“The Leak”

STEPHEN FORESTER WAS ALREADY LATE FOR WORK WHEN HE FIRST NOTICED THE BLOOD . . . .

He dropped the half-finished cigarette into the half-finished coffee and headed for the bathroom, nearly running — no time for a shower, but he should at least shave before he —

(What’s that dripping sound? If that’s that damned faucet again, the manager is going to — )

He stopped, hand still on the bathroom light switch, and looked down at the floor . . . and then up at the ceiling, to its source.

Blood. That was his first thought. Water, just water, was his second thought, some burst rusty pipe somewhere staining the water this dark.

His third thought returned to the first. Blood . . . .

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“Safe House”

LAWRENCE AVERY’S HOUSE LOOKED LIKE IT HAD SEEN A LIFETIME …

Everything in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows took on a golden-brown haze, warm and soft battered furniture blending together wood tones and leather. Books lined the walls. Somewhere, peering from a doorway beyond the entrance hall, you could just see the blind staring eyes of an old merry-go-round horse, rescued from a fire, burnished blackened edges and chipped paint hide, just stepped out of somewhere magical.

Doris took a deep breath. “We’d like to designate this a safe house.”

“A safe house.”

“Yes. Somewhere that, when children were in trouble, they could go for help. If they’re approached by some stranger and their parents aren’t around.”

“I see . . . . ”

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“Relativity”

SHE STOOD BY THE NOTHING AT THE END OF THE LANE AND TRIED TO MAKE HERSELF SEE IT . . . .

It was in an empty yard where a house once stood. There were still blackened remains, an exposed foundation. No one had built anything else on that lot, not ever. Evan had lived there once, but that wasn’t why they were there.

He paced round the square of flattened grass, one hand raised, running fingers over invisible walls.

“You can’t see it, can you?” Evan said, smiling a little sadly. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can . . . . ”

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“Puppets”

WILL MADE HIMSELF SMILE AND SIT PATIENTLY, WATCHING IT MAKE ITS WAY SLOWLY ACROSS THE CARPET . . . .

The doll stopped, staring glassily, taking half a step forward, half a step back, nearly losing its balance, then starting again. Harrison smiled indulgently. His house was full of the damn things. This one had come from — where? A market stall in Korea, if Will remembered correctly.

A tin solider had met him at the door; a wooden ballerina had taken his coat. There were dozens more, most making their own way through the house on business of their own, some of them so feeble they could hardly move. They just turned slightly when you came into the room, eyes tracking you as they half-slumbered in their display cases . . . .

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