The Safe Man: A Ghost Story

The door to the small room suddenly came open and Rowan stepped in.

“Mr. and Mrs. Holloway, you can go on home now.”

“What do you mean?” Laura asked.

Brian started to push back his chair.

“We found her,” the agent said in a matter-of-fact tone. “We want to thank you for your cooperation but you are no longer needed. Have a nice evening.”

Brian stood up, a weird mixture of relief and anger overtaking him.

“Is she all right?” he asked.

“She’s fine. Patrol just brought her into the station. Turns out she didn’t like moving into the new house.”

He forced a laugh.

“She thinks it’s haunted. So she split. She walked all the way back to her old neighborhood and hid in her best friend’s guesthouse.”

Rowan stepped back from the doorway so they could leave. Brian walked slowly. He was having a hard time understanding what Rowan had just told them. He was having a hard time dealing with what his wife had just asked him as well.

“That girl found her way back to her old house?” he asked.

“That’s right,” Rowan said. “Step this way and I’ll get you back your property. Then you’ll be out of here.”

Brian was led down the hallway and into a large squad room. There were several detectives working at desks and moving about. Across the room was another room separated by a glass wall. He could see a boardroom table in there. Sitting at the table were Detective Stephens and a girl. She was maybe thirteen years old. She looked like she was crying.

Rowan went to his desk and got a manila envelope out of a drawer. He handed it to Brian. It had his wallet and keys in it. His loose change. He didn’t bother tearing it open. He just held it as he stared at the girl in the glass room. Rowan noticed his gaze and looked across the room as well.

“She’s okay. She spent the night eating potato chips and drinking soda pop. I guess she had such a good time, she still doesn’t want to go back home.”

“Does Robinette have another daughter?”

“No, just the one. Just Teresa who doesn’t want to go home.”

Brian thought of the dream, of the dread he felt when he woke up from it. The feeling that he had let something loose.

“Teresa?”

Rowan looked at him.

“That’s right. I thought you said you asked—”

“Can I talk to her?”

“To the girl? No, I don’t think that would be proper, Mr. Holloway. Your involvement with this thing is over as far as I’m concerned.”

“I really need to speak to her.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen. Now it’s time for you and your wife to head on home.”

“What did she say about the house being haunted?”

“I’ll walk you out.”

He gripped Brian’s upper arm and ushered him toward the squad room’s exit. They went into another hallway and headed toward the door at the end. Rowan kept his hand on Brian’s arm. Laura trailed behind them.

“You know who owned that house before Robinette?” Brian asked.

Rowan didn’t answer.

“Arthur Blankenship.”

“So?”

“So maybe she’s got a point to why she’s scared. He built the plant. They say the runoff from the phosphate is responsible for all the fish kills. It’s like there’s a big cloud of black water in the bay. Hell, he built this city. He knew where all the bodies were buried. Maybe—”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she’s going home safe.”

Brian jerked his arm free and stopped. He pointed back down the hallway in the direction they had come from.

“She’s not the one I saw in the house. She isn’t the girl I spoke to.”

Rowan held up his palms in a hands-off manner. He smiled.

“Mr. Holloway, I’ve got a caseload like you wouldn’t believe. This is one of the cases that ends happy, that ends good. Let’s just let this go.”

“And what if I can’t?”

“Then you are on your own, sir. Let’s go.”

He grabbed Brian’s arm again and led him to the door.

They were quiet at first on the ride home. Laura drove. Brian thought about what he had seen in the Robinette house. They were almost home before Laura spoke for the first time.

“Brian, what’s going on? What were you talking about back there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t really feel like talking to you right now.”

“Brian, I’m sorry. They told me you did something to her. They said they had evidence and that you had admitted asking her inappropriate questions. They said it had something to do with our baby. The pressure you are under and how we haven’t had sex. They said they had seen it before.”

Brian shook his head.

“You told them about our sex?”

“They asked a lot of questions. I felt I had to.”

“And you believed everything they said. That I admitted asking inappropriate questions. That I did something to her.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“I was talking to a six-year-old, not a thirteen-year-old. I didn’t ask anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. But you were acting strange all week. And then when you went out last night…I just thought…I don’t know what I thought. All I can say is that I’m sorry.”

Brian looked over at his wife. In the darkness he could see that she was crying, doing nothing about the tears rolling down her cheeks. He didn’t do anything about it either.

In the workshop Brian had a message waiting for him on his computer the next morning. It was from a box man in Montreal named Robert Pepin. Rather than publicly post the message on the website, Pepin answered Brian’s posted inquiry with a direct and private e-mail. Though Pepin was obviously French and had some difficulties with English, his message was clear.

Take cautions. I have heard story of the Threshold safe. One box man saw his young brother who was killed. I have not seen for myself. Was it in the floor? This is past on stories. The box man he make mistake to open it.

Brian stared at the message a long time, trying to decipher its meanings. He felt a coldness begin in his center. He knew it was the beginning of fear and the confirmation of something he had felt deep inside.

The message had Pepin’s business number and address at the bottom. Brian picked up the workshop phone and punched in the long-distance number. After three rings it was answered by a machine. The outgoing message was in French and Brian didn’t understand a word of it. But then the speaker switched to English with a heavy French accent. He identified the line as belonging to Fochet Lock and Safe and asked the caller to leave a message. But then he gave another number in case of an emergency. Brian wrote it down, hung up, and then called the emergency number.

The second call was answered after four rings and Brian heard a drill wind down before a man spoke rapidly in French. It was obviously a cell phone and Brian had interrupted a job. He wondered how the phone had even