Pieced Together in the Gallery

You came to Aldenmere Manor only to return a book borrowed from the late Edith Crane, your neighbour of many years. The housekeeper let you in, then disappeared upstairs. Now you stand alone in the portrait gallery — dust motes drifting through tall windows, the smell of old varnish and dried flowers — and you notice that the largest portrait on the wall, a painting of Edith herself, has been torn into pieces. Something about it feels unfinished. You find you cannot simply leave it like this.