LITMIR.BIZ

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he always brought a warm feeling to her. It had been that way from the start. He had not only welcomed her but made her feel like this was her home. Every time he said hello it was as though he were greeting a beloved family member. Mr Lowestoft was one of the few people in the world who put her at ease.

      ‘Mr Lowestoft, hello.’ She smiled, a real smile full of genuine warmth, truly glad to see the old man. His presence in the museum had decreased since he had received the cancer diagnosis. A finished, fully functioning museum was to be his parting legacy.

      ‘Ah, Abbey, I was hoping you would be here. What do you think? Do you like it?’ He beamed, glowing with pride.

      ‘It looks amazing.’ She didn’t have the heart to tell him anything different.

      ‘I’ve been asked by the University if we would accommodate one of their PhD students for the foreseeable future while he writes his thesis on historic preservation, or something to that effect. I thought you would be the best person to deal with him.’

      ‘Me?’ She didn’t know what else to say to that. She was used to working alone, she liked it that way.

      ‘Oh, and I’ve got another surprise for you! Come and see!’ He walked over to something large covered in a sheet, reluctantly she followed. She hated surprises. He pulled at the sheet and she was confronted with the grimacing mask of a samurai looking down on her from his lofty frame. His rigid leather body armour was polished to the point where she could see her reflection. ‘I never understood why we keep this hidden upstairs. It’s one of my favourite pieces.’

      An evil grin was spread across the surface of the mask and a gaping black hole where the eyes should be. The demonic red horns that protruded from the helmet and towered above the face were razor sharp, menacing. She had forgotten just how vile the warrior’s face was. It had been years since she had seen him, always walking the long way around to avoid ever walking in his path. The face had always seemed so inhuman and she could feel the black nothing staring into her. Involuntarily she found herself stepping backwards. She didn’t want to have a panic attack; she had to get away from him.

      ‘It looks perfect here.’ She stepped back further, flustered, off balance.

      ‘Are you all right, Abbey?’

      ‘Yes, I’m fine. I just need to use the bathroom.’

      Abbey rushed into the toilets reserved for the public and dabbed her face with cold water, trying to normalise the temperature of her skin. She could feel it burning. She really didn’t like surprises.

      Abbey emerged from the bathroom into the empty hallway. The silence of the museum magnified her solitude, the faint whisper of the atmospheric music in a distant corner of the museum at the edge of her hearing. She turned the corner and bumped straight into the security guard.

      ‘Busy day?’ Shane Corden was standing in her way. His bleached-blonde hair stuck to his glistening forehead.

      ‘Yes.’ She tried to manoeuvre around him but he side-stepped into her path again. He would play these games purely because he knew it disturbed her. ‘Excuse me, I have to help get ready for the reopening. We’ve only got a couple of months. Don’t you have somewhere to be?’

      ‘Doesn’t it bother you? Touching dead stuff all day?’ He sucked on his bottom lip slowly and stared at her mouth.

      ‘Not really.’ She tried again to move around him but this time he just moved closer. She could smell cigarettes and alcohol on his breath as he stood almost toe to toe with her. It’s just a game, he doesn’t know anything, she repeated to herself over and over. She had to decide between looking him in the eyes or shifting her gaze and staring down at her feet. She wanted to do the latter but that’s what he wanted too. So she would stare him down, hoping to God he couldn’t see the darkness behind her eyes. She knew all he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable. To exercise the tiny bit of power he had in this world over someone he knew he could get a reaction from. He liked to play this game with someone who was easily flustered.

      His eyes dropped to her chest, hidden beneath the olive green blouse. She tried not to breathe hard as she didn’t want to give him any more food for thought. She could feel her lungs tightening and her mouth desperate to suck in more air. She would rather pass out than give him the satisfaction. Instead he backed away, eyes still fixed on her body.

      ‘Have a good one then.’ He smiled, his hand firmly on his baton, finger circling the tip. She slowly exhaled as invisibly as possible. He was such a creep, but at least he was honest about it. Before she had fully filled her lungs again he was gone. She scuttled back to her darkened corner of the museum. That was enough social interaction for one morning.

      Abbey went to the museum canteen at noon, as always, to pick up her lunch, which she ate at the same table every day. Routine was everything, right down to the brown corduroy skirt she wore at the end of every week. It didn’t take much to bring on her anxieties. Luckily this was not a popular or busy museum, if people were curious about anything these days they would just look it up on the internet, this suited Abbey just fine. Today she had a tuna sandwich; Friday was fish day at the museum, Mr Lowestoft insisted on this throwback to a more religious time, when people had values.

      Abbey genuinely loved her job, she could not imagine doing anything else. She liked the familiarity of working with the same people every day, good people, and aside from Shane they were mostly sensible people. Abbey also liked that she got to spend most of her days alone, with only the dead for company.

      ‘Is this seat taken?’

      Abbey looked up at the stranger, her mouth full of food, she chewed quickly to reply. The canteen was empty and she couldn’t say it was taken. Did he just want the chair? Was he going to sit with her?

      ‘No,’ she finally managed.

      He put his tray down opposite her and sat down, smiling. He took his coat off and hung it on the back of the chair, making himself comfortable. He was a young, slender man with black floppy hair. Although definitely older than her, she couldn’t quite place his age. He looked eccentric, different. The most remarkable thing about him though were his eyes, they were cold and grey like cut glass, Abbey had to force herself not to stare.

      ‘I’m Parker, Parker West.’ He held his hand out to her over the table. She rubbed her palm on her skirt to remove any traces of tuna mayonnaise and then shook his hand.

      ‘Hello.’

      ‘You’re Abigail Lucas?’ He smiled again, she could not hide her surprise – how did he know her name?

      ‘Who—’

      ‘Oh, they didn’t tell you? I’m going to be helping you with the archives. I have a masters in zoological archaeology and I’m working towards my PhD,’ he said, almost embarrassed.

      ‘Oh, yes, Mr Lowestoft did mention it. I didn’t realise it would be today.’

      She had already worked her way through Australasia and Southern America on her own, cataloguing every single animal, noting down its region and its place on the food chain. Up till now she alone had the power to decide the fate of these creatures. She could mark the animal for restoration or for destruction. Where possible she was to save the animals, although it felt so futile – so far she had condemned over two hundred animals to the incinerator, their final resting place. The worst cases were in the northeast corner of the building where there had been a leak in the roof that had gone unnoticed for far too long. She hadn’t been able to save any of those, the mould and rot had set in so much that their deterioration had sealed the deal. She wasn’t sure if she trusted a stranger with this responsibility.

      ‘He just said you could probably do with a hand. This museum has a particularly quantitative supply of species and sub-species; it’s a lot for one person to get through … in two months, is it?’

      ‘I can manage it,’ she said apologetically, internally scolding herself for apologising at the same time.

      ‘Oh, no one said you can’t. To be honest with you, I volunteered, no

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