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I’m heading west on I-80 with my two teenagers, Paul and Allison. We’ve been in the car for almost six hours now, and we’ve settled into out own remote worlds–Allision with her Walkman, me with the radio, and Paul still playing that computer game in the back seat.

Threats where coming from everywhere–voices on the answering machine, vicious notes under the car wipers. There was a brick on the bathroom floor, shards of glass from the broken window and a sheet of paper creased under a rubber band. Bern in Hell! was scribbled in purple chalk on our front steps