At least I’ve got that part of my life right.
If spinsterhood was her fate, then so be it.
The thought brought an unbidden tear. She sniffled, wiping it away before it encouraged more and flooded her senses with unfulfilled wishes.
Gabriella watched the man and woman who’d given her a dirty look leave, and she realized she was alone in the gallery. An eeriness skittered up her spine, causing the hair on her arms to stand on end. Something moved in the periphery of her vision, drawing her gaze back to the painting.
She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.I must be hallucinating.She could have sworn on a stack of Bibles that she’d seen the figures in the painting move. Of course, it was ridiculous.This is what comes when I dredge up old insecurities that I should have laid to rest long ago. It must be the chiaroscuro, or maybe last night’s drinking binge.
She’d never gone through therapy—her parents had no use for it. They were old school and old country, and believed that you toughened up and solved what ailed you with the help of your family.
If it were a hallucination, it would certainly stop—but instead, she saw candlelight flickering on the bed’s headboard in the painting. She drew in a breath, mesmerized by what she was seeing…
An invisible brush worked its magic, bringing vivid color to the faded image of the woman in the painting. Her cheeks grew rosy, her red hair became brighter and more vibrant, and, most disconcertingly, her colorless eyes turned an emerald green. Gaby could not look away as the woman’s chest rose and fell with each breath.
It must be her state of mind. It was playing tricks on her.
Gabriella shivered as though someone had opened a door and a cold rush of air had blown in. Her eyes darted around, searching for an explanation for the sudden drop in temperature. There were no windows, and except for a shaft of light that poured from a skylight, everything was hermetically sealed and temperature controlled for the sake of the precious art. She should have brought a jacket or a sweater, but it was summer, and New York was in the grips of a heatwave. Maybe that had something to do with the museum turning up the air conditioning.
But that wasn’t the only odd thing occurring.
The floor had begun to vibrate. She jumped up, intending to leave the gallery, but was immobilized by an invisible pressure that pushed her back down onto the bench. Panic seized her, she became dizzy, and a ringing echoed in her ears. The vibration became stronger, making the bench shake. Gaby gripped the edge as if her life depended on it.
I must be having a panic attack.
Her stomach churned, her vision blurred, and her throat constricted—but oddly, her sense of smell and taste, which were highly developed, grew stronger. Of all things, in the middle of Manhattan, she caught the scent and taste of salty air one would encounter only at the seashore.
She glanced longingly at the exit. If only Emily and Jenee would show up, everything would be set right, and the world would return to normal. But her friends were nowhere in sight. Gaby would have to rely on her own inner strength, such as it was, to get her through this.
Just close your eyes, breathe deeply, and focus.
But just as she thought she had reclaimed her grip on reality, a voice whispered in her ear, “Devi aiutarci.”
Gabriella’s eyes flew open, and she whipped her head around, seeking the source of the plea. No one was in the gallery, yet she heard the words again.
“Devi aiutarci.”
She covered her ears, but the whisper continued to echo in her ears, more intense, beseeching her.
“Please, help us.”
What in God’s name is going on? Help who? How?Again, Gabriella looked around, searching for the source of this crazy request. The emptiness of the gallery carried its own message. She must be having a mental breakdown. There was no other plausible explanation.
The whisper became louder, and she realized it was coming from the painting.
She gasped as the man in the picture came to life, turned, and cast an angry gaze at her. She screamed, but no sound emerged. The artist picked up the wine glass on the table in the painting and hurled it at her. His anger and frustration were palpable. It was impossible, but the glass broke through the painting, shattering into a million pieces around her, like glittering diamonds in the light.
The room began to spin around her, and the artist reached out from the painting and grabbed her wrist. Gabriella tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but he held her in a steely vise. The red-headed woman in the painting also stood, her green, catlike eyes glittering. She smiled, and Gabriella heard what could only be the woman’s voice in her head:Don’t be afraid. We will not hurt you. Only you can stop the madness once and for all. But you must help us. You are our last hope…
Overcome by faintness, Gabriella lifted her free hand to her forehead, and the man in the painting grabbed it and pulled her toward the canvas. Her eyes widened as she moved through the painting as though she were stepping through a thick fog on a dark night. She was keenly aware of every cell in her body humming as though on a different frequency. And then she felt a force pushing her and knew she was falling through the dark void, tumbling head over heels. She screamed but could hear nothing other than the sound of a strong wind whistling past her.
Where she’d end up, she had no idea, but the soothing voice of the woman reached out to her once more.No harm will come to you. Trust in your destiny. A new world is opening to you. You are the link that will end this once and for all. We need you, Gabriella.
Maybe this is what death is. Maybe I’m dying and this is some strange sort of afterlife.Despite the soothing voice of the woman in her head, Gabriella wanted this crazy house-of-horrors ride to end.
Just when thought she was really going to lose it, the wind eased up and the scent of the sea tingled her nostrils.
Oh God, I really am dying. I’m falling into some deep abyss.
