Her stomach clenched when she located him. She had convinced herself that he would again be walking in the woods, where he belonged, but he wasn't.
Tonight he was standing at the edge of the moonlit forest, one hand resting on the neck of the white horse.
A cold chill slithered down Kari's spine. It was true, she thought, she was going out of her mind.
"Why don't you take it home with you," Mr. Underwood suggested, coming up behind her. "Live with it for a few days. If you don't like it, you can bring it back. But don't tell anyone, especially my sister! All sales are supposed to be final."
"It's a deal." Kari clapped her hand over her mouth, wondering what had possessed her to say such a thing. She couldn't afford to buy a painting, not even one by an unknown artist. Heck, until she paid off her car, she couldn't even afford to buy a cheap print! But Mr. Underwood was already lifting the painting from the easel and carrying it to the front of the store. Besides, if she changed her mind, she could return it.
Ten minutes later, she was the owner, however temporary, of a genuine work of art.
Mr. Underwood carried the Vilnius out to her car, but it was too big to fit in the backseat, and too wide to fit in the trunk. Assuring her that it was no trouble, he put the painting in the back of his pickup truck. Returning to the gallery, he hung the "closed" sign in the front window and locked the door, then followed her home where he obligingly carried the painting into the house.
Kari thanked him profusely, then bid him good night.
After turning on the lights and the heater, she propped the painting against the living room wall. Standing in the middle of the floor, she did a slow turn, wondering where best to hang the picture. Over the sofa? No, she would have to keep looking over her shoulder to see it. Over the mantel? Maybe. Between the front windows? Another maybe. In the bedroom? No!
Over the fireplace seemed the most likely spot. She found a hammer and a couple of large nails, then dragged a chair over to the hearth. After doing some measuring and a little cussing, she figured out where to drive the nails; then, praying that she wouldn't drop the darn thing, she wrestled the painting into place. After making sure it was straight, she hopped down off the chair, then stood in the doorway to observe her handiwork.
She had to admit, the Vilnius looked great. The painting was just the right size, the colors perfectly complemented her decor, and it added the finishing touch to the room.
Standing there with her arms crossed under her br**sts, she searched for the man in the painting. Where was he?
Moving closer, she looked in all the usual places but he wasn't walking in the woods or looking out the window of the castle. He wasn't riding the horse or sitting on the rock near the edge of the water or reclining on the grass. Had she imagined him? Maybe she was crazier than she thought.
Standing on the chair again, she perused the painting through narrowed eyes. How could he not be there? Thirty minutes ago he had been petting the horse...but now the horse was gone, too.
She really was losing it, of that there could be no doubt. Maybe she had imagined the whole thing. Maybe there had never been a man in the landscape at all. Heck, maybe the canvas was blank...but no, what was that? Leaning closer, she stared at a dark speck on the right side of the castle. Was that him?
After jumping off the chair, Kari rummaged in her desk for her magnifying glass, then climbed back up on the chair, and looked again. A horse and rider were barely visible in the shadows alongside the castle.
Her relief at finding him warred with the renewed fear that she was losing her mind.
Paintings simply didn't change from day to day. Painted figures of people and animals didn't move.
Feeling horribly confused and afraid, she put on her nightgown and went to bed, only to lie there imagining a history for the man in the painting. He was a nobleman who lived alone in the castle, with only a horse, a dog, and a kitten for company. She frowned, unable to decide why he was so sad. Maybe he was nursing a broken heart, or perhaps he was grieving for a lost loved one. Or maybe he just liked living alone.
With a faint smile, she closed her eyes. Maybe the answer would come to her in her dreams.
It seemed she had been asleep for only a few moments when she woke with a start. She stared at the ceiling blankly, and then frowned. Her ceiling was sky blue, not gray. She turned her head to the left, but instead of a window, she saw a blank wall.
A shiver ran down Kari's spine. All the walls were blank. And they were made of uneven dark gray stone.
She sat up, the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Where was she? And how had she gotten here?
Slipping out of bed, she left the room and tiptoed down a narrow circular stairway. The stone floor was icy cold beneath her bare feet. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, her gaze darting nervously from side to side. There wasn't much to see save for a large, rough-hewn chair in front of an enormous fireplace. A painting of a sword hung above the mantel. She paused a moment to study the weapon. She didn't know anything about such things, but this one was beautiful, from the long, slender blade to the intricately wrought hilt. It reminded her of Inigo Montoya's sword in one of her favorite old movies, The Princess Bride.
Moving on, she passed several other rooms. All were empty. All had high ceilings, gray stone walls, enormous fireplaces, and tall, narrow windows.
She was in some kind of a castle, she thought, her trepidation growing with each moment that passed.
In the scullery, she glanced out a small, square window, felt her eyes grow wide as she found herself looking out at her living room at home.
It hit her then. She was inside the castle in the painting!
Panic rose hot and quick within her. Was this how the man had gotten into the painting? Had he bought it and then become its prisoner? Had she now taken his place?
She whirled around, her gaze flitting around the room. Where was he? And how was she going to get out?
She searched the downstairs, went back up to the second floor and then up to the third. There was no sign of him. Returning to the main floor, she opened the heavy wooden door and went outside, but he wasn't there, either. Maybe she really had imagined him!
She hadn't imagined the horse, though. Even now it was trotting toward her, its dainty, foxlike ears flicking back and forth, its nostrils flaring.
"Hello, you pretty thing," she murmured.
Hesitantly, she held out her hand. The horse sniffed her palm, then whinnied softly, its breath warm against her skin. Captivated, she stroked the horse's neck, then ran her fingers through its long, silky mane. It didn't feel like a painting of a horse; it felt like a living, breathing creature, but how was that possible?