Framed

"Night shift again Bri?" Max popped up from behind the counter. He held a small jar of cinnamon in his hand.

"You betcha, big Christie's Auction coming up next week." She watched as he made a beautiful design with the cinnamon on the top of her large latte, today it was an empty frame, how fitting.

"Ahh, save me a seat up front." He said, sliding the latte across the counter towards her.

"Always Max," Brigid grabbed the large cinnamon latte off the counter and waved goodbye as she headed out of the diner. Heading up 5th Ave, she quickened her pace, pulling her knit sweater around her.

There was something about walking through the city at dusk. It always reminded Brigid of a past life. The way the sunset reflected off the skyscrapers. Once crowded streets dwindled, before the rush of nightlife emerged, the familiar faces that passed her as she walked to work. The air was crisp the smell of a brewing storm swirled in her nostrils. Brigid eyed her reflection in one of the buildings as she passed. Not a single eye fell on Brigid as she drew closer to the Met, another reason she chose the city.

In any other city in this world, she would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but not here. Her pink hair fell to her shoulders, and her cerulean skin was almost translucent in the evening hours. She eyed herself in the reflection of one of the tall buildings as she passed it, piercing blue eyes stared back at her. She glanced from her reflection to the looming Museum in front of her. The steps of the MET were empty except for a passing tourist family taking a photo of their children. Brigid smiled as she made her way to the side entrance.

The Museum was her favorite place. Brigid had walked these halls a million times. It began when she was 16. She spent every afternoon wandering the halls, staring up at the massive paintings that lined the walls—mimicking similar drawings in her tattered old notebook. By 18, she had gotten a job working in the restoration department, which seemed like years ago now. She reckoned she could probably name every painting along with its artist and date with her eyes closed. But she wouldn't have anyone to prove it to. On this particular rainy day in June, Brigid was staying late after work to exchange out some of the paintings in the European Painting Gallery.

Just as she entered the restoration room, rain began pouring down outside, pounding hard on the skylight above, and every few minutes the room would shudder from a crack of thunder, then illuminate from a bolt of lightning.

With a gloved hand, Brigid lifted Monet's The Artist's Garden at Giverny off its place on the wall, setting it down carefully on the cart and replacing it with its twin. She pushed the whole cart to the back room and stored the pieces in their restoration vaults. Brigid could spend hours in the back halls of the MET, the smells of chemicals and dust swirling in the air, and absolutely no one to bother her. She'd offered to work the night shift early on in her career; her colleagues had all thought she was crazy.

"Who would want to spend their Friday nights alone in a creepy old museum?" They had said, "Do you not have any friends to go out with?"

But the truth was she didn't have any friends, none her own age, anyway – unless you counted the security guard Cormac, who brought her coffee every day. Though she was pretty sure he just had a crush on her. It was just a small life she'd built for herself in this world, but it was the life she wished for.

Her phone pinged with a familiar ringtone, "Speak of the devil," Brigid muttered to herself. Cormac had set a specific ringtone for himself the first time they met, something about a faraway galaxy or something.

"Hello, Cormac," she said as she returned to the main corridor.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, "You're on shift at the museum tonight, right?"

"I am—just shelving some of the pieces for the auction next week." She said, pinning the phone between her ear and shoulder as she took another painting off the wall to return it to the restoration floor.

"Great! I—uh was thinking I could bring you some dinner, unless that's not allowed?"

"Um—no, that sounds fine, I could eat; I should be done here pretty soon if you want to meet me out front?"

"Yeah, great – that sounds great." Brigid clicked the phone off and let it slide into her pocket. She stepped back and let out a sigh as she slouched onto one of the benches in the center of the room, kicking off her shoes and shifting into a lying position. Above her, a large depiction of a never-ending garden was painted on the ceiling, one of a family dancing around a fountain. She closed her eyes letting her mind drift off she imagined the paintings in her mind, the characters all coming to life around her, the children throwing coins into the fountain, the partygoers dancing right off the canvas into the room around her and one even offering a dance, she would've taken their hand too, were it not for a loud crash awakening her from her daydream.

Brigid sat up sharply, nearly falling off the bench. She swiftly moved to the wall, ducking behind a sculpture of Claude Monet. She could hear the echoes of footsteps through the rain, which continued to pound on the window above.

The voices were muffled, but she could tell there was definitely someone in the Museum now. Slowly, she shifted along the wall. As she was on the second floor, she would be able to look out from the balcony to see whoever was below. She crept towards the exit of the gallery, keeping low close to the walls. Brigid held her breath as she passed through the other gallery until she finally reached the balcony. As soon as she had stepped into the hall, she could see two hooded figures milling about in the Egyptian Temple Gallery below, tracking a trail of mud across the gallery floor in their wake.

"Shit," Brigid muttered, clasping her hands to her mouth as the words escaped her lips.

One was tall and lanky, while the other looked much stockier, dipping what looked to be a very sharp, broad sword into the water feature.

"This is a waste of time. Why don't we just come back tomorrow, when we know she'll be here?" the shorter of the two men said, slamming his broad sword against the surface of the water.

"Gee, I don't know – how do you think it would look if we kidnapped her in front of a bunch of tourists? Plus, he said she would be here tonight."

What the Hel? Maybe she inhaled too many chemicals in the restoration room. Or perhaps she was still asleep? Brigid pressed herself as far into the corner as she could, slinking down to her knees. Across from her was a women's room. She scrambled into it.

"Wake up, Brigid!" She splashed water on her face. "Fuck! I knew I shouldn't have taken the night shift. "Okay there's only two of them as long as whoever 'he' is doesn't show up as well." Brigid pulled her long hair up into a tight ponytail and pinched herself one more time before prepping to escape. Before she left the restroom, Brigid reached for her flip phone and texted Cormac rapidly.

"Coem now" and pressed send.

At this time of night, there was only one exit to the Museum, on the first floor in the Greek and Roman art hall, which was on the other side of the Museum. If she ran, she could make it if these were the only two goons lurking about. She craned her neck around the door to check if the coast

was clear, then Brigid ran. Her body hit the walls as she tripped over her legs trying her best to keep herself on her feet, she knocked Edward Robert Hughes' 1908 Midsummer Eve off as she passed, and could've have sworn that the women and all the little folk turned their noses up at her in anger, but she couldn't look back to be sure.

Faster and faster, she pushed herself, dodging in and out of the display cases, stopping only to scan her key card at the top of the stairs. She practically hurled herself down the two flights to the first floor. But before she opened the door to the Greek and Roman gallery, she pressed her ear against the door.

"She can't hide here all night."

"Well, she's doing a right good job of it so far."

Brigid dropped to the floor in a plank position she waited to watch the shadows of her pursuer's feet pass the door. A hundred feet, that's all that was left to the next staircase – there would be no locked door, though, so if they saw her, they could follow her down to the next flight and out into the streets of NYC if they pleased.

Just as she was about to make a run for it, the hall filled with the familiar sound of her phone blaring. Shit. The door swung open, and the two men stood looming before her, "Making it easy for us, are you?" A tall, hooded man emerged, blocking her path.

Brigid ducked under his arm, sliding across the floor. "There's no way out, my darling."

Darting back, she continued through the sculpture galleries. Fear climbed up her throat as she ran. Brigid pulled the sculptures out of her path as she ran, trying to slow their pursuit. She'd be fired for this, for sure, but only if she lived to see tomorrow.

"Ahh," her ankle buckled, and she fell to her hands and knees, scraping them on the hard marble floor. Only to turn back and realize her pursuers were not following anymore, but she could still hear their voices in the distance. She took a hard left into the Arms and Armour gallery, all around her, the armory weapons from all centuries were encased on display.

"Well, this is convenient." In the center of the room, there was a 16th-century jade-handled side-sword and a matching dagger. Brigid scrambled for her key card from around her neck, scanned the electronic lock on the case, and took the sword from the case. Brigid escaped from the Amory just as the two men entered, backing her way into the American painting gallery.

"Ah, ready to put up a fight, are you?"

Brigid struggled to lift the heavy sword, holding it with both hands in front of her.

"Glad to see you lot have gotten this under control."

Brigid's heart leaped in her chest at the sound of a third voice. She swung the sword around towards the voice.

"This museum has silent alarms; the police are on their way," she yelled into the darkness.

"Oh, darling, while I'm sure your police force is entirely capable, I think you'll find that no one is on their way to save you." A tall, lanky boy, well, she supposed he was more of a man now, stood in front of her. His hair was brushed back and neat, his eyes were as dark as the night, and he had a scar over his right eye. Brigid shook her head. Was she just ogling the bad guy?

"Get back!" She yelled, stepping forward and lifting the sword higher.

"Not so fast, love, wouldn't want to hurt someone with that now, would we?"

"Actually, that's exactly what I was planning on doing," she spat back.

"Oh, she speaks!" The big goon laughed.

"Have you ever used a sword like that, or do you often practice with weapons when you're alone in the museum at night?"

"Care to find out?" Brigid smirked. The newest guest was circling her now, eyeing her up and down. He glanced at one of the paintings on the wall.

"I suppose we have some extra time…for a bit of fun."

Brigid held her breath, contemplating whether she really wanted to do this. Sword fighting three against one, with three goons from gods knows where.

"Come on, Princess, I know you've got it in you…" The dark-haired man began to circle her as his comrades backed off.

Brigid fell in step, "And who are you? May I ask?"

"You may ask, but I don't think you are entitled to know that just yet?" He lunged forward, clashing his sword against hers.

Brigid advanced, readjusting her grip on the ancient sword in her grasp – the two henchmen were now leaning up against the far wall, smirking.

He stepped back, startled – "There she is."

She cracked her neck and launched herself forward, clashing the long sword hard against his. She took a second swing of her sword at his face, loosening his tight, swept-back hair. The henchman leaned off the wall and stepped forward.

"No, not yet, we're enjoying ourselves, aren't we, Brigidine?" The man backed her into the corner of the room.

"You're mistaken," Brigid's voice broke as he pushed her up against the wall, caressing her face.

"You've been hiding for a long while, but I'd know those devilish eyes anywhere."

Brigid slid the dagger out of her waistband and flipped it around in her left hand. "Oh no, what I meant was…your mistake."

She drove the dagger into his side.

"Grab her!"

Brigid had barely made it to the door when the henchmen were dragging her back into the gallery.

"You know it took us long enough to find you, the least you could do is come quietly," the larger one spat in her face, as he closed iron manacles around her hands.

The dark-haired man emerged, wiping the dagger on his black blouse, which, though now drenched in blood, he didn't appear to be in any pain from the injury.

"Ugh," Brigid slouched against her capture.

"What, not the effect you were hoping for? Let's go, Princess, time to go home."

The dark-haired male led them deep into the Museum, into the center room with windows facing the park, which held only one painting. The painting depicted a never-ending forest, endarkened, and though seemingly vast, it appeared to be void of beings. The closer she got to the painting, the more she realized there was a shimmering gleam coming from it.

"That's not my home."

"Yes, well, things have changed." He grabbed her by the arm and shoved her through the painting.

As she was falling through the painting, she caught one last glimpse of the museum gallery. There in the center of the hall stood Cormac, mouth agape. A tear fell down Brigid's face as she saw the two cups of coffee in his hands and the bag, which was no doubt food from her favorite taco restaurant, under his arm. She was watching the fairytale life she'd created for herself disappear before her eyes, as she headed back to a kingdom far, far away, back to her real life.