TAMPA — Are you freaking out?

The question came up repeatedly over the past few months as a killer stalked my neighborhood, striking randomly and seemingly without reason.

My family lives within a mile of the four slayings that took place in October and November in southeast Seminole Heights.

The experience has been nerve-wracking. But because the shootings occurred south of Hillsborough Avenue, I clung to the blind hope that, until the suspect was caught, the busy, six-lane highway would somehow shield us from danger.

For the 12 years we have lived in the neighborhood, Seminole Heights has meant oak trees, bungalows, home tours, Halloween parades, jogs or walks around Lake Roberta, sometimes stopping to feed the ducks.

Sure, we'd had our share of problems, living in an urban neighborhood. Prostitutes, police cars and ambulances are a common sight on our streets.

We've had packages stolen from our porch. Our shed was broken into.

But violent crime was something different.

It became a concern almost a year ago, when a body was found in an alley just blocks from our house.

The last time Dontae Lampkins had been seen alive, surveillance video showed him getting off a bus at the corner of Nebraska and Hillsborough avenues. At the time, police speculated that he may have been killed by someone he met on a dating app.

But 11 months later, we have more questions than answers.

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After the murder of Benjamin Mitchell on Oct. 9, helicopters became a regular presence over our neighborhood. Police cars made the rounds. Because we live near a busy intersection, we get a lot of foot traffic in front of our house. Every new face seemed a potential threat.

We lived our lives between sunrise and sunset, ever watchful.

We rushed to and from our cars, quickly unpacking groceries or hockey equipment. We took the garbage and recyclables to the curb early in the day, never after sundown.

The inflatable dragon our 8-year-old son, Nate, picked out for Halloween stayed in a heap on the ground. Christmas lights remained unlit because we didn't want to have to go out late at night to unplug them.

My wife, Courtney, and I had crazy conversations. Was it safe to mow the lawn? Should we trick-or-treat in the suburbs or bank on safety in numbers on Halloween — but did we want to answer the door to strangers?

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Every day, we'd wake apprehensive, hoping for news, but dreading it at the same time. Because the suspect killed and then disappeared, we knew that for the police to find him, he would have to resurface. And, likely, kill again.

It was difficult to see a scenario where he would be caught without first taking another life.

The first homicide caught our attention — a tragic event too close to home. The second was alarming, but had to be unrelated, right? When the third occurred, the fear set in. Every time we heard the helicopters, we went to Facebook or Next Door to see what bad news awaited.

A month passed, and we breathed a bit easier. Then, on Nov. 14, Ronald Felton was shot on Nebraska Avenue. Southeast Seminole Heights was on lockdown. Had we lived just one street south, we wouldn't have been able to leave our house.

I held my breath that morning as Courtney drove Nate to school, then headed out myself. As far north as Sligh Avenue, I passed police cars on every block, their lights flashing.

I returned home to find cars pulled over along Hillsborough Avenue. At first, I hoped it meant a break in the case. Later, I realized it was merely stepped-up enforcement in the hopes of finding the killer.

A new worry presented itself when my parents visited for Thanksgiving. We didn't want to tell them what was going on for fear of terrifying them, maybe scaring them from ever visiting again.

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Concerned about the time it would take them to get out of their rental car and into the house, I decided to pick them up and drop them off at their hotel during their stay in Tampa.

They asked me about the killings the first time they got in the car. The story was national news, though they didn't realize its close proximity to our house.

There would have been no hiding it anyway. Driving home from the hotel or a trip to Busch Gardens, we passed police cars patrolling our neighborhood. Two staked out a parking lot across the street from our house.

When I heard about the police activity at the McDonald's in Ybor City on Nov. 28, I was hopeful. At first, it didn't seem connected, because it wasn't Seminole Heights. But Ybor is a short drive from our neighborhood, and there was definitely something big happening.

When they took someone in for questioning and Police Chief Brian Dugan said he was "optimistic" about a possible break in the case, it was like a huge burden had been lifted.

Courtney and I were anxious to talk about the development, to share what we had heard. We were careful not to discuss it in front of Nate. If we did, it was in vague terms we hoped he wouldn't understand.

But as we were putting him to bed, he asked, "Are you talking about the murderer at McDonald's?"

We had thought he wasn't paying attention when the news was on in the kitchen, but he said he turned down the TV in the family room and listened because it sounded interesting. He had no idea of the private toll it was taking on us and everyone else in that neighborhood.

The arrest of Howell Emanuel Donaldson III eased the tension we felt. But I worried if what had been going on in our neighborhood was bigger than one person. And I still wonder what happened to Dontae Lampkins.

For now, we remain vigilant. We don't turn our backs to the street for long when getting in or out of the car.

But we no longer live in constant fear, either.

Saturday, after arriving home from the Tampa Bay Lightning game, the three of us went outside around 11 p.m., long after dark. Courtney and Nate went into the yard, steps from the curb, and watched as I turned on the Christmas lights.

Gaudy, colored bulbs trimmed the roof of our 100-year-old bungalow. Green and red laser lights dotted the oak tree in our front yard. A light-up reindeer stood sentry on our open-air porch.

We exhaled.

For the first time in months, it felt like home again.