Justin shook his head and turning the pad so he had a different angle, continued his tale. “Archibald entered after Emma eased herself into a chair and appearing to be the loving fiancé, he asked her what was wrong. She believed he was being sincere and pleaded with him to release her from marrying him. Suddenly, Archibald’s demeanor changed. He told Emma he didn’t care if she loved him or not, that the wedding would take place as scheduled.” He rapidly moved the pencil tip back and forth, shading a small area on the drawing. “The rest of the day passed in a blur.”

Laying down the pencil, Justin cracked his knuckles and flexed his fingers, relieving the tension in the muscles of his hands. “After witnessing the happy occasion,” he said sarcastically, “Archibald showed me a scene from nine months later, the day that mysterious stain was created. It was around dawn and the only other light in the front parlour came from a fire gently burning in the hearth. I looked around the room, trying to determine how much time had passed since the wedding. For a few moments, the entire house was quiet expect for the ticking of the grandmother clock and the soft snoring of a Newfoundland dog, sleeping before the fire.” Justin rubbed his jaw with his left hand, leaving a smear of black lead transferred from his thumb down the length of the left jaw line.

Susan chuckled and walked over to the sink. She dampened a towel from the tap and moved back over to her husband. When he looked up at her, his brows drawn together in an unspoken question, she chuckled again. Leaning over, Susan kissed his cheek and wiped his face clean, “You had pencil lead on your face.”

“Thanks,” Justin said, kissing his wife before she moved back to her chair. “So, suddenly I heard noises from upstairs and Emma cried out, ‘No,’ almost fearfully. Sometime later, after sounds of water splashing and doors banging echoed from above, she came quickly down the stairs carrying bloody linen and nightclothes.” Justin picked up the pencil and began working on the sketch again.

“She tripped on the sheets, spilling everything onto the floor and Archibald walked in while she was picking up the pile of linen. Once he realized what was going on, the man went ballistic. He was shouting at her and complaining about Emma’s inability to conceive a child, even after nine months of marriage, then backhanded her to the floor. When he reached out to grab her, the Newfoundland sprang forward and bit into Archibald’s arm, tearing the flesh. He got himself loose from the dog and left the house, vowing revenge on the beast and threatened Emma, as well.” Justin paused to gulp down some more coffee, unaware that Susan had refilled his mug and choked on the steaming coffee. He coughed and sputtered “Hot, hot,” waving a hand in front of his mouth.

“Sorry, Justin. I refilled it for you,” she explained, somewhat needlessly.

“Ith okay, I only burded ma moth and throat, but ith okay.” He coughed again and took a small sip of coffee to stop. “To continue the tale,” he went on, his tongue injury miraculously cured, “minus some of the gorier details—after Archibald left, Emma sat there on the floor clutching the dog and cried. I don’t know how much time passed, but he eventually came back. Emma tried to protect the animal, but he threatened her life if she moved and then slammed the butt of his rifle into her ribs when she did. In the end, Archibald killed the dog with his bare hands; he just snapped the dog’s neck.” Justin picked up the pencil he had dropped when choking and began adding details to his sketch.