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datatime: 2022-12-03 19:31:06 Author:IxHELqJW

"Damn it." Gil brings the Saab to a halt and gets out. "Paul"

"What do we do?" Gil says, beside him.

"He's still at the police station," Paul says, almost to himself. "The lights are off."

A light in the neighboring house comes on, but Paul pays no attention. He paces up to Taft's front porch and puts his ear to the door, gently rapping.

"You're the one who ran," I say under my breath.

Gil doesn't even hear us. Shaken by the sight of Taft's house, he lightens pressure on the brakes, letting us roll in neutral, prepared to go back. Just as his foot begins to engage the clutch, though, Paul yanks the door handle and stumbles out onto the curb.

But Paul is already inside, scanning the first floor. Without a word, he's deep into the house.

"Threatening you with the letter?"

But Paul is already inside, scanning the first floor. Without a word, he's deep into the house.

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

"He knew he had nothing on me. So he started in on your dad."

"What do we do?" Gil says, beside him.

I'm waiting for Gil to react, but he keeps his eyes on the road. Staring at the back of Paul's head, I have the strange sensation of looking at myself from behind, of being inside my father's car again.

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

"Damn it." Gil brings the Saab to a halt and gets out. "Paul"

The wind whips through the columns of the fa?ade, licking puffs of snow from the eaves. The window next door goes black. When Paul gets no answer, he tries to turn the knob, but the lock holds fast.

The wind whips through the columns of the fa?ade, licking puffs of snow from the eaves. The window next door goes black. When Paul gets no answer, he tries to turn the knob, but the lock holds fast.

"He's still at the police station," Paul says, almost to himself. "The lights are off."

"Damn it." Gil brings the Saab to a halt and gets out. "Paul"

A light in the neighboring house comes on, but Paul pays no attention. He paces up to Taft's front porch and puts his ear to the door, gently rapping.

"We can't do this," I say as I walk toward them, trying for some authority.

I can hear it in his voice, the accusation sneaking in. Everything returns to the moment I pushed Taft.

"Vincent. This morning."

"Threatening you with the letter?"

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