toward her and plead for help at the same time. And yet there was a resigned sexualized feel about the painting, as if the girl had given in to being used, and then merely discarded. The images disturbed Grace immediately. She heard Cat sniff, and turned to find her granddaughter getting choked up.
“Are you all right, my dear?”
“Her eyes,” Cat said, gesturing to the girl’s face, hidden in part shadow but her eyes staring blankly from each image. They were hazel eyes, washed out and sad, as if they’d seen far too much already.
“Yes,” Grace remarked. “Haunting.”
“I’ve seen a digital of this, in Mick’s database,” Cat explained. “He’s not the best recordkeeper, so it’s just this one.” She motioned to the first of the three images in the triptych. “But seeing it in person, especially three like this, is a lot more…evocative, I guess is the word.”
Greta approached them delicately from behind. “Mick has forbidden me from selling this piece,” she said. “But everyone is affected by it. I get offers…maybe now he’ll be willing to part with it.”
“Do you know when he painted it?” asked Grace.
“Recently,” Greta said. “Within the past few years. It was in Mick’s studio, but I don’t think he's shown it anywhere else. I saw it there when I came down over Thanksgiving and asked if I could try to sell it for him. He said it wasn’t for sale. But I convinced him to let me include it in his last show here.”
With that, Greta turned to greet a well-heeled couple entering the gallery. Cat and Grace decided to get an early dinner at a Japanese restaurant and head back to their hotel.
>>>
That night Grace did not have any strength left to prepare her mind properly against slipping into Cat’s dreams, and slip she did.
Grace at first was fused with Cat’s consciousness in the dream. As Cat she walked into a room where the girl from the painting they’d seen that afternoon sat on the arm of a chair, as she had been in the painting. A fire blazed behind her, crackling and spitting and threatening to engulf the girl, but she seemed unable to move. On the floor next to her was Donnie Hines’s burnt corpse. The girl stared at Cat and then began to mouth something, her lips moving but no sound coming out. Cat moved closer, and Grace let Cat break away from her so she could observe her granddaughter from outside. The girl’s lips kept moving, but what she said was unintelligible.
“Tell me how to help you,” said Cat. “Say it. Out loud.”
But the girl kept moving her lips soundlessly. The fire raged on, close but remaining in the background.
“I want to help you,” Cat insisted.
The girl shook her head as if in slow motion: No-o-o-o-o-o. Then the girl began to shiver as if suddenly chilled. Cat took off her jacket and went to the girl to put it over her shoulders.
“They’re hurting me,” the girl whispered.
“Who’s hurting you?” Cat said. “Tell me.”
Then the girl’s voice sounded like a man’s. “You’re hurting me,” she said, and her eyes went black.
“No,” Cat insisted. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“You are,” the girl said.
“No!” Cat screamed, stepping away from the girl.
Grace couldn’t hang back any longer. She went to Cat and said, “It’s just a dream, Cat. And you didn’t hurt that girl.”
“Granny Grace,” Cat said, grabbing onto her frantically. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m dangerous. Cursed.”
“You are not,” Grace said. “Now wake up.”
It must have worked, as Grace popped out of Cat’s dream. She drew on her robe and knocked on the door adjoining their hotel rooms. “Cat? You all right?”
“Yes, Gran,” she heard Cat say, and then the door opened.
They sat, and Cat began to talk about St. Louis, Cat’s first case, in a way they hadn’t before. Cat was upset about a girl named Wendy she’d met when undercover in the Plantation Church.
“She felt so
“Are you all right, my dear?”
“Her eyes,” Cat said, gesturing to the girl’s face, hidden in part shadow but her eyes staring blankly from each image. They were hazel eyes, washed out and sad, as if they’d seen far too much already.
“Yes,” Grace remarked. “Haunting.”
“I’ve seen a digital of this, in Mick’s database,” Cat explained. “He’s not the best recordkeeper, so it’s just this one.” She motioned to the first of the three images in the triptych. “But seeing it in person, especially three like this, is a lot more…evocative, I guess is the word.”
Greta approached them delicately from behind. “Mick has forbidden me from selling this piece,” she said. “But everyone is affected by it. I get offers…maybe now he’ll be willing to part with it.”
“Do you know when he painted it?” asked Grace.
“Recently,” Greta said. “Within the past few years. It was in Mick’s studio, but I don’t think he's shown it anywhere else. I saw it there when I came down over Thanksgiving and asked if I could try to sell it for him. He said it wasn’t for sale. But I convinced him to let me include it in his last show here.”
With that, Greta turned to greet a well-heeled couple entering the gallery. Cat and Grace decided to get an early dinner at a Japanese restaurant and head back to their hotel.
>>>
That night Grace did not have any strength left to prepare her mind properly against slipping into Cat’s dreams, and slip she did.
Grace at first was fused with Cat’s consciousness in the dream. As Cat she walked into a room where the girl from the painting they’d seen that afternoon sat on the arm of a chair, as she had been in the painting. A fire blazed behind her, crackling and spitting and threatening to engulf the girl, but she seemed unable to move. On the floor next to her was Donnie Hines’s burnt corpse. The girl stared at Cat and then began to mouth something, her lips moving but no sound coming out. Cat moved closer, and Grace let Cat break away from her so she could observe her granddaughter from outside. The girl’s lips kept moving, but what she said was unintelligible.
“Tell me how to help you,” said Cat. “Say it. Out loud.”
But the girl kept moving her lips soundlessly. The fire raged on, close but remaining in the background.
“I want to help you,” Cat insisted.
The girl shook her head as if in slow motion: No-o-o-o-o-o. Then the girl began to shiver as if suddenly chilled. Cat took off her jacket and went to the girl to put it over her shoulders.
“They’re hurting me,” the girl whispered.
“Who’s hurting you?” Cat said. “Tell me.”
Then the girl’s voice sounded like a man’s. “You’re hurting me,” she said, and her eyes went black.
“No,” Cat insisted. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“You are,” the girl said.
“No!” Cat screamed, stepping away from the girl.
Grace couldn’t hang back any longer. She went to Cat and said, “It’s just a dream, Cat. And you didn’t hurt that girl.”
“Granny Grace,” Cat said, grabbing onto her frantically. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m dangerous. Cursed.”
“You are not,” Grace said. “Now wake up.”
It must have worked, as Grace popped out of Cat’s dream. She drew on her robe and knocked on the door adjoining their hotel rooms. “Cat? You all right?”
“Yes, Gran,” she heard Cat say, and then the door opened.
They sat, and Cat began to talk about St. Louis, Cat’s first case, in a way they hadn’t before. Cat was upset about a girl named Wendy she’d met when undercover in the Plantation Church.
“She felt so
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