13.4

 

Roisin waited. From Temple Street a vehicle turned in toward them, headlights picking out the cars parked on one side of the road like a predator checking off their prey, looking for an easy mark. She could see the assistant picked out by the distant headlights, though they were too far for the driver to see them yet. The vehicle slowed even further, the sound of its electric motor barely making a dent in the music from the casino between it and them. She had the fleeting idea that it would be driven by some bloke looking for a lady of the evening, though if that were the case, he was in the wrong place if her experience wasn’t hopelessly outdated. The police had a habit of patrolling this area of town and he would be better off cruising in Whitmore Reans of Heathtown. He pulled into the curb, and it was only then, when he put on his interior light, that she realised it was a private hire car looking for a pre-booked fare.

The assistant’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Tonight, he noticed something.”

Roisin felt the cold deepen. “Noticed what?” It occurred to her that she didn’t know the girl’s name, despite their being in such an intimate environment together. If the prospect of death at the hands of – what? An angel? – didn’t count as intimate, she didn’t know what would. Other than sex, obviously, and the assistant just wasn’t her type. Nor, she suspected, was she, hers.

The assistant didn’t answer immediately. She looked at Roisin — really looked — her gaze flicking over her face, her shoulders, her hands, as though searching for something.

Finally, she said, “When he said you carry it inside you… he wasn’t wrong.”

Roisin’s breath caught. “He called it a release. What does that mean?”

The assistant shook her head. “I don’t know. Not exactly. But I’ve seen it before.”

Roisin felt her stomach tighten. “Where?”

The assistant hesitated. “Remember when I told you some people saw the paintings and left the gallery in a hurry?”

Roisin’s pulse hammered. “Yes, of course. You were surprised I came back again.”

“They didn’t all just leave and never come back. One woman, an older lady who was at least fifty, saw them and had a heart attack, right there in the gallery. Fortunately, Toni was there and called an ambulance. But I saw her face when she collapsed. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t in pain. She looked… happy? If you could be happy while having a heart attack. It was like she was seeing something she couldn’t look away from, and it brought her joy.”

Roisin swallowed. “I don’t get it. You said the paintings are like portals to Hell. Why would that bring her joy?”

The assistant’s gaze softened, but her voice remained tense. “You’d have to ask her, but you looked at the paintings the same way she did. I think that, for her, they weren’t a portal to Hell but to Heaven.”

Roisin shook her head. “I didn’t experience God. I think I’d have known if I had.””

“You did,” the assistant said gently. “You didn’t notice. But I did.”

Roisin felt a tremor run through her. “What are you saying?”

The assistant took a slow breath. “I think the paintings recognise you.”

Roisin stared at her. “Paintings don’t recognise people.”

“These do,” the assistant whispered.

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