The Secret Society of Demolition Writers by Marc Parent Page A

found all the doors in the upper hallway closed. Robinette called from below.
    “The second room on the left.”
    Brian went to the door, knocked, and then opened it when he heard someone call, “Come in.” The girl he had seen in the police station was sitting on a bed, her legs folded beneath her, her back against the wall.
    “Teresa, right?”
    “Who are you? Did my father send for you?”
    “No, I just came. I’m the one who opened the safe. I saw the girl that day. She talked to me. She said her name was Lucy.”
    Teresa’s eyes widened.
    “Then you believe me?”
    Brian nodded.
    “I believe you. Have you talked to her?”
    Teresa nodded.
    “What did she tell you?”
    “She, um, doesn’t know what is happening. She said she came through the door. That’s all she says about that.”
    “What about what happened to her? Does she know?”
    “She said there was a pool and she didn’t know how to swim.”
    Brian closed his eyes for a moment.
    “She’s confused,” Teresa continued. “I said when did it happen and she said it didn’t happen yet. She didn’t make sense.”
    Brian nodded. It did make sense to him.
    “When does she come?” he asked. “When do you see her?”
    “I don’t know, anytime. It’s not like there is a schedule. Sometimes I close my eyes and when I open them she’s there.”
    “Do you know where she goes when she isn’t here?”
    “I think she must go back through the door she talks about.”
    “Would that be where she is now?”
    “I don’t know. I guess. I don’t see her.”
    “Thank you, Teresa.”
    Brian turned back toward the door.
    “Who is she?” Teresa asked.
    Brian looked back at her.
    “She’s my daughter. She’s coming in a few weeks.”
    “You mean she’s not born?”
    “Not yet. I think she came through the door to warn me. Now I have to go close the door.”
    Robinette was standing in the upper hallway when Brian came out. It was like he couldn’t venture into his daughter’s room.
    “We have to put the door back on the safe,” Brian said. “This all started with the safe.”
    “We can’t. The trash was taken yesterday. You put—”
    “I have the door. It’s in my truck.”
    Brian headed to the stairs and started down. As he went he looked back up at Robinette.
    “Do you want me to bring it in through the service door?”
    Robinette looked at him as if not comprehending the question. Then he spoke in a quiet voice.
    “No, that won’t be necessary.”
    THEY WERE ON the back porch of the house. It was a warm night—summer was coming on strong. And Laura with the extra weight and the extra heart beating inside her had to get out of the unair-conditioned house. They sat side by side in lawn chairs, holding hands. Brian had forgiven her. There were more important things to concentrate on. Besides, he knew the cops could convince anybody of anything. Years back they had done it to him with his old man, practically had him believing that his father had shot the mark in cold blood.
    He had not told her the whole story of his return to the house on Shell Island. He didn’t want to upset her, especially now that it was almost time for the baby. He only told her that he had gone back to see Robinette, to set things right.
    “So there might be some money in it,” he said now on the porch. “It could really help us with you taking the extra time off and all.”
    “What money? For what?”
    “He said all of this with his daughter and the safe and stuff made him think about writing again. He said he has an idea for a story and since he’ll want to know about safes and being a box man, he’ll pay me for it. Like to be an expert for his story.”
    Laura sat up straight in her folding chair. She was excited by the proposition.
    “How much will he pay?”
    “We didn’t get to that yet. I’m supposed to go back over there tomorrow. I’ll find out then.”
    “Those writers make a lot of money. . . .”
    She didn’t say anything else. She was