<div class="floatleft">(http://i945.photobucket.com/albums/ad295/Dariusfallenstar/portrait_man_large.jpg)</div>The Partridge house was at the end of a cul-de-sac in a neighborhood called “Lost Haven.” It was a quiet place, bordering the big city, and so affluent that brown men came by every day to tend the whole neighborhood’s lawns. Each house in Lost Haven was big, almost a mansion, and set on generous 1.5 acre lots. White picket fences embraced each home, though some unruly types had opted to go with designs that did not match all the rest – and shame on them for it! The only way to tell the truly wealthy from the moderately so, was by where their pools were located: the rich had indoor, heated pools, to go with their outdoor, sun-tanning pools, while the wealthy only had the exterior models. It was the talk of the town, who had which pools and where.<br/><br/>Lost Haven bordered Forsythe District, one of the oldest (and, not to put too fine a point on it, whitest) districts of the state. It was also one of the most old fashioned; people had only acknowledged that America had a black president well into his second term, and it was still the talk of the town. It had sent gun sales through the roof, much to the pleasure of the many store owners who had bought roots in Lost Haven. Forsythe District also had all the best schools and niche classes: youngsters might be enrolled in anything from private golfing lessons to ballet, swing dance, how to be the next “Young Miss America” or anything else. Private piano lessons had only recently fallen out of favor, in lieu of the more exotic harp. Give it the right evening and walk through Lost Haven and one might hear the sounds of eager harpists playing through open doors or windows (one of the cheeky ways of broadcasting who had managed to snag a private instructor).<br/><br/>The Partridge family had bought into Lost Haven a little over 15 years ago. Daniel Partridge, an upstanding businessman who was well-known as an investor, had come to manage a private bank with stunning success. A tall, pale man with a warm smile and dancing eyes, Daniel was well known for his impish, but fatherly, persona with everyone he met. Though many of the fathers and husbands in the area felt a little uneasy at how quickly the too-attractive man turned their wives (and daughter’s) eyes, most looked up to him for answers to the most obscure questions about…well, anything. Daniel was the sort of Renaissance man who knew a bit of everything, had the confidence to back it up, yet did not allow that confidence to become true arrogance. His tall, muscular body always seemed held just so – almost defensively, and it put others at ease, as though Daniel felt somehow vulnerable, or just humble. Everyone knew Daniel was a godly man, even if no one had seen him near a church.<br/><br/>It was late October as Daniel made his rounds through their big, three-story (with 2 sub-basements!) house, the thick, ankle-deep carpet that covered the floors and stairways muffling his steps. Oddly enough, Daniel had never made any sound when he moved, not unless he wanted to anyway. Making his way past the grotesquely opulent living-room (with complete, innocuous surround-sound system and flat screen television over a yawning fireplace), and into the equally posh, top-of-the-line kitchen, the handsome man looked about for the rest of his family. His wife was, no doubt, out and about running errands for their child’s upcoming birthday party. Of late, his daughter had become increasingly intrigued by things girls her age tended toward, and it was no surprise that she was not moving about.<br/><br/>Still, the happy father felt a little hollow, deep down, at their absence. They were his family, and all he had in the world. Glancing to the marble counter, he found the folded note, plate of cookies, and glass his wife had left him. Tipping back the glass with one of his big, yet oddly graceful hands, he took a few sips as he read the entry. As he thought, she’d gone about arranging for the perfect birthday and wouldn’t be home for a few more hours.<br/><br/>Ah, well.<br/><br/>Glancing out at the perfect darkness of the night, Daniel stretched a bit, loosening his taut muscles, and absently wiped a drop of red fluid from his now cherry-stained lips. It was best he get busy himself. No doubt he’d have to be up and in the light tomorrow, and that always took hours of preparation. Hopefully, if he’d been a good husband, his wife would ensure that Misses Margaret Peabody and her husband, John, would be over tomorrow. Margaret had been making eyes at him for weeks, and he felt that it was about time that he put a firm handle on the situation.<br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4149/5041868122_a102a4c79a_z.jpg)</div>