Party at Zeta Omega house! If you're not there tonight, you're not living.

This was the fourth flyer for this party Angel had seen during his short walk from his dorm room to his History class. The loud words seemed to be mocking him, tempting him.

For the short two months he had been at Barrymore University, he had attended more than a few dozen parties. There was one being promoted every weekend and he was there every night, hoping that he would find what he was looking for in the ecstasy of the moment. Or at least stop thinking about it for a while.

What was bothering him so much? No one knew. Not even Angel knew the answer to that question. He was simply aware that his life was unrolling and he was forced to take the back sit as everyone took a turn at stirring the wheel. He was probably going to crash soon if he didn't find what he was looking for.

He sat at the back of the class, engrossed in the life of people who had been dead for thousands of years. He was fascinated by the dead languages, and extinct civilizations. But never by the ones that survived which was where his problem took root.

He was stuck in the past, always remembering times that had come and left. The present nor the future was ever on his mind. That was the root of the problem and he knew it.

His father had decided that he would become a dentist; he was fine with that. It was not like he had a choice. He didn't know what he wanted to do in the future. He barely knew what he wanted for lunch in the next few hours.

A sense of lost washed over him as soon as he left the class. He opened the door to the big outdoors and walked toward the nearest bench under a neglected oak tree. He bathed in the warm sun as he enjoyed a rare quiet day in New York City.

The city that never slept. He wished it did once a while. Perhaps the serenity would help guide him to where he needed to be.

The single quiet second did guide him but it was in the frustratingly subtle way which faith had always been famous for using.

He was stirred away from his slumber by a wheel crushing his toes in the ground. He jumped up in time to find the bicyclist going on his merry way.

"Hey, watch out," he shouted but the man did not stop.

Angel rearranged the strap of his backpack on his shoulders and began to walk away. A flyer landed on his chest. He grabbed it and absentmindedly threw it behind him.

"Always partying, it's like people here don't know how to do anything else," he groaned under his breath. As the words left his mouth, it felt like he was reprimanding his own self.

He crossed the streets to go to his tutor. The man had a special touch that made logarithms less intimidating long enough for him to pass his tests. It was his dad's idea. The tutor was supposed to make college easier but somehow earning better grades was weighting more on his soul than failing. Or was it his justification for the depressing mode he was permanently in?

His entire body felt heavier, even the bottom of his feet. He glanced down. No, that wasn't figurative. There was something stuck to the sole of his feet. It was the flyer. He threw it away only to have the wind blow it back to his face.

He was about to tear it apart when the underlined letters grabbed his attention. It wasn't a party. It was a flyer about a museum, specifically the Gourdon Museum. It was in the process of closing its doors.

He heard of many stories about this museum but he never set foot in it. It wasn't his cup of tea. Maybe he could take a peek today since it didn't look like it would be around for much longer. There was nothing better in his calendar. The parties had lost their allure a few dozen parties ago.

The museum it was.

He turned around to the opposite direction from his tutor. Math will be there when he was back.

He didn't take in account the crowd that foreclosures of important buildings usually bring. The museum was filled at capacity so he was unable to get passed the gates.

Normally, he would have simply walked away and forget about the short-lived adventure. However, as he kept staring at the building, he felt a deep seated need to come back.

***

Angel knew very well that what he was doing was ultimately wrong and he would probably end up in prison if discovered; it didn't stop him. He wanted to be inside that museum and he was going to get there one way or another.

This was the other way since it was almost impossible for him to get in during the day. He could have asked his father to put his money forward but then he would have had to explain why he wanted to be in here so badly. So the only way left was for him to break in.

The museum made it easy for him, though. Probably working alongside faith because it so happened that the day that Angel chose to break in the museum was the first night that only a few guards were available as security. The alarm system and the lasers were all disabled that very same day. The dogs were sleeping soundly inside while he crept inside.

They were preparing to auction off every artifacts.

Upon his entry, a golden vase took his breath away. It was sitting there, watching him. Then there were the bronze sculptures of dancing foxes and the overflowing paintings of every color imaginable. Behind a glass, dresses of the Marie Antoinette era stood in all their splendor.

This was where he needed to be. He knew that much but the why was yet to be discovered. He investigated every corner of the museum with bright eyes. This room was a portal through history. It was like he was back in history class – his favorite – but this time, he was actually in the room during Napoleon's coronation and fought in the field in the American Revolution.

"You're going to get caught," he heard a voice say behind him. He turned around only to find himself alone. There was no one here but he would have sworn that he heard someone talk to him.

"I'm going crazy," he said to himself before going back to his explorations.

"You're going to get caught," someone said again. This time he was certain of it. It was a girl's voice with a strong French accent.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he slowly surveyed the area. Empty. He went on the next room but quickly retreated when he saw a guard coming his way. He hid behind a corner, letting the man pass by.

He let a breath out once he was gone.

"That was a close one," the voice said again. This time it was coming right next to his right ear.

There was still no one, just an oil painting of a girl standing in front of a farmhouse. She was sporting a faint smirk at the corner of her lips that was not in accordance with the rest of the painting. Her face was young and joyful while the background was a somber green patch under a pale blue sky filled with clouds.

He stared at her. Her eyes were a pale green that drew him in. There was something unusual about this picture; he just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Stop staring at me, je rougis," he heard the voice once again.

It sounded like it was coming from the picture. It can't be. Perhaps it was someone on the other side of the wall.

After scanning the area for one of the guards, he walked to the other side of the wall. The only thing he found there were an Asian antique plate and a silver armor.

He returned to his previous position. He took a step back, almost knocking a vase over, as the girl in the painting was no longer smirking. She was laughing at him. The painting was laughing at him.

This must be some kind of a prank, he thought. Someone must have known he was coming here so they arranged to prank him before arresting him for breaking and entering.

He leaned forward, his eyes focusing on the picture until they hurt. There was a blush on the girl's cheeks that wasn't there when he first looked at the painting. He was about to lift it up when the person spoke again.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said. "The painting still has its own alarm system that will detonate if touched."

"Who said that?" Angel said out loud before remembering that he wasn't supposed to be here in the first place.

He heard loud footsteps running from the lobby towards him. "Who's here?" The security guard shouted.

Angel threw one last glance at the painting. She was frowning this time.

Okay, something weird was definitely going on here but he couldn't stay here to find out what.

He rushed out of the museum but not before the voice talked to him again. "A bientôt," she said.