The Painting

#30 For the Sake of Love - Ar Mhaithe Le Gra Cuid 1

I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept. Well that was a lie, I'd slept for a few hours on the train. But that seemed like years away. It was implausible that so much had taken place over the span of forty eight hours. Regardless of how much time had passed I didn't use any of it to sleep the night before, instead taking advantage of the dimly lit train car to immerse myself in my mother's world via the tattered red journal.

Though I should've been exhausted, I felt rejuvenated.

Of course that could've been the secondary high I got from the bitter smell of coffee that enveloped me for the last four hours. The train arrived at ten at night, assuming that Monroe didn't keep regular hours before after seven I found a twenty four hour fast food a block away from the address Lyle showed me 1101 N. Hampshire St..

After my sixth hour of sitting alone in the cheap plastic booth an employee took pity on me and gave me a box of French fries. She mumbled something about break ups being 'the worst' as she patted my shoulder and retreated behind the cash register.

Eventually I left, migrating to a small coffee shop on Hampshire St. kitty corner to X Enterprises. The modern business skyscraper stood thirty-two stories high – I had plenty of time to count them- and was located on a triangular property that jutted out in the road creating a split in traffic. Pristine windows covered each floor and their reflective surfaces caught streaks of bright cars as they raced past, but did not allow me to see inside.

At 6:02am when I finally caught a glimpse of a professionally dressed woman sporting a matching beige suit enter via a door at the point of the building I jumped up from my table, nearly knocking it on its side.

Rushing across the sporadic traffic I stopped upon meeting my reflection in the mirror. No wonder the fast food worker took pity on me.

Although my hair – most of it at least – was tied up in a bun it was clear I hadn't washed or brushed it lately. Wisps of windblown strands stood out in every direction and refused to be patted down. Silently I cursed the window washer for doing such a good job that I could even make out the violet shadows forming under my eyes. So much for not feeling tired because I sure did look it.

I shook my head, breaking eye contact with my reflection in embarrassment. It was one way glass and I had no idea if there was someone on the other side watching me critique my hectic appearance. Never the less I redid my bun and patted my cheeks in an effort to urge some color into my face.

The door stood apart from the rest of the building as it was the only non-window fixture of the façade. The stainless steel frame with the words X Enterprises etched into the material was much lighter than I expected as it swung open revealing the well lit interior.

The ground floor was completely open and much larger than the reflective exterior let on. Abstract chandeliers hung from the high ceiling that caught the light coming in from either side. Only the back wall perpendicular to the flanking streets was a solid steel, holding no windows at all, instead three elevator doors stood neatly spaced. In between them were simple white lettered lists of names and corresponding floors. Above each elevator hung a flat screen television set each playing a different news station.

In fact as I did a quick three-sixty of the room I saw ten more televisions mounted at varying heights somehow hung on the delicate looking window frames. Behind me where the two windowed walls met at a point was a small rectangular fountain. The body was black marble with one triangular tier pushing a steady stream of water that trickled into the base. Above it an elegantly framed painting hung, invisibly suspended a foot above the modest fountain. From behind the modern wood frame a man no younger than seventy sat, classically posed by a fireplace - though his expression did nothing to suggest warmth.