INT. GALLERY - DAY

Marilyn (20), propped against a wall, reads the latest headline: "Third murder-suicide in two weeks".  A hand slaps the paper down. Marilyn's mother Sylvia (45) stands above her.

sylvia

Go look at some art.

marilyn

(reading)

It's all religious shit.

Sylvia grabs the paper away.

SYLVIA

It's eighteen bucks, Marilyn. And don't call it shit.

Marilyn rolls her eyes. 

sylvia (cont'd)

(teasingly, smiling)

C'mon, go get my money's worth before I put you in time out.

Marilyn stares at her mother, who winks back.

MARILYN

(cracking a smile, disarmed)

Fine.

Marilyn rolls her eyes and moves to walk through the gallery. 

She strolls past the walls of art, her eyes blankly wandering over the paintings until she comes to the one of St. Barnabas. 

She holds on it, transfixed, and slowly moves toward it.  She leans in to touch it and runs her hands over it, in a trance.

gallery usher

Miss!  Miss, please don't touch the artwork!

Marilyn's eyes rolls back in her head as her hands scratch at the paint, trying to claw through it. 

She starts to convulse, falling back to the floor.