Zoé

The painting

Angel realized at the first ray of sunshine that he wouldn't be able to continue on with his day if he didn't go back to the museum. He needed to put his mind at rest that it was merely the product of a stressed out brain.

There were no moving paintings nor any French girl's voice echoing in the wall of the museum. It was all in his head.

That didn't stop him from contacting his father, though.

Ronald Ferrymore was a proud man. He was a successful writer who loved to show everyone what he had accomplished including his son. His world building craft took second place when it came to his only son. With the passing of his mother, Angel became Ronald's entire focus point.

He picked up the phone on the second ring. "Angel, how's the college life treating you?"

"Dad, I need a favor," Angel greeted him. He avoiding talking about himself at all cost. It never led to anything good especially with his dad.

"Sure, anything."

"I need a VIP pass to get in the Gourdon Museum."

There was a pause. Mr. Ferrymore was without a doubt holding back an avalanche of questions. As much as he loved being asked, his son wasn't a big fan of wanting favors from him. It was always a novelty every time he did.

"I think I can arrange that," he replied. "I'll give the owner a call."

"Can you do it today?" Angel asked anxiously. "I need it today."

"Today?" Mr. Ferrymore was perplexed. "What's inside that museum that makes it so interesting. You're not trying to impress a girl again, are you?"

"No, dad, I'm not trying to impressing a girl," Angel answered exasperated. "Can you do it or not?"

"Of course I can do it," Mr. Ferrymore's pride was getting the better of his worry. He loved to show how far his influence could reach.

"Great, just tell me when it's done," Angel hung up the phone with a loud sigh. His feet kept tapping on the floor. He wasn't going to last much longer. He needed to put his mind at rest about this painting.

***

Mr. Ferrymore had finally called back. His timing was perfectly synchronized to Angel's state of mind. The poor boy was on the verge of breakdown when the call came.

He immediately ran to the building. He had to see the painting again. His mind needed to be put at rest before he was able to try to get a grip of chemistry again.

Mr. Fisher – the curator – didn't need any identification to recognize the boy as his features were strikingly similar to his father.

"This way, Mr. Ferrymore," he guided him through the crowd outside waiting to see the artistic designs one last time. "Your father said that you wanted to see the displays for research purposes but he didn't mention what specific exhibits you needed to see."

"There was an oil painting of a girl," Angel explained.

"Oh yes, I know exactly what you're talking about. Follow me." The old man walked with grandeur, adding legitimacy and value to the place. "I must say it's not one of our most well-known nor our most valued pieces. It was giving to the museum as a donation a long time ago. Most of our more important pieces have already been stored and getting ready for auction." He paused in front of a bone necklace. "It's such a shame to have to close this place but the world grows and apparently a shopping mall is more important than art."

Mr. Fisher laughed a bitter laugh before continuing toward the painting. He turned the corner and stopped in front of the painting.

Angel stared at it. It couldn't be. He wiped his eyes over and over again but it was the same. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Perhaps he saw wrong last night because he could have sworn that the girl worn a simple white dress while she stood in front of the farmhouse.