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On the other hand, Monday night when I met Britney, John slipped out of the apartment the moment I arrived, waving vaguely at the couch, saying he was late for an important business meeting and to enjoy myself, he would be back in a few hours. Bewildered both by the suddenness of his exit and his trust in me, whom he had after all only met the previous week, I turned to the couch. The girl seemed nervous, so I walked forward and extended my hand. ‘My name’s Jack, how are you?’ ‘Hi Jack, pleased to meet you,’ she had a strong, clipped Chinese accent, but otherwise spoke English confidently. ‘My name is Britney.’ ‘Pleased to meet you Britney.’ We sat down on the couch. She had obviously made an effort to look good for our meeting, wearing a dark red outfit consisting of a jacket and matching knee-length skirt, and I complimented her on it. She blushed, and nervously tucked her hair behind her small ears, sweeping it out of her face and looking at her shoes. She was my height, and. There was no one to keep Sharon company. No one but the dead. Sometimes, when she was alone in the museum like this, she thought of the collection as something she could hear. Most of the artifacts were made to be vessels for some ancient god or spirit, after all, so the building should be crawling with the sounds of old ghosts and gods. If she listened carefully enough, would she hear the ancient priests touching the possessions they were buried with or caressing the outlines of their own mummified bodies? Would she hear them ask what became of their sacred tombs? Would she hear their prayers? She took her glasses off and pinched the brow of her nose. God, I’ve been working here too long, she thought. She drank her cold coffee and looked around the cluttered office. I should go home. It’s too late to be here. Too late to be surrounded by all these dead people and their dead things. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the job, bigger museums had offered her jobs with better money and more.
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