“I mean, they are so real, if you painted them…” Lenora broke off and bolted over to the statue so fast that James felt a breeze.
“Wait, what are you doing?” he asked as she closely examined the statue with the flashlight, starting at the top of her head and working her way down.
“I’m looking for something and... AH, AHA! I found it,” she crowed, kneeling and squinting at the back of the woman’s left heel.
The woman looked so real, this almost seemed rude to James and he winced. “Uh, what did you find?”
“Paint!” she said, with a triumphant note to her voice. “I can see chips of black paint on her boots. These statues used to be painted. They did look completely real.”
“That’s uh, that’s even worse, somehow.” He didn’t want to look at the woman anymore.
Lenora panned her light over the figure and moved to James’ side. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I think it probably is.”
“What made you think to look for paint on them, anyway?” he asked, but she only shrugged.
“Just a hunch.”
“Hey,” James said, “there’s something beside her.” Half hidden by the door, he pulled it open to fully reveal a side table with a framed black and white picture on it. A guy with a severe hair cut who didn’t look much older than James stared at the photographer in defiance, his insignia gleaming on his collar.
“Wow,” James said. “So that’s what he looked like.”
“Who?”
“Her husband. I mean, her fiancé.”
“You think that was her husband?” Lenora edged closer to him and rubbed her arms.