The window looked south, over downtown Vancouver. Archie could see the red taillights of airplanes lining up to land at the Portland airport, a barge making its way east down the river, the lights of the new Vancouver library, Fort Vancouver, a movie theater, a digital bank tower clock. Oregon was just on the other side of the Columbia River, a distant, indistinct horizon. Archie lived in Portland. He knew its topography, its skyline, its bridges and landmarks. But the view from Debbie’s window was an unfamiliar landscape.

“It’s not as far as people think,” Debbie said. “If you can avoid rush hour.”

“I know,” Archie said. But the truth was, he wondered sometimes if she had moved far enough. He missed his family, but he knew that the farther away from him they were, the safer he could keep them.

Debbie’s condo was on the tenth floor of a secure building. The kids didn’t have a yard anymore, but no one got in or out of the building without being buzzed in. The elevators required a keycard to operate. Security cameras monitored the hallways. Two security guards were on duty in the building around the clock.

The kids could live without a yard.

“Sara wants to be Gretchen Lowell for Halloween,” Debbie said.

Archie inhaled quickly and coughed.

Debbie patted him on the back. “I already said no,” she said with a glance toward Doug, who was staring at his shoes. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. In case she brings it up.”

Archie’s fingers tightened around the slick brass cartridges in his pocket. “She’s seven years old,” he said.

“She wants to be something scary,” Debbie said. “It has nothing to do with you. Most of her friends don’t even know.”

It had been over a year since Archie and Debbie had split for good and she had enrolled the kids in school in Washington under her last name. It made sense for security reasons. It also required fewer explanations. Archie had been a public figure during the years he ran the Beauty Killer Task Force, but after Gretchen Lowell had kidnapped him and tortured him for ten days, he had reached a new infamy. Since her escape ten weeks before, the media had been revisiting every horrific detail.

Doug’s eyes darted around for something to say. “I hear you got a dog.”

“Sort of,” Archie said, not wanting to explain.

“The kids are excited,” Doug said.

Archie didn’t need Doug to tell him anything about his kids, but he decided that now maybe wasn’t the time to broach that particular topic.

“We’re ready,” Ben hollered from the kitchen.

Debbie pressed some matches into Doug’s hand. “Can you help the kids with the candles?” she asked him.

He smiled, happy to have been given something to do, and pattered off to the kitchen.