My heart pounds as my wooden soles click across the waxed linoleum floors. The echoes from each step resounds behind me each time I move forward. It’s impossible. I know it is. It’s just been so long since I’ve encountered somebody who’s reminded me so clearly of the past. I can’t help but think how similar they are. I’ve looked everywhere. The U.S., Scotland, England. Hell I even searched in Asia knowing damn well there would be no reason for her to be there, but I was willing to do almost anything. Once the danger disappeared into thin air I regretted the moment I sent her away. That girl can’t be her no matter how similar they look. She doesn’t seem to know a thing. I can’t get a good reading on her. Should I keep prying? 

I slam through the doors of the Fine Arts building and come to a halt at the top of the very long concrete steps leading down the campus’s old brick walkway. I breathe in the cold evening air and loosen the iron grip I hadn’t realized I had on the painting. A Cardinal, huh? How many coincidences can there be in a world? A world that has been tormenting me relentlessly for the past three hundred plus years. I hold the painting up so I can see it, and I gaze at the beautifully painted bird perched upon an oak tree. Each stroke seems to blend together flawlessly. The colors blended so accurately I could hold it up to a real cardinal and it would blend right in like camouflage. The symbolism (which I can’t seem to get over) is very uncanny. I want to go back and question her further but I feel as though it may cross some boundaries I wish to keep in order to get the answers I need. This is the best lead I’ve gotten in decades, and I don’t want to lose it. Even if I come off as a crazy person down the line.

I’m halfway down the path to my car when I hear somebody calling out to me. “Porter! Mr. Campbell!” 

I look up to see one of the fine arts professors. “Ah, Mrs. Walters. How are you?” I try to hide my distress.

“I’m doing well. I can see you’ve made out at the gallery.” She points to the painting. “I was just heading there now. I heard there are a lot of talented students there tonight. Who did you buy from?”

“June Butler.” I unintentionally reply in a flat tone. With the things on my mind right now I can’t help but feel uninterested in this conversation.

She nods in approval. “Oh yes June Butler. Talented young lady, though I’m sure you’ve been hearing that too much already.”

“Well, I have certainly heard it a few times, yes.” I laugh awkwardly.

“You’ve met her right? Of course you have you bought a painting from her—silly me.” She leans in closer. “There have been a lot of people trying to get her to join their clubs because her family is big in the art scene in the state, and she’s got some really good skill.”

I humor her with much regret. “Does she not like clubs?” 

Walters shakes her head. “Not that she doesn’t like them. She just prefers to be alone. Always has. I’ve known her for a fairly long time now because I used to visit her parent’s gallery very regularly. She always used to sit in a corner. When her parents first adopted her she was very closed off. She had this very long mane of curly red hair that went down to her back, these deep blue eyes that just pierced right through you like steel. She was a tough kid. Quiet and reserved, but tough.”

I can’t for the life of me tell why this woman is babbling on about this girls life like it’s either of our businesses. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to appear rude but why on earth are you telling me all this?”

She shrugs in a nonchalant manner that irks me a bit. “Maybe I like to brag about the people I know, or maybe I’m giving you some insight. She’s an interesting girl. Seems like only her parents know how she really is. Them and that other girl Charlie she hangs out with constantly. Get to know your students. Especially the ones you know will go far in life.”

“That seems a bit shallow.” I scoff. “I am only a club coordinator. Favoritism is far below my professional and moral standards.”

“Art is a very hard profession to succeed in. You’d be surprised what you have to do to succeed in it. Especially these days.” She glances at her watch. “I loved the chat Mr. Campbell, but I have to go if I’m going to make it to the gallery. I’ll see you around campus.” With that, she leaves. 

Who just stops a person to talk about such a random topic? It almost makes me feel bad for June who apparently just wants to be left alone. I don’t blame her, but I may also become a source of irritation for her in the near future, so maybe I shouldn’t jump off my high horse quite yet.