. That
uncomfortable feeling crept its way back into my chest and I started to pull back from my mom. I heard
her sigh a little, but she didn’t comment as I got up and went back to the couch.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” She asked tentatively.

“Not really. Or, as least, not right now.”

“I understand, we can discuss it later.” She said quietly. She stood up and assumed mom stance yet
again and the moment was gone.

“Are you ok then?”

“Yes.”

“And your brother, is he ok?”

“Yes.”
“Alright then, I’m going to head outside and find out what I can. I’ll be back in a bit. For now, you two
stay inside. Watch TV or have a snack. If you need me, I have my cell.”

“Ok Mom. “

And she was gone again. I wanted to tell her to stay, that I needed her. I wanted to sob and cuddle and
admit that I wanted my mommy, but something stopped me. It was the same something that stopped
me from sharing everything with her like I used to. We weren’t best friends anymore, and I knew it was
because of something that changed about me.

Justin came and sat beside me. He seemed to want the same sort of comforting, but couldn’t ask for it.
This was one of the rare occasions that I felt sorry for him. Not saying anything, I put my arm around
him and changed the channel. He settled against me and without realizing it, comforted me.
The counting table was cold and hard. The corners pressed into my butt at an angle that at first was
merely an annoyance, but now it was all I could think about. The first time I had come back here, it was
all so very exciting and the table’s freezing edges added to the thrill. Now I wish I could end this
interlude, but I was so far gone that it was too late to back out.

Lee pushed me further against the table, mindlessly pumping away. I just thought about the table
pressing into my ass and closed my eyes. It wasn’t important anymore if I was an active partner in this,
he didn’t care about pleasing me anymore. How stupid was I to start screwing my boss.

It had begun simply as a flirtation, as two personalities on the same wavelength. We laughed and told
our dirty little jokes. We let innuendo be our secret language. It was never serious, since we were both
married and always laughed about the things our spouses and children did.

“Oh Meg! Meg!” Lee moaned into my ear. At least it was going to be over soon. I tightened my arms
around him and lifted my wrist to check my watch. My break was almost over. What a waste of time.

I shut my eyes and braced myself for the big thrust, grimacing as the table corner pressed further into
my skin. I wondered if it punctured the skin, or if I was going to be hiding a bruise.

The affair had started after a uncharacteristically busy day at the bank. On top of everything, we
received a delivery of bills two days before scheduled and we were required to stay late to fix the
paperwork and square the cash away. We were back here in the vault after closing, alone together for
the first time. Sure we had been out to lunch together, but we had never been completely alone
without anyone to witness our actions. The flirting got out of control and before I knew it, we were
kissing. It wasn’t long before we were making love on this same counting table, but then I didn’t mind
the rigid edges.

I had never cheated on my husband, not in the 15 years that we had been married. Sure, I had
fantasized about other men, but nothing more than a brief walk down Brad Pitt lane. Never had I
thought of myself with a flesh and blood man that I actually had access to. Now I had completely
crossed that line.

I admit that it was exciting the first few times. He made me feel sexy and wonderful, something that I
hadn’t felt in years. Soon however, I remembered what it was I loved about being married. It wasn’t
the sex, it was the man that I respected, loved and shared everything with.

I had been seduced by the way he looked at me, and how amazing he told me I was. I wanted that
newness, that invincible feeling of young sexy power. Lee had been so attentive and caring. He wanted
to please me and make sure I was satisfied. He told me that watching me enjoy our lovemaking was the
most exciting thing to him.

That lasted about 3 weeks. Now he didn’t really care if I was mentally there. I suppose I could have
brought back some paperwork and finished up my day’s work while he thrusted away.
Rather than spending my spare time fantasizing about a better life, more money or even Brad Pitt, I now
spent my time trying to figure out how to politely tell my boss that I no longer wanted to screw him.

I was straightening my skirt and tucking in my blouse when my cell phone rang.

“Margaret Bufont.” I said, answering as quickly as I could, happy to have a diversion from the now
awkward post coital parting from Lee.

“Mom.”

“Dylan honey, what’s wrong?” I was instantly alarmed. Dylan was fiercly independent and never called
me unless it was a last resort.

“Julie’s dead. She killed herself.”

My spine felt like it had been infused instantly with ice. My dear god, how did this happen? How did
Julie do it? Who found her? Was there a note?

My heart sank when I realized that Dylan might be the one to discover her.

I rushed out of the vault and headed straight to my desk to grab my purse. As I was making my way out
the front door, Lee stopped me by blocking my way.

“Everything alright?” He asked with a little scared concern in his eyes. I knew his first thought was about
himself. I couldn’t help but rolling my eyes as I pushed past him.

“Family emergency.” I muttered as I breezed by.

In truth I didn’t care what he thought. Maybe it was time I got up the nerve to apply for that promotion
to the downtown branch.

My stomach instantly dropped as the reason I was leaving rushed back into my mind. Poor Julie. She
was such an amazing woman. She was a professor of American History at the University and had been
Dylan’s tutor for the last three years. She helped Dylan with everything from English, history and even
some economics. It was my opinion that Dylan didn’t really need a tutor, but when Julie offered, I knew
that the individual attention would only help. Julie turned out to be a fantastic influence and Dylan’s
grades and scholastic confidence shot through the roof. Her fervor for education increased to a point
that no longer did she spend her spare time watching TV, but rather read biographies or other historical
and classic novels.

All I could wonder is how much this would affect Dylan.