Font Size:  

George’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, and he clutched a copy of Frankenstein to his chest. “True, but there’s something about photography that has always captured my attention. ‘A picture is worth a thousand words.’ They’re like little windows to other parts of the world, with real people and real places. And they’ve been transported here, to Georgia, for us to enjoy.”

“I have a feeling there’s a lesson here.”

George chuckled. “A lesson? No. But maybe a question.”

“Such as?”

“Why do you hesitate to enjoy these little worlds?”

That was a complicated question. This wing housed over a thousand photographs—many of which were over two hundred years old. When Cassie had applied for her job at the museum, she made it known that she wanted to work with modern pieces. Despite her concentration on the Classics in college, she told George, Jane, and the other bigwigs in the room that she was most interested in how current trends reflected the ancient foundations of art.

It was a complete lie.

Cassie needed to stay as far away as possible from anything old and historic. When her abilities were at full power, she didn’t need to touch an object to pick up the tragedy, remorse, and pain of the soul attached to it. Walking through some of the older exhibits, Cassie could be inundated with spirit noise.

Not every item in the museum gave off a tragic aura, but for every two or three pieces that had no effect on her, another dozen or so would reach out to her ability and latch on until she investigated further or found the strength to push it away. It was exhausting, to say the least.

George cleared his throat, catching Cassie’s attention.

“I’m a bit overwhelmed.” Cassie was surprised by the truthfulness of the statement. “Art can be an intense experience for me, and I feel a lot of pressure to make sure I don’t disappoint Jane. Or you.”

George hummed his acknowledgment of her statement and rocked back and forth on his heels a few times. He took longer to respond than most people, but Cassie had found it was worth the wait.

“I like that art has that effect on you,” he said. “I think that’s what makes you good at your job, Ms. Quinn. I think it’s also what makes our collection here so special. Imagine looking at a stationary object and having that fill you with emotion. What an incredible talent to possess.”

Cassie smiled. It’s why she fell in love with art to begin with. There was so much to analyze and feel; so much to learn when you looked at a piece of art. And every person took away something different from each piece. Their experiences, mindset, and emotions all played a role in how they interpreted what they were looking at.

“I think you should embrace being overwhelmed.” George turned to Cassie who was overwhelmed by the intensity of his stare. “It will be uncomfortable but imagine how much you could learn about yourself in the process. Imagine what you could learn about the effect these photographs have on our patrons. Jane has complete faith in you, and so do I. If you’re willing to try, I think you could bring something unique to this exhibit.”

Cassie took a deep breath. It was shaky, but George’s encouragement meant the world to her. “I’m willing to try.”

“Good. That’s all we can ever ask of other people.” He drummed his fingers against the cover of his book. “Now, I have three meetings to attend today and I’m going to see how much of this I can sneak in between each one.”

George winked at her and continued his stroll through the atrium, stopping every few feet to chat with someone for a minute or two. Everyone wanted to say hello to him. She hadn’t known many curators in her lifetime, but she imagined most of them were haughty and pretentious. George was warm and welcoming in a way that made her feel like she wasn’t just another employee, but a valued member of the museum team. He and Jane were the kind of bosses one dreamed of having.

That feeling was enough to make her venture forward with her chin held higher. There were a few people milling about, looking at the photographs, but for the most part, Cassie had the exhibit to herself.

She noticed how silent it was. The normal buzz of supernatural energy dissipated. It wasn’t as calming as she would’ve expected. Instead, it felt like a void. Something was supposed to be there.

That set her on edge.

Still, she started at the front of the room and wound her way through, looking at every single photograph and reading every single plaque. It didn’t take long for her to drown out the rest of the world.

The photographs took her back in time to a world not so far removed from her own. Most of the images were in black and white, but her mind tried to fill in the colors. Were the models wearing sapphire blue or ruby red? Were the trees the color of sage or did they have young chartreuse buds? Was the sky cobalt or turquoise or indigo?

Cassie was not an artist as much as she appreciated other people’s talents. She couldn’t draw or paint or craft, but that was why she loved it so much. She understood how difficult art could be. It would take her years—decades, even—to come close to the ability these people had.

And though photography wasn’t her medium of choice, she couldn’t help but cherish the way the photographer told a story. They played out like a movie in front of her eyes despite not moving. She was reminded of George’s words which brought them more alive. She could hear the bells tolling from a church that stood tall in Nova Scotia. She could feel the cool breeze that accompanied a colored photograph of a couple in a red convertible. She could smell the dust kicked up by a man shoveling dirt across a series of pictures.

A hand touched Cassie’s shoulder and she jumped. But when she turned—ready to apologize for her nerves—she was met with open air. She heard the quiet murmurings of people on the other side of the gallery but there was no one within sight, let alone anyone within reach.

The faint smell of blood wafted through the air, and though it was subtle, Cassie had smelled the scent too many times to mistake it for anything else. At the realization, the hair on her arms stood on end, and that half-forgotten electric buzz of energy swept over her body.

Cassie squeezed her eyes shut and took several long deep breaths. She could feel the panic rising in her chest, but she refused to give in to the feeling. Not at work. Not with other people around. She didn’t want pity or kindness or attention.

She waited until the hum of energy subsided to open her eyes. No one had noticed her odd behavior, and she would make sure it stayed that way. Instead of running out of the exhibit, she walked further away from the entrance. Her concentration wasn’t as absolute as it was a moment ago, but she refused to give in. She ignored the electric buzzing, she ignored the goosebumps on her arms, and she ignored the tingle along the back of her neck.

But she couldn’t ignore the flickering of the lights or the silhouette of a woman who appeared when the room went dark.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like