Each night we returned to our quiet, dark house, prepared a simple meal, sat on the sofa in silence, and watched the talking heads on TV spout their opinions on the day’s proceedings. We found that sitting side by side, wherever we were—at home, in the courtroom, in the back of a cab—was the best positioning for us. It provided the illusion of intimacy without ever having to actually look at each other. To face each other, or have any sort of discussion beyond a word or two, was simply too difficult. Too many realities threatened to attack our well-being, our relationship, our sanity—each already dangerously precarious—and derail our ability to get up the next day and do it all over again. The facts, sensationalized by the media, went like this: our neighbor, Scott Walker, had kidnapped Mikki. Walker, described by everyone who knew him as friendly and nonviolent—as many psychopaths are—was also being accused, by his own similarly-aged daughter, of abuse.
