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datatime: 2022-11-30 06:14:08 Author:KazsqXlA

Paul knocks again, then pulls a ring of keys from his pocket and cradles one into the slot. Putting a shoulder into the wood, he sweeps the door forward. Hinges squeal.

"You lied to them."

"Is this it?" Gil says.

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

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

"It's the only other place he could've hidden it."

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.

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

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

"Threatening you with the letter?"

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.

"I'm the one who called the police too," he says.

"Paul" I get out of the car, trying to keep my voice at a whisper.

The wind hisses around the door as he opens it, muffling his words. I can see Paul mouth something to us, pointing at the house. He begins hiking toward it in the snow.

"Threatening you with the letter?"

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

Slush sprays the undercarriage of the car as the suspension dances over a pothole.

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.

"Vincent. This morning."

"Vincent. This morning."

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.

"Jesus, Paul," I say. "How do even you know the blueprint is here?"

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.

"I'm the one who called the police too," he says.

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.

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