Lavender Rose

By Dani Carlisle

When nine-year-old Haven Fleet disappears from her school bus stop, everything changes.

Every parent will tell you that the thought of losing their child is unfathomable. Stevie Fleet would spend her whole life searching for her lost daughter, and her four remaining children will face battles of their own.

How far would one parent go to find her lost child, and what other obstacles could meet her along the way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Dec 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228854401

Dani Carlisle

I'm a non-binary parent, novelist and poet, passionate about changing the world and inspiring people around the globe.

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Lavender Rose

Copyright © 2021 by Dani Carlisle

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-5439-5 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-5440-1 (eBook)

For Lauren – thanks for being the most wonderful friend a person could ask for.

For Tina – I’m just honoured to be able to exist at the same time as you.

For the readers – thank you for being here, and remember that you’re valid and unique.

Content warning:

- Profanity/derogatory language

- Child abduction/abuse

- Sexual content

- Cancer

- Suicidal ideation + mental health

- Underaged drinking

- Sexual assault

- Racial bias/racism

- Transphobia + dysphoria

- Gore/descriptions of post-mortem activities

- Explicit/traumatizing scenes

HAVEN’S NOT SO GREAT ESCAPE

fletcher

I was fourteen when I died for the first time.

I think we’re all afraid of death. I think, for those of us who are fortunate enough to get old, it’s something we eventually come to terms with. The thing is growing old isn’t guaranteed, and I know that better than a lot of people. For me, it’s not so much the fear of death itself as it is the uncertainty. Nobody can tell me what will happen to me when I’m dead. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot. It’s something I still think about a lot.

During the times where my body gets the sickest, I’ve thought about my funeral. I’ve thought about the things I hope my family says about me. It really isn’t as dreary as it sounds, thinking about your own death. Some people don’t have to worry much about it. To others, like me, it’s always an unanswered question at the back of my mind.

Despite being six years apart, I was always quite close with my sister Haven. She disappeared on her way home from school, right off a street filled with people. That was four years ago. She was nine.

Before our last game, Gio dressed in his football jersey, playing rock music through his Bluetooth speaker. ‘Hey, man, put your leg on! Get dressed!’ He nudged me, tossing my prosthetic at me. We’re on the same team, he and I. It’s how we met, at tryouts, last school year. He’s wide receiver. I’m running back.

‘Alright, alright.’ It’s not hard to put on a prosthetic. I’ve been doing it for two years. ‘I’m coming.’ My jersey hung from the door of our bathroom. Haven never got to see me play. I dressed in my uniform, my knee joints clicking as I walked, the way they always do when I first reattach my prosthetic. I’m used to the looks I get. They aren’t as common these days.

Gio kept in step with me. ‘Hey, your sister will be here later to see you, right?’

He’s always asking about her. Eloise is in high school, a cheerleader, only attending the college to visit me. I know Gio’s got a thing for her. It’s a bit gross if you ask me. ‘I assume so.’ He pumped a fist in the air, hot on my heels. Gio’s able-bodied. Still, he always insists on keeping pace with me.

The football field is in front of our fraternity house. Spectators were already crowded round, the cheerleading squad in position. I don’t understand all the hype. We’re hardly a professional team. My coach says it boosts morale, having the cheerleaders here. Mostly all it does is distract the guys from the game.

I’m the only amputee on any of my college sports teams. I work harder, my mom says, than any of the able-bodied players, but that’s not something she knows for sure. My parents have always been there for me: when I was diagnosed with osteosarcoma at thirteen years old, when I lost my leg to infection, when I had to stay in the hospital for a month at a time. It’s been hard. I’ve gotten through it.

Football season is over now. Next year, I’ll play on the team again, and hopefully I’ll have improved a bit.

My girlfriend Tessa always sits at the top of the stands, her fiery hair perfectly crimped the way it always is. She knows nothing about football. She hates sports, and isn’t shy about reminding me.

My sister Haven was a huge social butterfly. I hate thinking about her in past tense. My parents say she could still be alive. Haven loved people and animals and singing, which she did a lot of. She’s my half-sister, to be technical, but that never mattered. All she ever did was ask questions and wonder about the world and the people in it. I like to think she’s out there somewhere still, trying to find her way home.

Gio’s team captain, which means he’s pretty popular both on and off the court. I’m popular, too, but for different reasons.

After class, Tessa meets me outside the house. She’s only ever known me as an amputee. Gio, too. Sometimes I wonder how they would have dealt with the experience of me being sick. If the cancer ever comes back, I guess I’ll find out. ‘Hey, superstar.’ Tessa smiles, standing on her toes to kiss me. ‘I fantasized about you all through class today."

Like my sister, Tessa likes status. Sometimes I think that’s the only reason she’s with me. She’s hot, though. I’ll take whatever reason I can get. ‘Was I naked, in this fantasy of yours?"

Nobody outside of my family knows about Haven: not Tessa, not Gio. I know I should tell them. It’s too hard to talk about. It’s been four years since she disappeared, and her bedroom still looks exactly the same as it did when she lived at home.

Of course. Tessa takes my hand, weaving through the crowd toward my fraternity house. ‘You need to get changed. I’m taking you on a date.’ We don’t go out much.

I was seventeen when I lost my leg. I’d spent six years being treated with aggressive chemotherapy and surgeries, but I didn’t go into remission until after the amputation. I got the surgery four months before my high school graduation. Haven had been missing for two years, by then.

Tessa always dresses like she’s going to a red-carpet event. At my frat house, she lies across the living room couch. ‘Put on something nice. We’re going out for dinner, my treat.’ Gio hasn’t returned yet. I don’t feel shy about changing with my bedroom door open.

Our house dog, Alpha, runs over happily when he spots us. He’s been living here since before I moved in: a two-year-old Siberian Husky. I guess he’s sort of our mascot: our team, Empire State Huskies, brings him to games a lot to boost team spirit. I like having a pet around here. My mother never let us have a dog growing up, though I always really wanted one. He runs his nose on my hand, always happy to see me, even when there’s other people here. Hey, boy, I say, and scratch between his ears. It’s good to see you, too.

My prosthetic clicks. I strip down to my underwear, and stand in the living room. ‘Why? Is today a special occasion or something?’

Tessa flips her hair. ‘Can’t a girl just take her boyfriend out on a date?’ I suppose this is part of being in a relationship, but it’s peculiar, we normally only spend time together at school. ‘You look confused, Fletcher, I love you, I want to take you out on dates.’

When Haven first disappeared, my mother made missing person signs, and taped them up all over the neighbourhood. I remember her appearing on news channels and making speeches begging whoever knew anything to come forward. Nobody ever did. Mom never gave up, though. She’d stay up all night looking for leads, she’d replace the missing person signs monthly, she still does, all this time later. It’s hard to be optimistic sometimes. My stepfather Wells has been involved in all the searches; after all, she’s his daughter, too.

I finish changing. It feels strange being dressed so formally. With long pants and socks on, my prosthetic is barely visible at all. There are a few restaurants on campus. When Tessa and I do go out, we normally go to one of them. ‘Thanks, Tess. You’re so good to me."

Tessa takes my hand. I try. She’s told me she loves me before, several times. I never say it back. I’m a child of divorce. My perception on love isn’t like most everyone else’s. ‘Don’t worry about anything,’ she says, leading me into one of the fancier campus eateries, ‘it’s all on me.’ We sit and browse the menu.

Osteosarcoma is the eighth most common childhood cancer, and it’s slightly more common in boys, though I’m not sure why. I was diagnosed in junior high, on my thirteenth birthday, stage two. I remember the nurses giving me a seventy five percent chance of surviving two years after metastases. It’s been six years. I’ve been in remission for two. My mother used to call me her miracle.

When you have cancer, people treat you differently. My mom, she thought it’d be best to try and keep my life as normal as possible in between treatments. I’d go to school after staying in the hospital doing intensive chemotherapy, with all my hair missing and a bandana wrapped haphazardly around my head. I missed a lot of school. I was sick most of the time. I graduated high school, somehow, with lots of extra help from my teachers and tutors. I want to be a mortician.

This morning, I went on a run with Alpha, around the college, up into a long trail off campus. I’ve always loved running, hiking, sports, but Alpha keeps me active. Sometimes I’ll let him run off, and I’ll follow, waiting to see where he’ll take me. I’ve discovered a lot of great spots like that.

My leg clicks on the floor every time I walk. I used to hate the stares I got from people. It doesn’t bother me much these days. I’m just happy to be alive.

SIBLING RIVALRY

eloise

Haven’s room is still painted pink and yellow, her favorite colors. Nobody has gone through her things yet; I think my mother is too afraid to. I think she feels cleaning out Haven’s room will make things final. I think my sister’s probably dead. Mother and Wells refuse to listen.

My parents divorced when I was three. My mother had an affair with one of her clients and ended up leaving my father for him. It’s been years since I’ve even seen my father; he’s always so busy piloting planes and travelling the world. Wells treats me like he’s my father. I detest it.

There’s a photograph of my sister inside my school locker. It’s the last one that was taken of her before she disappeared. Nobody knows about her: except my best friend, Emma. My mother has had cops investigating her case since the day she vanished. Nothing turns up. If I were her, I would have given up ages ago.

‘Girl, did you hear about Rachel and Garrett?’

Emma walks beside me from our classroom, awaiting the latest gossip. I’m always the first one to know about it. Around here, nothing happens without me finding out. She tightens her ponytail, letting it swish out behind her as we walk. ‘He totally dumped her at cheer practice in front of everyone. God, she must have been so embarrassed.’

I’m captain of the cheer team. I have been for two years.

Emma laughs. ‘Serves her right, though. Plus, he can do way better; she’s crusty as hell anyway.’ She speaks loudly, passing methodically past Rachel’s locker, where the girl’s head is ducked, digging through her backpack. ‘What about you, B? Babysitting tonight?’

At my locker, she waits while I gather my things. ‘Yep. I’ll be out late. I’m putting the kids to bed tonight.’ I don’t actually like children, but I like money. I’d have stopped looking after the girls ages ago if I didn’t get paid so well.

When I stand to leave, one of the boys from the football team smiles at me. I ignore him. Boys my age are total slobs. Oliver is my father’s age, and he’s got money. I’d do a lot of things to get him to give me some.

One of my favourite memories of my sister is our family trip to Disneyland. Haven was six, and tagged along after me the whole day, which I didn’t mind. That was before Fletcher got sick. When he got sick, everything became about him. Everything is still about him, and he’s not even sick anymore. I’m the middle child. Between Fletcher’s medical problems and Jax’s acting out, I’m pretty much invisible.

My mother is speaking to a client when I get home. She smiles and waves at me, like she does every day, and like always, I don’t acknowledge her. I’m tired of my mother trying to be all involved in my life. It’s intrusive, and she makes me feel like I’m a zoo exhibit to be stared at and examined. Jax plays video games in the basement. I yell at him on my way to my bedroom. ‘Hey, fuckhead!’

His screen is glowing red. He hollers back. ‘Hey, shitbrain. Still ugly, I see.’

Jax’s not my real brother. We have the same mom, and that’s it. Most of the time I can’t stand him, but he seems to love getting a rise out of me. ‘Where’d you get that jacket?’ he asks, although I’d be surprised if he cared, ‘Your sugar daddy?’ He’s always so loud, so disruptive. I can’t count how many times he’s gotten detention for causing a disruption in class. He does it at home, too. I hate being interrupted. Jax is terrible for interrupting.

I throw a pillow at him. ‘Shut up.’

The family I babysit for lives ten minutes away. My mother hates it when I drive in the dark, but she deadass needs to chill, it won’t even be sunset for a few more hours. I love going out at night, anyway. My mother doesn’t need to know about it.

Luna is seven years old, and Poppy is four. The family lives in the city’s wealthiest neighbourhood, Cobbs Hill. Honestly, that’s the only reason I took the job. When I arrive at the large, three-story home, I reapply my lipstick and lift the brass door knocker. They’ll be expecting me. I don’t see why I can’t just let myself in.

Luna opens the door. She wears nothing but a pair of denim shorts, and smiles at me. ‘Hi! Dad! Eloise is here! Come in,’ she says, and opens the door wider. I never know how to deal with these kids. They’re so strange and dirty. I try to look excited.

This house is almost always impeccable. On occasion, Oliver and Evelyn will get into one of their fights, and a mess will be left behind. It’s always cleaned up before I come over again. Evelyn appears at the end of the long, carpeted hallway, her updo loose and copper. ‘Good evening, Eloise. Thank you for coming on such short notice.’

She has no idea. It’s quite pathetic, actually. Poppy runs to greet me. She’s just eaten and touches me with sticky fingers. I bat my eyes. ‘Of course.’ When I make myself comfortable, Oliver joins his wife at the foot of the stairs. That man looks stupefying in a tailored suit. ‘You two have a wonderful night,’ I say, and meet his eyes. He looks me up and down, once, quickly, and then follows his wife to the coat closet.

I always dress to impress. Today is no different.

The girls are always rowdy when their parents leave. Luna takes off her shorts and runs naked through the home. Poppy dumps a pile of her toys onto the living room floor. I’ve always found babysitting to be the most effective form of birth control. Not only do children ruin your body, they’re annoying, and talk too much.

I was four when Haven was born. I don’t remember much of it, but I remember the awe I felt holding her for the first time. Haven was the only kid I ever liked. When I had a bad day, she’d sit with me in my room and wrap her scrawny little arms around my shoulders. When I got into fights with my mother, she’d always side with me, no matter how ridiculous my arguments were. When Fletcher got sick, she was seven years old and always the first to go to him when he was upset or unwell. She was the glue holding our family together, and then she vanished, and all of us sort of fell apart.

There is a framed photograph on the wall of the family, smiling in all their prosperity. I’m not poor. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I were. I’ve never worked a day in my life, anyway, unless you count babysitting, and that’s hardly work.

Poppy jumps on top of me, snickering. ‘Come play with me, Eloise. I got some new toys!’ The children of wealthy people are always spoiled rotten. I wish I were spoiled. My parents aren’t rich, but they certainly could have afforded to give me more gifts when I was a kid. My mother claimed she didn’t want us to be spoiled. I think, after all the grief she’s put us through, the least she could do is spoil us a little.

I drop my jacket. It’s the same one Oliver bought for me after an evening of adventure. ‘Alright, fine. Luna, put your clothes back on.’ I hated being naked as a little girl. I love it, now.

Tonight, I’ll be putting the girls to bed. When they’re asleep, I always have free reign of the home. Evelyn and Oliver keep their alcohol in a cupboard in the basement, loosely shut with a metal lock. Oliver gave me an extra key. When the girls are being particularly annoying, I like to rummage through that cupboard for a drink or two.

Giovanni likes to make me Cosmopolitans. It’s what I was drinking the night we first hooked up. No one knows about that. Giovanni’s good at keeping secrets. Me, I just don’t have enough shame to feel bad about things I’ve done. He’s always made my drinks exactly the way I like them. He’s always been fantastic at giving me what I want.

I pour myself a drink. The girls play noisily in the living room, their toys strewn across the floor. I’ll never have kids. They’re much too loud and messy for me. Not to mention, I’m unwilling to spend all my money on people other than myself. My parents have spent thousands of dollars on my brother’s treatments alone. It’s obvious he’s the favourite child. They could be a little more subtle about it.

The girls are in bed by eight. I tuck them in, and then I shut the door and pour myself a drink.

THERE’S NO FUN WITHOUT U

jax

For the third time this week, I’m in the principal’s office. Personally, I’m proud of the design I spray-painted on the side of the school. The staff don’t seem to feel the same way. I was bored, and it’s impossible to focus on class. We had to sit still and do in-class reading, and I have ADHD.

My mother is here. She’s not happy, but when it comes to me, she never really is. She emerges from the principal’s office looking displeased, her lips a tight, pursed line. She snatches my wrist without saying a word, dragging me out of the office and down the hallway. ‘This is the third time I’ve been called out of work this week. The third time, Jaxon. Do you understand how important my job is? Do you realize I can’t just leave every time you get into trouble?’

She’s clutching me very tightly. ‘Ow,’ I grumble, ‘ease up on my arm a little, woman, will you?’ She doesn’t. ‘In my defence, it was Avi’s idea.’ Like always, my best friend gets off scot-free. Sometimes I think he throws me under the bus just to save himself.

My mother gets into her car and waits for me to do the same. ‘You have got a week suspension, Jaxon. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you be more like your sister and brother? At this point, it’s a wonder you made it to high school."

Ever since Haven disappeared, my mom’s been a real bitch. She’s always obsessed with Fletcher’s medical care and Eloise’s academic status. I just want a bit of attention. This is the only way I know how to get it. I grumble. ‘You never pay attention to me. You never even care about what’s going on in my life. All you care about is your job and finding Haven. She’s gone, Mom."

At a red light, my mother slams on her breaks and glares at me. ‘Oh, Jaxon, grow up, will you? You’re thirteen years old; you ought to know by now the world doesn’t revolve around you.’ That’s funny, I could say the same thing about her.

The night of my sister’s abduction, we were nine years old, and waiting for the school bus to pick us up and take us home. I remember looking away from her for a moment to acknowledge a friend, and when I glanced back beside me, she was gone. Haven? I said, and looked around. At the time I’d figured she’d gotten lost in the crowd, and that we’d got off the bus together and see each other at home. I went home alone, and she never got off the bus.

I was never allowed to help look for her. I was too young and not strong enough, my parents claimed, but Fletcher could go, and he was dying. Aside from Haven, Fletcher’s always been the favourite. Everyone knows that.

My sister comes home an hour after my mother drops me off. She walks past me to get to her bedroom, and shoots me the finger on her way. My parents think Eloise is so sweet and hard-working. I know her a little better than that. She comes out of her room dressed in a short, tight dress, and sneaks into the bathroom. Mom would never let her go out like that. I never care.

I pause my PlayStation game. ‘Hey, Ello!"

She’ll be suspicious of me. She always is. She’s in the middle of curling her hair. Several months ago, she talked my parents into paying for her hair extensions. In another month she’ll probably cut them all out again. ‘What do you want? I’m in the middle of something.’

My sister sneaks out a lot at night. She’s always back in the morning when everyone wakes up. My mother has always let her go out whenever she wants, but me, I’m barely allowed to go anywhere. I give her my sweetest smile. ‘Have fun at your party.’

Every time my sister goes somewhere she knows my parents won’t approve of, she wears everyday clothes on top of her real clothes. Mom still hasn’t caught on. I still haven’t let it slip. Eloise may hate me, but she owes me that, at least. She leaves the bathroom, slinking back to her bedroom. ‘Whatever.’

I don’t know why she’s always such a bitch.

When I was nine, Fletcher taught me how to skateboard. He was fifteen and very ill, in and out of hospital so many times he’d never bother unpacking his bags. He’s always hated hospitals, I know that. He could end up back there again, someday. Nobody talks about that.

There’s a photograph of Haven on the wall in the kitchen upstairs. The most recent one we’ve got of her is five years old; she’s small and missing several teeth. I often wonder what she’d look like now, if she were still alive, or even if she is still alive. I like to think she is. I like to think that one day, she’ll find her way home.

After the sun goes down, my parents go out for dinner, leaving me home alone. I’ve got a laptop under the bed in my room. I’m supposed to only use it for school, but what my parents don’t know won’t hurt them. Like any boy in the throes of puberty, I’ve got things to hide, and I’m smarter than my parents when it comes to technology.

I have PAIS, or partial androgen insensitivity syndrome – grade four. My father told me this when I was very little, but most people my age don’t know what it is. It means my body doesn’t respond to hormones the way it should, and so I’m different from everyone else at school. All the boys hit puberty in seventh grade and I didn’t. Everyone started growing hair, and dealing with unwelcome boners, and wanting to have sex all the time, and I didn’t. I don’t look like a boy, not really. I feel like one. My dad says that’s all that matters.

Chromosomes determine whether we’re a boy or a girl. A teacher told me this once, in my eight grade health class. Boys have a penis, and girls have a vagina.

Okay, but what if I have both? Or what if I have neither? I never understood that, in school. In gym classes, I still refuse to change in front of all the other boys. Because I’m abnormal, because I don’t look like what a boy is supposed to look like. Only according to science, of course. No one teaches you about intersex people growing up. You have to learn about it on your own. You have to be left all by yourself to wonder what’s wrong with your body.

I don’t like explaining it to people. I’m like some kind of weird science experiment. I’ve spent my whole life knowing I was different, which I guess is good, but everybody tells me different is bad, so I think it’s bad too. It never really bothered me until puberty started, when we were shown a diagram of our reproductive systems, and mine didn’t look like that. My mother hated me, when I was born, so much that she tried to book an appointment for me to have surgery before I came home. If it weren’t for my father standing up to her, I’d have gotten fixed as a tiny baby. Maybe when I’m older, I’ll do it of my own accord.

My little sister Larkin is five years old and in kindergarten. When Haven was abducted, she was only a baby. I don’t know why my mom has so many kids if she can’t be bothered to take care of them. Larkin plays by herself with her dolls, singing to herself. She does that a lot. Usually I’m the one to play with her, or make her lunch, or help her comb her hair. Sometimes it annoys me, but I’m used to it.

Before my parents get home, I explore the dark side of the internet.

THE FORGOTTEN GIRL

stevie

When someone has been missing long enough, life eventually goes back to normal. When that someone is your child, the closest thing you’ll ever get to normal is getting out of bed in the morning. For most people, waking up and going about the day isn’t something you’d give a second thought about. For an unlucky bunch, life is a luxury.

What about the kids? Wells would ask, arbitrarily throughout the course of my affair. Aren’t you worried about them finding out?

I was married to my first husband, Maxwell, for seven years. The man provided me with two children and not much else. I don’t want to blame him for the divorce. I’d been seeing Wells for several months before even considering serving him. I don’t regret my actions. Without them, I wouldn’t have had Haven.

My second husband and I met at a banquet that was being held for a colleague of mine, in celebration of her reception of the Troland Research Award. He was unmarried and childless; I was six years into a loveless marriage, with two young children at home. When Maxwell vanished to the restroom, I was approached by a well-dressed man, tall and brooding, many years older than I.

I’d always promised myself I’d be a loyal wife, a doting mother. I’ve blamed my affair on my loneliness, or my husband’s long absences, or anything else that would distract me from my own mistakes. That’s the thing, though. I don’t think it was a mistake.

Good evening, said the well-dressed man when he approached, his dress shoes clinking on the polished floor, pardon my intrusion; I just couldn’t go on with my night before stopping to tell you how very luminescent you look under these lights.

I was always impressed with both his calm demeaner and his eloquence. He was so different from Max in that way, and maybe that’s why I let him sweep me off my feet. I couldn’t help it. The man was irresistible.

At the time of my first marriage, I was twenty-one years old. Perhaps in my twenties I was more reckless than I am now, more willing to take chances and roll the dice on a complete stranger. Perhaps that’s just something I tell myself. Wells is fifteen years my senior and nothing like me, cool and headstrong to my brash and impatient. Our children, later on, became carbon copies of each of us. It’s funny how that happens.

When I leave my office after a long day at work, it’s raining, splashing against the ground when I walk. The police station is near enough my place of business I can drive there in under five minutes. Everybody knows me, here. My daughter’s case used to be front and centre, when she first disappeared. I don’t think anyone gives a shit anymore, or maybe they’re just too busy pitying me to remember to care.

Inside, I slap my keys down on the counter. ‘I need to speak to the officers in charge of Haven Fleet’s case.’

My daughter disappeared in the spring, nearly five years ago. I remember greeting the kids after school, and Jaxon crying, running inside the house. Haven’s gone, he’d said, I waited for her at the bus stop, but she never got off the bus. I don’t know where she went!

It was a strange discovery. I remember taking a moment to look around the house, thinking maybe she’d snuck inside without being seen. I’ve got a recollection of calling my husband upstairs, and afterwards, I don’t completely remember. I’d taken the day off work and enlisted the help of my two eldest children, searching and searching until after the sun went down that night. Haven was gone. It was obvious she hadn’t wandered off on her own; though she did that sometimes, it was never for very long.

Behind the desk, the woman blinks at me. I remember this woman. Judging by the look on her face, she doesn’t remember me. ‘I’m sorry. Who are you?’

I’ve still got a photo of my daughter in a locket round my neck. I’d give anything to see her again. ‘I’m Stevie Fleet, the mother of the little girl who disappeared four years ago. I want her case reopened.’

When it comes to the crime rate, Manhattan is rated at seventy seven percent. For most people, the number doesn’t mean much. I wish I could be one of those people. Greenwich Village, the neighborhood I’ve moved my family into, is fairly wealthy in comparison to the rest of the city. I suppose that means its residents are more likely to be victims of crime. Still, most people I know personally haven’t been unfortunate enough to become victims. Perhaps that’s why I’m