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without a painting. All that hung there was a bent nail.
    "She's just in the room down the hall. Are you sure I can't take your jacket? Oh well, keep it close then. Things have a tendency, you know..."
    Claire didn't.
    The hallway they travelled was longer than Claire thought possible, and the walls were decorated with more paintings. They were similar to those in the foyer, and on first glance they all looked to be by the same hand, but it did not take long before Claire realized her mistake. Before she could inspect the pieces further, however, she found herself following Doreen into a darkened sitting room. As they entered another lamp was lit, and a woman standing beneath a large familiar portrait on the opposite wall was revealed. She was bent, leaning heavily upon a wooden cane, her long fingers clenched around its head. She grimaced and squeezed her leg with her free hand, then her eyes narrowed and she scowled at Claire.
    "Who are you?"
    She spit the words on the floor. Doreen tittered.
    "Eloise, this is Claire. Claire, this is my sister, Eloise."
    There was a familial resemblance. She was the older of the two women, but even that age could not disguise that she was the subject of the painting behind her. It was clear she was no longer that girl, however. Her wrinkled face was free of any sort of laugh line.
    Eloise hobbled to a chair, massaging her bad leg with each step. Doreen looked as though she wanted to help, but the glare she received stopped her. Eloise reached her chair then eased herself down. She laid her cane across her knees. Doreen then sat as well. Claire noticed there were no other chairs in the room.
    "How did you get past the gate?" Eloise said. Doreen was grinning.
    "It was open," Claire said, hesitantly.
    "Was it?"
    The two women stared at her. Claire swallowed; she found the sensation of being sized up discomforting.
    "I was hoping to borrow your telephone. My cell -- my father wasn't answering and now it's lost its charge."
    "Really? Lost? Perhaps you've simply misplaced it?" A smile crept across Eloise's face, interrupting her grimace briefly. The room shrank around Claire, and its temperature rose. She adjusted her jacket but received no relief.
    "I'm sorry to trouble you. Maybe I'll go to another house and see if they can help."
    "Maybe you should."
    "Wait," Doreen said. "Where were you coming from?" Eloise's face twisted with barely contained fury, quieting her sister, and at once Claire's heart went out to the younger woman.
    "I was coming home from school. I'm going to see my father."
    Her face faltered with an impenetrable expression. She took to rubbing her knuckles into her legs once again.
    "He must be excited to see you," Eloise said. "How about your mother?" Her neutral tone could not disguise her brewing irritation. Claire did not know how she was expected to respond and was thankful when Doreen relieved her of the burden.
    "What happened to your car? Did it break down?"
    “Yes. Well, at first. But then there was ... an accident, I suppose.”
    The room chilled. Eloise turned to her sister accusatorily.
    "You didn't say anything about an accident."
    "I didn’t know," Doreen protested. "She didn't say ."
    "Someone came out of the night and hit my car."
    "Are they all right?" Doreen asked.
    "I don't know. I --" Claire didn't know how to explain it. "I didn't see them. I'll be all right, though."
    Eloise attempted to speak, but no words emerged. She cleared her throat, and then called her sister to help her stand. When the woman found support on her cane, she asked between exerted breaths: "What did you say your name was?"
    "It's Claire."
    "Claire, I simply don't see what you expect us to do."
    "Do?" she stammered. "I--I just want to use your telephone. I need to call my father and let him know what happened. And where I am."
    "Then go ahead," she said. "It's right beside you."
    There, beside Claire, hung a black rotary dial telephone between two paintings. She wondered why she had