Patch tried not to notice the lure of the painting, that low pain in his gut, in his bones. He tried not to see Sammy’s face as he worked, Saint’s as she stopped by with a plate because his mother could not care for him. He tried not to see Nix, Misty, the Mad House, and the town of Monta Clare. But mostly, when he lay down in thunderous silence each night, he tried not to see Charlotte.
