Page 8 of Make Me Scream

To disturb them.

“Come on,” Joel says. “I promised Martin I’d talk to Professor Mundell.”

“Yeah, okay. Then we’re checking out the exhibit.”

“Deal.”

We head over, passing a series of abstract watercolor paintings. Nobody’s really looking at them, and for good reason: compared to Rat’s usual work, they’re bland and perfunctory — as if he felt obliged to produce them. Commissions, perhaps?

To get past the next display, we have to fight our way through a sizable audience. I glance between them, spotting an interactive exhibit — a casino slot machine that plays sex noises instead of chimes and whistles.

I’ll have to circle back to that one.

Finally, we find Mundell surrounded by students. As soon as he sees us, he smiles at Joel.

“All I’m saying is, Pollock was a drunk. He got himself and an innocent woman killed. That’s not someone I want to emulate, in life or art,” says a guy I recognize from my History of Animation course.

Mundell sighs.

“No one is saying you should emulate anyone,” he replies, “but it is important to separate the art from the artist, and learn about what made them great. Would you discount Picasso because of his character flaws?”

“Sure, why not?”

Mundell glares.

“If that’s your approach to an education in art, you should consider whether or not you’ve enrolled at the right school.”

I can’t help chuckling at that. I kinda see the guy’s point about Pollock and Picasso, but Rush Mundell is the last person I’d tell.

“Does that mean we should learn as if we didn’t know anything about the artist’s life?” I ask. “After all, we’re literally in a gallery of an artist we know nothing about, outside of his work.”

“Perhaps,” Mundell replies, smirking at me. “Although I’d be careful about learning too much from Alistair Rat. Personally, I think we’d all be better off with Mr. Franklin here as a role model.”

Joel blushes.

“Thank you, Professor Mundell,” he says. “It means a lot that you believe in me.”

“You have an enviable talent. We’re lucky to have you here.”

Fuck yeah. I pat Joel’s shoulder.

“Thank you, sir,” he says. “I was actually wondering if we could discuss my new portfolio-”

Mundell gestures for Joel to come with him.

“Let’s. Excuse us, everyone.”

I wave Joel goodbye and flash him a thumbs up.

Mission accomplished.

Finally free to wander, I take in a walled-off platform labeled “Rat Race.” Six toy cars, decorated with sponsor logos like real race cars, speed around a track endlessly, occasionally bowling over spring-loaded placards depicting men, women and children.

Thematically, it’s a little too on-the-nose, but it does demonstrate Rat’s penchants for utilizing technology as a medium. It must have taken some skill to build and program this piece.

“Mr. Rat was never known for his subtlety, was he?”

I turn to the speaker to find Lane Porter holding two champagne flutes.

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