I let Fred have my side of the bed. The sheets have been fully cleaned and freshened, but Sam's indentation has a dark aura that I don't want cursing something that could be good. Afraid of falling into that pit myself, I linger in the middle. Fortunately, and as if Fred knows the reason why I'm stuck and lost, he pulls me against him and into a position that feels like safety.

Before we drift back to sleep, I get Fred talking for a little while. I find out that he has five older sisters. Yes, that's right. Five! And they are all happily married and in his business. Fred's father died in his late fifties, but his mother is alive and well and calls him every morning to ask if he's dating anyone. He was, for a while–a prosecuting attorney, for seven years–and even though they were both independent workaholics, they were starting to discuss marriage. She left him, though, to pursue a "once-in-a-lifetime" career opportunity in Los Angeles and he was too committed to his family and caseload to follow her. The breakup was amicable and the relationship was left open-ended, but then she married someone else a year later. And that was three years ago, almost to the day, he claims.

His closing remark is a kiss on my shoulder. The next thing I know, I'm awake in an empty bed, but his spot is still warm, so it hasn't been empty for long.

I join Fred in the living room. He's buttoning his shirt, checking his voicemail with his cell on his shoulder. But a few brisk steps bring him to my window. I glance out, too. News vans, people with microphones in front of my house, a small army of them. "So much for that clean getaway, eh?"

He's already clicking away on his laptop. "Know a man named Sebastian?"

I sit down. It's the right thing to do. "Yeah, why? He's been subletting the house across the street. He's a photographer."

"I can see that!" He swivels the laptop around for me to see.

I cover my mouth with my hands. For the first time in my life, I'm grateful my parents are dead. "I...loved him."

"Well, he probably loves you now, too. You just made him a fortune! Wife of serial killer's next potential victim is a–"

"I'm sorry!" I blurt through the sob building in my chest. "I would have told you."

"I know," he says solemnly as he walks to the door. "But that doesn't make it go away."

Then he steps outside, into the snow and flashing lights.