Dark Museum

Sophia

Darkness cloaked large portions of the gallery. Mannequins with hidden faces stood in half-hidden recesses, some spotlit from a bulb in the floor. Multiple floodlights in the ceiling were off.

Except for the music, the museum was quiet. No hum of HVAC, no whispers or voices. When the weakened speakers sporadically gave out, the only sounds came from Sophia's and Josh's feet: his hard clicks, hers a smack of bare feet on dirty tiles.

Most of the exhibited pieces dealt with fashion. Glass cases on wooden platforms stood at regular intervals, featuring antique handbags, jewelry, and art pieces one needed the description card to make sense of. The glass was dull and fingerprinted; the brass fixtures tarnished.

In each themed gallery, the music shifted with the tone of the room. A mournful operatic alto sang in an unidentifiable language over the buzz of a cello. The ceiling vaulted in dusty, rough-hewn bricks. Dress forms in tattered, period costumes hung from the ceiling, leaving the floor an open expanse. Three of the costumed forms had fallen.

While Sophia pressed forward, keeping an eye on the headless bodies, the blanket of darkness at the end of the gallery drained her cold. She turned on her heel and collided with Joshua. Focusing on his brocade jacket, the zigzag weave of his button-down shirt, pretended nothing untoward was behind her.

"Um..." She kept her eyes on his chest, not wanting to admit fearing the dark, or the threat of being in an empty building with a strange man.

Soft brown curls wreathed his face, brushing his shoulders; stubble pricked his jaw. His thick eyebrows framed deep, chocolate eyes as though he were meant to be on display himself.

"I just," she whispered.

He squeezed her arms, trying to maintain eye contact as she looked away.

She laughed away her nerves, but it came out a cry. "I have to get out of this thing," she said, pulling at the scales.

He scanned the room and took a few quick steps to the first costume on the floor. After turning the form over, he said, "What about this one?" Even before she answered, he was undressing it.

The dress was simple and lacy, more an Edwardian shift than anything. Though the fabric was stiff, it wasn't made of scales and feathers.

"I can turn around," Josh offered. "Or there's a restroom at the start of the gallery."

Sophia took the dress from him. "I'll go there, then. Good to know where the bathrooms are."

Josh took her hand; his were cold too. Together, they approached the room and pushed the door open, the symbol of a woman on it a tiny, tarnished hieroglyphic. After fishing around the wall for a switch, the light sprang on.

"Must be on a sensor," he said.

The restroom was plush and bright.

"I'm gonna find a phone," Josh said. "Be back in a few minutes."

Sophia nodded. "Get me some shoes," she whispered and stepped inside.

The door closed, muting the gallery's lachrymose music. This could have been any upscale bathroom in the world except that it smelled stale, dusty, as though no one had used it in years. All the lightbulbs worked. A fluffy cream rug spanned the middle of the marble tile to a pink love seat at the far end of the room. A vanity table stood against one wall, complete with mirror and toiletries. Through a small opening, three stalls closed with white floor-to-ceiling doors. A double sink and full-length mirror completed the room.

Her stomach growled.

The lacy dress in her hands opened in the back with a delicate zipper. After holding it flat to her front to check the size, she lay it on the love seat. Since the scaly dress top was backless, it released easily and hung down the front of the feathered skirt. Bare-breasted, she felt around her waist for a zipper or hook in the skirt, but found nothing. She picked through the feathers, trying to find the fabric base. Everything underneath was a smooth netting, even as she circled the skirt around her middle. It was too fitting to pull down her hips and wouldn't clear her ribs. The scales on the bodice offered a sharp enough edge to cut through the skirt; with a sharp pull, it opened wide enough for her to step through.