Vivienne stared at the short email on her phone, detailing what her first day would look like. She was a freelance painter and her most recent job was for a small business firm two blocks from her cramped New York City studio apartment. She wasn’t quite sure what the firm did, the job description was vague, but she needed the money so she sent in a reference immediately. They responded within minutes, detailing what her first day would look like a week from then.

She stood in front of the small building now. A thin but tall one, squished within the maze of endless New York City buildings. It wasn’t much from the outside, moss growing along the edges, and the once red bricks faded to an almost brown. She climbed the grey stone steps leading into the building, turning the slick black knob and entering the firm.

She was met by the Secretary, sitting all alone in the pristine entrance hall. The outside didn’t seem like much, but the inside felt like an elegant castle with gold crown molding decorating the shimmering white walls and splattered quartz floors. It made her stomach turn. Maybe she should have set her rate higher, it seems they could afford it. Either way, she knew she would have to impress with this mural, otherwise they might find the need to replace her.

The Secretary took one look at her, paint-splattered white overalls covering a green tee, and asked, “Vivienne? Here for the mural?”

Vivienne nods, but the woman is already on the move, motioning for her to follow. The entry hall seems infinite to her, only large white doors decorating the sides seem to lead to any other rooms. At the end, the woman stops before a black spiraling staircase, turning back to Vivienne.

“Before we go up, here are the rules,” she begins. “You are not to talk to any of the employees unless they initiate the conversation, you are not to lounge around the upper-level cubicles, and you are restricted to the mural room and the break room and restrooms directly across the hall.”

Vivienne laughs, thinking the woman is only joking. “You can’t be serious. What is this place, an undercover government agency?”

The Secretary raises one dark eyebrow before she places her hand on the black railing, leading the two up the stairs. Vivienne takes that as a sign that the woman was, in fact, very serious. 

At the top of the stairs, the woman leads Vivienne past rows and rows of cubicles quickly, not allowing her time to take anything in other than the grey blurs of the desk walls and the tops of the employees' heads. The room is quiet except for the small whispers passed between coworkers. 

Finally, the woman stops, sending Vivienne to a halt behind her. In front of the two stands a black double door towering toward the ceiling, plastered on the front of it are multiple warning signs about any debating entry. No food, drink, or entry without permission in bright, bold letters.

The woman swipes a card to open the door before turning and handing it to Vivienne. “This card allows access only to your designated areas. You are to return it on your final day. Do not let anyone else use it.”

Vivienne nods in response before following the woman into the room. When the door closes behind them, and she finally looks around the room, her breath is taken away. Lining the walls of the giant, pristine white room are more landscape murals than Vivienne has ever seen in one place. Scenes depicting the fields of Norway, the waves splashing the shores of ancient Greece, and more. On the wall directly opposite the doors stands a large blank space, big enough to fit at least five additional murals in the room, and one was meant to be hers.

The Secretary motions toward the sheet covering a space in the marble white floors, paint cans of endless colors surrounding it. “All of the materials you requested are on the sheet. Try not to expand the mural larger than the five-by-seven space, and if you get paint on the floors, do clean it off. I assume you did your research?”

“Yes,” Vivienne responds. “London in the late 1830s, specifically depicting the horrid conditions of the workhouses. I should be done within four days.”

This was one of the many parts Vivienne loved about her job, the research. She could spend days delving into the deepest recesses of a topic just to ensure she depicts it accurately. Art was more than just a pretty picture.

The Secretary nods, heading toward the door after wishing Vivienne luck on the job and reminding her of the many rules. Vivienne hadn’t been joking entirely when she made the federal agency joke, but she was certain the business couldn’t be related now. Why would a federal agency need random murals under lock and key? Why would any place need the murals of undiscovered artists so safely kept for that matter?

She quickly brushed all thoughts of the matter out of her mind. It was time to focus on her painting, she needed the money more than the trouble. Four days was pushing her limits and she would need to gather all of her focus.

Vivienne spent her first two days working quickly. Roughly sketching the outline first, a London street right outside of a poor workhouse, before beginning to lay the first strokes of paint. Though tedious, she never found her job boring. She was recreating a moment in history, like all of the other murals in the room. 

Through those first two days, Vivienne was anxious and excited to escape into the designated break areas. She was curious to discover any possible information she could about the firm but felt her stomach drop every time she thought she broke one of the seemingly endless list of rules. What if she used the wrong cup in the breakroom or left crumbs on the table when she swore she cleaned them off? Would they kick her out at the first sign?

However, Vivienne loved any moment of opportunity. She leaned in to eavesdrop on the employees whispering to each other in the breakroom. Drops of the words time, mural, and change sprinkled into every conversation. She just wasn’t sure how they fit together. After two days, she was confused over a lot of things that happened in the firm. 

On her first day, she heard birds chirping all day long but when she looked out the window there wasn’t a single one in sight. Later that afternoon, she heard the large door slam shut and saw a shadow of a person scampering across the room but saw no one when she turned around. She blamed it on the isolation of the room, that is until she heard ocean waves coming from within the room, which was weird to her, given the firm was tens of miles from the nearest harbor.

It was all beginning to give her an eerie feeling deep in the pit of her stomach like there was an important piece of the puzzle missing for this job. So when she slid her access card in the door on the morning of her third day, she decided she would do some investigating, despite the Secretary’s warnings. She didn’t want to feel guilty if she found out later that her mural benefited her interests against her own.

She was ahead on her mural, she could finish by the end of the day if she really wanted, but Vivienne knew she had no choice but to stall now. By taking a few extra breaks in the lounge throughout the day, she could eavesdrop a little more and maybe even talk to one of the employees. There had to be at least one person at the firm who was willing to tell all. 

She walked quickly to her mural on the other side of the room, standing in its almost finished glory. She had the entirety of the background laid, including small details like the curling grey smoke from the workhouse chimneys and the intricate detailing of the stone roads included. All that was left is to add her foreground, depicting the tragic melancholy of the lives of those associated with the workhouses. She was proud of her work, her palette matched the mood, and staring into the array of colors left her feeling transported.

However, instead of picking up her brush to begin the foreground, she swung back toward the door, mind set on investigating. She would start in the break room. Maybe if she was quiet enough and sat in the back corner, the employees moving in and out wouldn’t notice her. 

When she swung the door open, she was happy to find she was the only person in the room. Vivienne quickly planted herself at a small white table hidden in the corner of the room behind the entry door. She’d give herself fifteen minutes here before she went back to do some work, she didn’t want anyone getting too suspicious. 

It took five minutes for the first two people to trickle in. She stayed quietly perched in the corner as they began to prepare cups of coffee for themselves, chattering back and forth about the weather. At first, she thought her plan would never prove fruitful, of course people wouldn’t want to talk about work on their break. However, when the taller brunette woman—hair just like Vivienne’s—began to talk about the Greece mural, she knew she’d struck luck.

“The results don’t make sense,” the woman began. “I spent two days inside the Greece mural and completed everything I had to, yet nothing has changed here.”

Vivienne perked up, knocking over her own cup of coffee and alerting the others she was in the room. The brunette looked stunned, ashamed she let the words out in front of the hired painter, but Vivienne didn’t care; her mind was already spinning fast, attempting to piece all she knew together. She stood up, quickly wiping up her spilled coffee with a nearby napkin before rushing back to the mural room. On her way past the lines and lines of cubicles, she peered over the walls to look at the worker’s computer screens. She saw a blur of news reports, statistics, and historical reports. 

As Vivienne pulled her access card out, she tried to organize her thoughts. Reflecting on the snippets of conversation she’s heard in the breakroom over the last few days, what she caught on the computer screens, and how the murals tie it all together. 

She couldn’t think of a single thing.

She pushed the large door open, anxious to mull over everything while she painted, but the world had other plans. Before she had even closed the door behind her she saw a glimmer swirl through the Greece mural, swallowing the hint of a person’s legs. Her breath caught in her throat and within seconds she was rushing toward the mural, anxious to see if it was only the light playing tricks or something more.

Vivienne looked up at the swirling Greece mural, colors of the greenish blue ocean waves swirling together in a way dry paint shouldn’t ever. In the high corner of the mural, she swore she saw the tiny shape of a person moving through the streets of Greece. She raised her pale hand, waving it gently over the painting before moving in toward the swirling image. She prayed it was only her overly anxious mind forming some illusion to feed into her paranoia. 

Her fingers should have touched the wall, but they didn’t. Soon her entire hand had vanished in the swirl, but she could still feel it. It tingled, met by the same salty air she knew from her many childhood trips to the beach. 

She pulled her hand out at once, afraid of what everything meant. As soon as her final finger was back safely, the mural stopped swirling, returning to the still and peaceful state of all the other murals. Vivienne spun around the room, mind oddly quiet. 

She knew at once. However silly it sounded out loud, she knew she’d pieced the puzzle together. She just didn’t know what to do about it. Should she confront one of the employees and ask them to verify? Should she finish her mural and pretend she was clueless to the firm’s magical ability to time travel into the exact scenes?

She decided to wait with her mural. She could slowly progress through it without devoting too much attention, that way she could keep one eye on the Greece mural three spaces away. If she was right and someone did walk into the mural, they would eventually have to walk back out. She would wait until then, even if it meant staying overnight after the firm closed. 

Vivienne turned back to her mural, hoping she could at least make a little progress in case this all turned out to be a misunderstanding, but she just couldn’t get her mind to focus. Every stroke of her brush felt painfully mundane and she caught herself glancing at the Greece mural every other minute. It had been two hours and not a single movement or sound. The office would close in two more, and then she would have to find an excuse to stay longer if the person still hadn’t appeared from the mural. 

Vivienne was attempting to brainstorm excuses to stay the night when she heard a faint hint of movement beside her. The gentle pitter-patter of someone trying to sneak by. She spun around quickly, paintbrush in hand, to confront the person.
She was met by the same tall brunette from the break room, face flushed from getting caught. Vivienne jumped to action immediately, cornering the woman from any quick escape.

“I’m going to need you to tell me what’s happening here,” Vivienne demanded. 

The woman took three slow steps backward, almost back to the Greece mural. “You know I can’t tell you anything.”

“Please,” Vivienne begs. “I already know more than I’m supposed to. It's too late to take back what you said earlier, so why not make sure I have the right idea about the firm.”

The woman taps her foot against the pristine floor impatiently, debating whether or not she would make things worse by revealing more. Eventually, Vivienne watches her foot come to a stop and the woman’s brow lines begin to soften. Vivienne knows she’s won her over.

“Fine.” The woman sighs. “But if management asks, I didn’t tell you anything.”

Vivienne nods, shaking the woman’s hand in agreement, and leaning in to listen to her whispers.

“A few years ago, the firm developed something—let’s just call it a technology, of sorts—to time travel. Our job is to enter the murals, which operate as the vehicle for travel, and either study the time period for historical accuracy or rewrite what we can. It’s all with good intentions. I promise you. We just want to make sure that we have history recorded properly, and we occasionally study the repercussions of small changes.”

Vivienne nods slowly, taking in the woman’s words at her own pace. She could never understand the technology—or even the firm’s purpose—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t finish her mural. The woman, noticing Vivienne’s quiet distress, took the opportunity to run from the room and Vivienne’s investigation. 

Left in confusion, Vivienne crumpled to the floor with her thoughts, paintbrush leaving her hand and decorating the pristine white marble floors. The Secretary would be so mad once she saw the minuscule mess, but Vivienne didn’t care. She had other worries.

What would she do now that the firm was so clear to her? A business altering the course of history through small changes in time, somehow using murals to unlock access. How could she even trust that they were truly using it for good? And, once word got out—because it, like all other things, eventually would—how could the firm protect the murals from evil intentions? Was she an accomplice to this now? Would her mural really change the course of history? 

Even so, deep down, Vivienne knew none of this was right. Changing history was incredibly dangerous according to every time travel movie in existence. Had these people never heard of the butterfly effect? 

When she looked up at her almost-finished mural she felt her guilt overwhelm her. She didn’t want her art to be used like this. It was meant to be appreciated as a story of its own. Not a tool for a scheme greater than the artist intended. She knew what she had to do. She would lose the paycheck she desperately needed, but her conscience wouldn’t be muddied. 

She picked her paintbrush up off the floor and walked over to her white sheet setup. She cleaned the brush off meticulously before setting it on the sheet, opting instead for the large roll brush. She picked up the canister of fresh white paint, the same color as the pristine walls of the room, and poured it into the paint tray. She slowly coated her brush before moving toward her mural. 

The paint went on thick at first, unsure of whether it should be sticking to the drying mural but, eventually, it saw reason. It took her five minutes to cover her mural and as the paint began to dry, she watched the whole piece disappear beneath the coat. She took three steps back to take in her work. It was as if she had never been here. Never been hired to paint an unbelievable mural. 

The rest were the same. She coated the rolling brush, laid only one coat of paint, and every other mural disappeared from the room within an hour. Now, she stood in the middle of a large white room, the only sign that it had once been filled with art was her painting supplies half used on the floor. 

The light reflected off the blank walls and floor as if the room had been transformed into a transparently clean slate. 

When she picked up her bag off her sheet of supplies, she felt little weight on her shoulders. Vivienne didn’t know how the firm would react or if they would simply brush it off and hire a list of new artists, but She did know that she’d done the right thing and that was enough.