Page 42 of Motion to Dismiss

Right across from me, through the crack of his bedroom door, I saw Mr. Raider pressing the ice cream bar against Cindy’s lips.

“Next time, you’ll lick it softer for me, okay?” he said. “You’re getting better, but I like it gentle, okay?”

“Okay.” She looked down.

“Don’t cry. It’s not your fault.” He kissed her forehead. “This is just our little secret.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she nodded.

“Now, let’s fill an entire box with ice cream and candy for your family,” he said. “You can take as much as you like.”

She nodded once more, and he wiped away her final tears with his fingertips.

I slipped into his bathroom before he could see me, hiding there while he led her into the kitchen.

With my heart racing a mile a minute, I tried to convince myself that whatever I had just witnessed wasn’t real.

I waited until he walked her out before returning to the basement.

Then I rushed across the yard and back to my room, immediately shutting the blinds.

It had to be something else I saw.

It’s not THAT.

Three days later, I watched from my window as my ex-best friend Kyle requested a box of ice cream.

Mr. Raider gave it to him within seconds.

Didn’t try to invite him inside.

I watched several other kids do the same, and I was almost ready to erase the incident with Cindy from my mind forever.

Then my neighbor Hannah disappeared into his basement.

She stayed down there even longer than Cindy had.

When she finally emerged, she looked far sadder than when she went in, and I vowed to never take another piece of candy from that man again.

It took me eight weeks to realize that Mr. Raider had a pattern.

Girl, girl, boy, girl, girl…

He always played his wicked game on the last Friday and Sunday of the month, the days his wife worked double shifts at the hospital.

He never invited the same kid inside twice.

And the ones he’d already crossed the line with?

He went out of his way to personally deliver treats to their houses and do nice things for their parents. It was as if he got a thrill out of making them question what was really happening, making them second-guess telling on him and ruining his pristine reputation.

There was also a very special word for him in some of the crime books I read: pedophile.

He was the worst of the worst by criminal standards—even murderers would be appalled. And according to every story I read, he would never be able to stop himself.

There would always be more victims.

It wasn’t until the autumn of that year that I realized staying away from him would only protect me, and no one else.