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datatime: 2022-12-05 22:37:56 Author:yyFPJuGr

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

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.

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

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

"You lied to them."

"That's why the police took Vincent in," he says. "I told them I saw Vincent near Dickinson when Bill was shot."

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.

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.

"You lied to them."

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

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

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

"Is this it?" Gil says.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

"Threatening you with the letter?"

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.

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

"That's why the police took Vincent in," he says. "I told them I saw Vincent near Dickinson when Bill was shot."

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

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

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