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Hattie trailed behind as they walked from the forest, and Jude almost apologized for squeezing her arms several times, but found she didn’t have the words. Each time she envisioned her sister paralyzed in the cabin, she pushed up against her own irrational anger and coupling sense of fear.

Though she tried to squash the questions in her mind, she wondered what Hattie had seen in the darkness of the cabin.

Chapter 27

September 1965

Hattie

Hattie woke feverish, her nightgown clinging to her body. She kicked off her comforter and stripped out of the nightie, letting it drop off the side of the bed. She rolled and stood, padding out of her bedroom naked, half-asleep, images racing through her brain.

Barely conscious, she set a white canvas on her easel and sat on the little leather stool Gram Ruth had given her. It was cool against her bare butt, but she hardly noticed. Leaning over, she pulled a palette of paints onto her knees, and swept the brush over the canvas, rhythmic, soothing; it quieted those images. Soon she’d lapsed into a trance of sorts, a part of her realized she sat at the easel and painted, another part of her had not gotten out of bed at all.

Beyond the easel, watching silently from the corner, stood the girl in the yellow dress.

* * *

In the morning, Hattie woke naked in her bed, shivering. Strange, since she usually slept in a nightgown beneath a heap of blankets. Drifting tiredly, she plodded into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, gulping it. Her mouth felt dry and tasted sour. She took another drink and swished it around, spitting in the sink. Gram would have hissed ‘disgusting.’ Not only did Gram detest spitting but would have considered spitting in one’s sink tantamount to tracking horse poop through the parlor. Hattie giggled imagining Gram’s face if she led one of Damien’s horses across her pristine carpet.

She glanced into her sitting room and stared at the painting on her easel. It was dark, mostly blacks and browns, but as she walked closer, she saw the detail emerging. It was the cabin she had visited with Jude and Grimmel, but the angle was from the floor as if she were looking up. Silhouetted in the doorway stood a man, his features were blurry, but he held a knife clutched in one hand. His body blotted out most of the daylight, but she had painted his left arm clearly, it hung down at his side, fingers splayed except…

She drew closer to the painting. He had only three fingers, the pinkie and ring finger of his left hand were severed at the knuckle.

* * *

Jude

Jude opened her apartment door. Gram had been whining for an hour; he needed a walk, and though she was right in the middle of a photo piece, she gave in before he pissed all over her carpet.

“Jude,” Hattie said breathlessly standing at the top of her stairwell. Her face was flushed, and her wispy blonde hair hung over her shoulders. She held her side like a cramp had taken hold.

“What are you doing here?” Jude asked, surprised. Hattie never visited her apartment. It was on the other side of town and Hattie hated to drive.

“I had a vision last night,” Hattie breathed, still hunched over rubbing at her side.

“Did you drive here?” Jude asked, skeptical.

“I rode my bike.”

Jude nodded, realizing why Hattie looked ready to take her last breath. Hattie loved to ride her bike but tended toward leisurely strolls in the country not mad races across town during morning traffic.

Gram whined and strained toward Hattie. He loved Hattie and insisted on abandoning Jude every time she was nearby.

“Traitor,” Jude whispered, releasing his leash.

He ran at Hattie and she opened her arms, half falling to the floor as she hugged the dog vigorously who licked her face.

“Oh Grammy,” Hattie said holding the dog around the neck and nuzzling her face against his furry cheek.

Jude remembered Hattie doing something similar with Gram Ruth’s dead cat, Felix, and shuddered. Hattie’s inkling for furry creatures extended to all animals - dead or alive.

“Here,” Jude said tossing her the leash. “Clip her back on and we’ll take a walk.”

Gram half dragged Hattie off the concrete apartment steps and down the sidewalk. Jude had to jog to keep up.

“Hattie, you’re supposed to walk her not the other way around.”

Hattie just smiled and allowed the shaggy dog to stop at every tree, fire hydrant, and errant piece of garbage.

“Tell me about your dream,” Jude said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and propping one on her lip.

“Vision,” Hattie corrected waving the smoke away as it drifted toward her. She wrinkled her nose but didn’t complain.

“I thought about what that woman said, Lucy, about mom’s gift,” Hattie told her sneaking glances at Jude as if afraid she might make fun of her.

In the past, Jude would have, but lately… Well she wasn’t ready to qualify it, but things had changed - that was for sure.

“I realized I could try to use it. The truth is I’ve been seeing Rosemary my whole life. And yesterday in the cabin, I felt her more strongly than ever.”

Jude stopped, ashing her cigarette, and staring at Hattie.

“What does that mean you’ve been seeing her? Like you guys had tea parties together?”

Hattie frowned, pulling on Gram’s leash as the dog tried to race into the street after a squirrel.

Jude sighed. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. Lay it on me. Did you reach her?” Jude imagined Hattie dialing the operator on her rotary phone and asking to speak with the dead.

“She’s always just been there. She’s never spoken to me, but before I went to bed, I called out for her. I asked her to show me who killed her.”

Jude took another drag and looked at her sister’s earnest face.

“And?”

“She did.”

Jude grimaced.

“Are you sure this wasn’t a dream, I mean that cabin creeped me out.”

“I understand the difference,” Hattie insisted. “I painted it, and I painted a man.”

“A man? Like a portrait?”

Hattie nodded, taking a stick that Gram brought to her and wiping the slobber on her pant leg before handing it back.

“You realize he carries it in his mouth, right?” Jude asked.

Hattie smiled and rubbed Gram’s head.

Jude stubbed her cigarette out on the sidewalk and tossed it in the trash. They didn’t speak for several minutes and Jude considered the cabin and how Hattie had seemed to… drift away.

“Let’s go check it out.”

* * *

Hattie

They arrived at Hattie’s apartment in Jude’s car. Despite Hattie’s maintaining that Gram could come with them, Jude left him at her apartment insisting the last thing she needed was a dog covered in blue paint jumping in her backseat.

Hattie had cleaned up since her last visit and though several surfaces revealed smears of various paint colors, she had washed the dishes and her paintbrushes were lined up and clean on a little table next to her easel.

“Gram Ruth would be proud,” Jude smirked.

Hattie ignored her, leading Jude to a painting propped on the floor behind her couch. It faced away from the room and Jude wondered if Hattie preferred not to look at it.

Hattie lifted it onto the easel and Jude stared, a shiver running along her spine.

It depicted the cabin from the inside. In the doorway a man stood, mostly a silhouette due to the sun.