Louise wondered what kind of event must have triggered the ghost into killing and haunting the people of Reed’s manor. At first, it had only been Graham’s previous wives, and now it was getting to other people in the family. 

“Mr. Winkle, do you think it would be possible to have a look at some of the restricted records  by using your influence?” Louise asked the older man, who stood next to her.

“Hm? What for?” He turned to look at her. 

“I wanted to find the names of the people who have met with unusual deaths in the last few years. Mr. Burton said he couldn’t reveal the details to an outsider,” replied Louise, and the man nodded his head. “I want to check if I can find the faded names from the records.”

Mr. Winkle nodded his head, “I will make an official request with my sign and seal. You can submit it to the investigation’s office.”

“Thank you,” Louise thanked him. She then turned back to look at the board, “There has been something very prominent that I have noticed.  People keep experiencing severe headaches. What do you think it means?”

“Are they lying through their teeth?” asked Mr. Winkle, and she shook her head. 

“I think one or two would be understandable, but it has been more than that,” replied Louise, staring at the board and the red thread that connected the names of the people. “Is it possible to hypnotize many people at a time?”

“I don’t think the surrounding area in Habsburg has any such hypnotist. But it is possible, if the person’s words are effective,” stated Mr. Winkle. 

“I have tried to ask questions to get the answers, but there are always the headaches that stops them from speaking it out. Maybe their memories were suppressed?” asked Louise in doubt.

“Never heard of such phenomena before.” 

Louise nodded her head. Neither had she heard about anything like this. 

Mr. Winkle then said, “Since a week there haven’t been many case files to look into. You can take the work to your home. If there are any important things that need your assistance, I will have it sent to you. I am sure you feel much at ease by staying at your family’s side.”

The Reed’s manor thought Louise in her mind. 

“I guess you are right. Thank you for being understanding,” Louise gave him a grateful smile, thankful that Mr. Winkle was being considerate of the situation she was in. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I take this one with me, do you?” she asked, looking at the board. 

“Go ahead. It isn’t like I make use of it anymore,” replied Mr. Winkle. “You have two more weeks before your exam takes place. Make sure to be well prepared.” 

Louise offered him a bow in respect, “I will, Mr. Winkle.”

That noon, Louise packed the things she wanted to take with her from the office and left. But instead of returning to the manor, she took the carriage and travelled towards the edge of the town where the painter, George Steward’s house, was located. When she reached, the house looked isolated and away from the other houses. The sky had cleared compared to the last few days. 

Louise gave the coachman a silver coin, asking him to stay for a while as she would return soon. Walking up to the door, she knocked on the hardwood. After a minute, the door opened, and the painter appeared in view. 

For a few seconds, he stared at her as if she was a stranger he hadn’t met before. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Steward. I am Louise Reed, a few days ago we met at Reed’s manor,” she introduced herself to him, and the man finally nodded his head. 

His eyes were slightly red, and his gaze slightly dazed. “Afternoon, Lady Louise. Are you here to have a look at the progress of the portrait?” he questioned her. 

“Yes, but also I wanted to talk to you about something ,” replied Louise, and the man stepped away from the door, inviting her, “Please come in.” 

Stepping inside, the painter led her through the large hall of the house. The walls were empty, with nothing hanging on them. “Would you like to have some tea?” He offered her while walking towards the workroom. 

“No, I am fine. Thank you,” she said, and the man nodded his head. “You didn’t hang your paintings in the hall?” she asked him. 

George smiled at her question, “I spend enough time with the paintings in one room, I don’t like to be reminded once I step out of the room.”

“I see.”

Walking around the stand that was holding the large canvas, Louise’ eyes fell on the portrait that was still in the process of finishing. The colours that were used were somewhere dull. She noticed he had finished painting most of the members, including her in the portrait. How strange, to see oneself in a painting, thought Louise in her mind. 

“It will still need a week before I am finished giving it the final touches,” informed the painter. 

After Louise’ eyes finished admiring the members, she looked at the background of the painting. On the left was the exit door and on the right was where the curtains had not been pulled apart. 

Her eyebrows then drew in together when she took a closer look at it. 

“What is this?” Louise questioned the painter in surprise.

She pointed her finger at something dark, like a shadow that the painter had captured on the right side of the portrait. It looked like a person had been standing there, and it brought chills to Louise’s body. 

George came to stand behind her, taking a closer look at his work. He said, “I painted what I saw, milady. Some objects create shadows and it must be it.”

But to Louise, it didn’t look like an object’s shadow. This looked like a person, a person who was not supposed to be there in the painting but had made it into it. While Louise continued to stare at it, George walked towards the table in the middle of the room and picked up a half filled with alcohol.

“What does the object look like to you?” she questioned him. Turning away from the painting to look at the man.

The man took a sip from his glass, he stared at her before saying, “It looks like a shadow of a woman.”

Hearing this, Louise softly gulped. 

The ghost was a woman… and to think that it was so close to them in the room that day. 

Pursing her lips, she asked him, “While painting, do you not question what you see and what it might be, Mr. Steward?” The ghost’s presence in the portrait was faint, and it could be noticed only when a person took a closer look at it. 

“What we see and what we don’t, it is sometimes hard to differentiate the truth of its existence, isn’t it?” asked the man, slowly walking towards the window and leaning one side of his body on the wall while standing next to the window. “What I mean to say is, we artists sometimes get lost and don’t care about other things. For a child, a coat hung in the dark room might look fearful, which only makes it the perception of how we see things.”

“The last time when we met, you said someone was eager to be in the portraits,” but he wasn’t able to finish his sentence that time. This time, Louise wanted to know, “Can you tell me more about it?” 

She stared at the man, her eyes curiously watching his expression and catching sight of the pain and irritation filled up his face. Raising his glass to his lips, he completed the rest of his drink. 

Bringing the empty glass on the side of the window, George said, “There was once a young woman whose beauty was like no one else. She liked to come and watch me paint, and with the little time I spent with her, I fell in love. I wanted to spend more time, but time turned scarce.”

“Who was it?” asked Louise, and the man pointed his finger towards one of the canvases that was in the other corner of the room, covered by a cloth.

Louise made her way near the canvas and carefully pulled the cloth. A quick frown appeared on seeing a headless woman. The person wore a gown, sitting on a chair and holding a feather. She wondered if this was something from the painter’s imagination.

George said, “I see her in my dreams, and as much as I was in love with her or maybe still am, I am not able to remember her face anymore. I have tried to remember her face, but every time I have tried to paint her I feel like that’s not it. I searched for her for a very long time before I gave up.” 

This was another dead end, thought Louise in her mind.

“Did you meet her at Reed’s residence when you went to paint the family portrait for them?” inquired Louise and the painter raised his hand to place it on his temple.

“Yes,” replied George, and he lightly tapped his head as if to get rid of the pain. “I don’t know why, but I feel the sudden pain.”

Frowning, Louise asked him, “Do you remember when you last met her?”

George had a distant look in his eyes, his hand reached for the bottle of alcohol, and he gulped it down. Once he put it down, he replied, “It was the time I took a break from my work.” 

“Three years ago,” whispered Louise to herself while staring at the painting of the woman.

For a person who looked as if he still loved her, Louise found it to be quite strange that he couldn’t remember the woman’s face anymore, she thought in her mind. Thanking him, she left his house to go back to the manor in the carriage that had been waiting for her in front of the house. 

Louise sat near the window in the carriage, looking at the trees that rapidly moved past her. She wondered if this woman, whom the painter was speaking about, was the same little girl she had seen in one of the older paintings next to Graham. Was it possible that the person whom Elias had killed was this person?

Reaching the manor, Louise once again came to stand in front of the painting. She tried to find the possible female friend of Graham, but she wasn’t there in any of the paintings. 

Every murder had a motive behind it. What was it here?