Jason spun around.
Standing in front of him, right in his face, was the woman in the black suit. Shimmering, cold air radiated from her.
Then she vanished.
He stood, shaking uncontrollably. His hands, his legs, his whole body. Goosepimples chased up and down his body.
He had seen her face so clearly. Even more so than before.
With shaking hands, he removed the painting from the easel and set it carefully down on the floor against a wall, then pulled out a fresh gesso board and placed it on the easel. From his desk, he picked up a pencil and began to sketch feverishly on the board.
Totally oblivious to time, he worked away, putting down the image he held in his mind. Somewhere in a distant compartment of his brain he heard Emily calling out and ignored her, working impatiently on. He had to finish this before the image faded.
Had to capture her.
Emily called again, and he still ignored her.
Eventually – it was approaching 8 p.m., he realized, glancing at his watch – he heard footsteps, stomping, angry footsteps, coming up the stairs.
Still he worked on.
Emily stormed into the room. ‘Are you deaf?’ she said. ‘Supper’s been ready for—’ She stopped in her tracks and stared at the portrait he had almost completed.
‘Oh God!’ she said. ‘Oh my God.’
He turned to her. ‘What?’
She stared at the portrait again. Wide-eyed.
In a small, scared voice, she said, ‘You’ve seen her, too.’