He studied each of the dogs, pleased with his progress this morning. It was shaping up well and he could feel their personalities coming alive. He glanced at his watch: 3.45 p.m. With an uninterrupted evening ahead, he should be able to finish it easily.

He sat down at his desk, in front of his laptop, to check his emails and social media, and pressed the return key to wake it up.

But, similar to earlier, instead of the normal request for his password, a row of numbers appeared, fleetingly, on a black screen before vanishing again.

A sharp tap on the window to his left startled him. He jumped, then turned in fear towards it. And saw a man’s face.

Shit!

He leapt to his feet in shock.

The man, who looked to be in his forties, smiled cheerily, holding up a cloth and waving with it. Then he squirted something on the glass and began to spread it.

Relief washing through him, Jason smiled and waved back, then returned to the screen. The numbers had disappeared, replaced by the password prompt. He entered it, bemused, scanned his emails and Twitter, then stood up to get back to work.

He put on his apron and gloves, freshened up his paints and went over to his easel. Within minutes he was totally immersed in getting the fringe over the labradoodle’s eyes right. He scraped with his scalpel in total concentration to create different shades of grey and some white. This really needed a steady hand, but it was becoming less steady as he continued. The temperature in the room seemed to be dropping. He was cold, freezing cold.

Behind him he heard a sharp click, as if the door had suddenly been closed.

Except, it was already closed.

28

Sunday 16 December

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.