Chapter 4
Iris paced in front of a huge canvas covered with what looked like several inverted tornados, black and gray and bruised purple. The perspective was strange, with the largest one also the closest, just to the left of center. She not only couldn’t remember the dream, this time she barely remembered picking up her brush.
“Did I say which this happens in?” Iris said, shivering as she stared at the painting. “Maple Ridge or Wolf Branch?”
“No, honey, you didn’t. Same with the one with the prison a couple of days ago. I couldn’t tell which. But I think you’re right. It’s one or the other.”
That prison painting had clusters of dots ranging from a dozen in palest white, more in shades of pink, and a handful in a vivid crimson. Those seemed to glow against the brooding background.
“I
