The proceedings went smoothly, with exception that he needed to sign a few more papers that required his mom’s signature. Overall, the whole fifteen minutes he was in the curator’s room, he spent more time looking at the office than making conversation with Smyth. The moment he entered the room underneath the standing elephant, he was convinced that he had stepped into a true museum.
Smyth’s office was quaint, filled with artifacts and knick knacks that followed a pattern of wildlife and wooden tribal masks. Their hollowed out eyes stared back at Sean from one corner of the room while on the left side lay an entire gallery dedicated to wall hangings of all sorts of animal heads. The beasts were lined from largest to smallest, their black taxidermied eyes bugging out of their heads and giving accusatory looks at Sean, as if he had put them their.
     Away from the animal wall lay Smyth’s mahogany wooden desk. It stood in front of two metal filing cabinets that looked a century old, and reeked a smell that suggested it was much older. Most of the legal documents Smyth pulled out came from the one on the right, but the thick, customized written parchment papers, Jon drew out of the right one. To Sean’s right lay a small spartan fireplace that looked like it had been a closet once, and to his left were open windows, allowing the midday sun filter in through swaying white curtains with red designs.
Sean didn’t know why, but the pattern of the red on the milk white curtains reminded him of medieval tapestries. The blood red color flowed through, in and out of the white background, winding like branches and streams and rivers. It felt almost enchanting staring at the drifting curtains in the noon sun. It was definitely more comforting to look at than the wall behind him filled with dead animal heads. Sean could almost feel their penetrating gaze at the back of his hair.
      But there was something more unnerving than angry looks from the animal heads. Whenever Sean looked over his shoulder at the wall of hanging heads, he noticed something strange happened when his eyes scanned the wall. The farther he looked down the line of animal heads, the harder it got to keep his eyes travelling in that direction. It was hard to describe, and Sean couldn’t put his finger on it. It was as if some invisible force pushed his eyes away once his gaze got to a certain point at the taxidermy wall.
It was like something didn’t want him to see what lay farther down the animal head wall.
      But Sean’s mind quickly forgot about this anomaly, and reverted back to the situation at hand. Smyth was giving him something, and the old man’s words cleared away any doubts or suspicions Sean had earlier.
      “I guess the only thing that needs clearing up is those last three signatures from your parent or guardian and we’ll be all set!”
The curator stood and shook Sean’s hand, a smile beaming from his lips.
     “Thank you, sir.” Elated, Sean returned the grin, adding a chuckle. “Thank you so much.”
     Smyth held up a finger, walking around his desk.
     “No, thank you,” Smyth began, putting a hand underneath Sean’s elbow and leading towards the door. “I have much to thank you for. Now would be ...a good time to tell you the truth.”
     “What do you mean?” Sean tried not to raise his eyebrow, but he knew that Smyth could see the confusement on his face.     “What’s wrong?” The old man waved his hand and shook his head slightly.
“Nothing so serious, my boy, nothing’s wrong.” Smyth replied. “It’s just that we haven’t had a custodian here for ...well, for quite a long time. At least for two months now.”
Sean nodded. He had been without a father for that same amount of time. A pang of mixed emotions slit his heart and threatened to come crashing in. Had it really been that long? Or was it short? Time felt odd, standing in this museum, and the animal’s gaze boring into the side of his face wasn’t helping.
Sean swallowed and licked his lips nervously.
“Well, I guess it’s good that I came along then.”
    Smyth nodded, grinning slightly. “But I must warn you…” The old curator opened the door, and both employer and employee walked out the office and onto the tiled pathway leading back to the main hall. “Being a custodian is a very hard, labor intensive job. Especially around here.”
    The old man’s eyes sparkled in from the overhead hanging lights. Sean nodded, his gaze scanning the sheer expanse of the great hall.
    “I expect as much.”
    “So,” Smyth lifted his head from his shoes and looked sidelong at Sean. “Does that mean you’ll be here for your first day tomorrow?”
    Sean nodded before his response. “Yes, sir. Bright and early.”
    Smyth raised an eyebrow. “Early?’
    Sean frowned for a second with confusion, then snapped his fingers. “Not early, sorry. Late. Yeah, that’s what I meant.”
    The old man smiled, nodding slowly.
    “Your first day, or night, won’t be quite strenuous. Hopefully.”

~~~

    The first day wasn’t as strenuous as Sean had thought it would be. Sure, he knew that he was going to be working for eight hours straight cleaning all over the museum. He had been given a list of what rooms he would clean and very odd specifications on how to clean and what. For one example, on the list of careful cleaning instructions, Sean was tasked with the deed of brushing the teeth of a giant ivory African tribal mask. The cleaning list even had a diagram on what strokes to use when brushing and the proper ways of smoothing out its grass hair if it ever got in the way. Besides the odd teeth brushing techniques of tribal masks, or the direction of proper etiquette when waxing the tail of a bull elephant, everything else in Sean’s schedule was as normal as any janitor.
    Sean had his respective quality time with the toilets, the total number of four in the entire museum-two for the Men’s and Women’s Restrooms. He had his moments waxing down the three long hallways of the three separate wings of the museum, albeit lonely. But as the length of time was afforded to him, that caused Sean’s mind to wander and to recollect the images of the day and the memories of times long past. Staying awake cleaning a museum by yourself for six hours will do that to anyone.
    The mind is an interesting and confounding device when left alone and unattended. Especially when it came to Sean’s mind. And during that one afternoon, perhaps through fate, or just by happenstance Sean’s mind decided to bring him back, over and over again, to that night when he spotted his stalker. It was like blazing images surrounding his thoughts as he walked the seeming endless corridors of the museum. Everytime he walked past a blue tapestry, he remembered the billowing cloak of the stalker. For every glint of the waning sunshine that filtered through the skylight he walked under multiple times, his mind projected the image of the color of the street light that revealed the figure of the stalker running away.
    It wasn’t the constant images reminding of his stalker that frightened Sean the most. It was the thought that he had a stalker! If anyone took their time to follow Sean-the guy who had nothing else going in his life except the death of his father and his recent job acceptance of janitor at a no-name museum-whoever was stalking him must be trailing the wrong guy. Sean was a nobody. No, wait, it was much worse than that. He was a nobody without a father.
    “Mr. Knite!”
    Hi boss’s voice carried to the young custodian all the way from Smyth’s office. Sean looked down at the mop that had slipped out of it’s bucket tray and lay dejected on the wooden floor he had just cleaned. Sean stifled a curse as he glanced at the cleaning implement and then back up to Mr. Smyth’s frown. Even though the old man’s wrinkles disappeared through the distance, Sean could still make out a definitive lowering of his boss’s eyebrows.
    “Sorry.” mumbled Sean as he stooped down to pick the handle of the old fashioned mop. It’s white cloth fronds at the end flicked this way and that with every jerk from Sean’s hand.
    “Is everything alright?” Smyth asked, this time his full frame outside of his office.
    “Everything’s fine, sir,” Sean replied, stuffing the mop back into the bucket. He looked away from Smyth’s prying eyes. Even so far away, Sean could feel their presence on the side of his skull. Smyth nodded slowly, gave one look at the young man cleaning the floor, and then stepped back into his office.
    Sean sighed. It was going to be a long evening.

     ~~~

    “But, mom!”
“I’m sorry, honey. Just wait for me at the gas station near the museum. There is one close by, isn’t there?”
“Yeah, but…” Sean blew out a short wisp of air that picked at a hanging hair from his head. “Sure, fine. See ya.”
    Sean hung up the phone, knowing his mother hated when he did that. But right then Sean didn’t care. He had been trapped alone with his thoughts for three straight hours and it felt like his pores were about to explode. The young custodian looked at his watch, his eyelids scratching against his eyeballs with every blink. Shaking his head, he began the backwards routine-Sean had so aptly called it-of storing his mop, bucket, broom, rag, and the three cleaning solutions back into the closet. When Sean closed the door to the closet, he shut in all of the thoughts that threatened to tear him down again. No one would ever know how many tears had mixed into the marble floor he had cleaned tonight. But Sean didn’t allow that thought to latch onto him. There was only one directive to stick to, after cleaning for four hours. It was finally ten o’clock. It was time to go home.
    Sean knocked once, then twice on the door to Smyth’s office. It swung wide open, revealing a very concerned face of Jon Smyth.
    “Yes?”
    Sean stuck a hand into his pocket and withdrew his stamp card. “It’s ten o’clock, Mr. Smyth-”
    “Please, what did I say?” The old man’s face grinned, but it wasn’t enough to spread to Sean.
    “It’s ten o’clock, Jon,” Sean reiterated, gulping down a recycled wad of saliva that had managed to come forward in his throat. Jon Smyth nodded, brought out a pen, checked the box on the card, and stuffed it in his back pocket along with the pen.
    “Well, Sean, how was your first day as custodian?”
    “It’s been… interesting, sir.” Sean nodded, hands in his pockets. Smyth gave Sean a contemplative look, but didn’t say anything. The old man’s sullen green eyes scrutinized his; Sean could feel Smyth finding words to say, he could see the aged curator opening his mouth, and then pausing. Shrugging to cover the awkward silence, Sean gave Smyth a tired smile as he wiped his brow.
    “Well, see you later, I guess?”
    “Oh, yes, of course.” Smyth stepped out of his office, shaking the young custodian's hand. His investigative glare passed away and was replaced by his sun shine smile. “Sean. If you need anything, any help-besides mopping-I’m here if you need me.”
    Sean tried not to raise an eyebrow. He was surprised. How could this old man know what he was thinking, much less going through? But Sean just nodded, said goodbye again, and headed straight for the front doors. The sky was blacker than the inside of the earth. Only the city lights and one single streetlamp on the sidewalk illuminated the night. The night air was less chilled than the breeze that coaxed Sean’s brow as he made his down the street. Sean didn’t know why, but for some reason his footsteps sounded strange as he walked to the nearby gas station.

   
    “That’s all you’re having?” the girl behind the desk asked, eyeing the single medium sized cup filled to the brim with soda flavored slush standing on the counter. Sean gave a tired grin, nodding. She shrugged her shoulders, typing in the cash register.
    “That’ll be two fifty.”
    Sean already had his wallet out, dumping out all of his money. Three dollars. He had made the stupid mistake of forgetting to reload his wallet with emergency money before going to work that evening. Sean looked at the teenage girl in front of him. She was no older than Sean, dressed all in black. Her brunette hair was tied up behind her head, followed by a slim jaw, neck, and broad shoulders. A small plastic card clipped on her chest read “Aubrey”. Her hazel eyes stared back at Sean.
    “Fifty cents is your change.” She swiped the three dollars and replaced them with two quarters. Sean frowned, looking up.
    “No tax?”
    This was odd. High slushie prices and now no tax? This was a strange 7-Eleven, if Sean ever knew one.
    Aubrey nodded, shutting the register drawer. Then her eyes flicked down to Sean’s chest, gazing at the dangling bullet case of the gleaming custom .38.
    “Hey, what’s that?” She asked, her voice filled with genuine interest. Sean shrugged, rubbing it in between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s a gift from my dad.” Sean’s lips twitched into a grim smile. “The last one I’ll ever get.”
    “Hmm.” The cashier nodded, looking down at the bullet case and then back up to Sean’s eyes. “I guess he liked guns a lot.” Sean chuckled, shaking his head. “Like you would not believe.”
    Aubrey paused before, speaking, “Sounds like he was pretty cool.” She sighed, rubbing the lower end of her cheekbone. Under the fluorescent light, Sean could see dark ovals hanging underneath her eyes. Eyeing the giant display of the red numbers that made up a digital clock that sat, hunched above the entrance, Sean saw that his mother wasn’t even close to closing the diner. Pocketing his wallet, Sean picked up his slush and took a swig. It was only 10:46. He had time to chat.
    “So, how long have you had this job?” Sean asked, looking at the cashier girl. She gave him a half slitted glance, and then gave a dry grin. “Ever since five this afternoon.”
    The cashier ran a thin fingered hand through her hair. “My boss sucks, like, you would not believe.”
    Sean shrugged, “Hey, there’s gotta be one of them, you know?”
    Aubrey scoffed. “What, as if you would know? You have a job?”
    “Yeah,” Sean replied, grinning. “Just got off work a few minutes ago. First day.”
    Aubrey leaned on the counter with both hands. “Really? What do you do?”
    Sean shrugged, waving his cup of slushie around in the air in front of him. “I work at a museum.” Sean saw the look of mockery before he heard it.
    Aubrey’s eyebrows went up and crashed together. “Sounds like you have the most boring job on earth.”
    Uh oh. He was losing her. Sean tilted his head, trying to recover his dignity, or what was left of it. He coughed into his hand, the slushie constricting in his throat.
    Sean paused for a moment before he replied, “It’s a living. At least I have I cool boss.”
    Aubrey, frowned, smirking. “Oh, really?”
    “Yeah, he sure is.” Sean began, feeling an unexpected amount of pride welling up in his chest. It helped expound the sudden chill that had come over his body. Sean guessed he must have drank too much too quickly.
    “Sure, I do janitorial work, but my boss just stays in his office all the time, and I’m by myself all the time.”
    Sean saw the cashier girl’s eyes liven slowly, but was soon covered by the mist of suspicion.
    “Great.” She muttered, rubbing one arm. Then her hazel eyes flashed at Sean. “My boss is super...you know.” She gestured in the direction of a door marked STAFF. Aubrey hesitated, chewing her bottom lip; her eyes in the direction of the door.
    “He’s such a prig, you know.”
    Sean didn’t know what to say, mostly because of the topic, but also his teeth felt like they wanted to rattle out of his jaw. Sean blinked hard, staring at Aubrey. She noticed the sudden drop in temperature too.
    “Where… is your boss...anyway?” Sean asked, trying not to sound like he was cold. He was frigid. Aubrey rolled down her black long shirt sleeves, shrugging and shaking her head. “He’s in the back, counting up the… stuff.” She leaned back, her eyes locked on the door near the back of the store. His bottom jaw was shivering ever so noticeably. “He’s been in there for a while now.”
     Sean wasn’t listening. His mind was focused on the sudden drop in room temperature. Sean scanned the room. The door wasn’t cracked open, and there were no windows that could swing open. Sean could hear Aubrey talking, but her voice was distorted and flat, as if she were talking into Sean’s ear with a metal barrel. The bullet casing around his neck began to drag him down to the ground, as if gravity was only affecting his father’s gift.
    Aubrey was now next to Sean. He didn’t know how she got around the counter so fast, or if she walked around it at all. The only thing he knew now was that he was freezing to death. And he was sure that Aubrey knew that too. Flexing both hands, Sean tried to keep his blood pressure by breathing in deep, rapid gasps. But then he realized that it made his condition much worse when his throat started to feel numb and raw. Scratching his throat as if it would free him from the surmounting sense of death that surrounded him, Sean flailed and later grabbed at Aubrey’s arms. Locked to each other in a frigid link, both blinded by the shock of cold that covered every molecule in the room, the two teenagers stumbled blindly towards the doors to the outside.
    The vicious cold had become a searing white pain that permeated both Sean and Aubrey’s skin when they reached the entrance to the store. Sean’s hand pushed against the handle of the swinging door first. But it didn’t swing open. It was held fast, maybe by the cold, Sean didn’t know. Sean pounded the glass of the glass door with all his might, but it was like trying to strike out underwater. He had felt this before, in numerous nightmares. But now, this was for real. Sean knew if he died, he wouldn’t be waking up. But all he thought about was that he had to get out before he and Aubrey ended up a human popsicle. Sean’s sight was becoming worse; a tight vignette closing his pupils and threatening to blacken the image of Aubrey’s stricken expression.
    Acting without thinking, Sean paced over to the counter in a sluggish saunter, grabbed the metal newspaper rack and head back over to Aubrey. By now, Sean’s senses were reaching a critical nil in usefulness. His hearing was non-existent, his sense of touch was disappearing fast, and his muscles along with his brain felt like they were being doused in liquid nitrogen. When Sean stepped up to Aubrey, he felt like his journey to the counter and back had been years, not seconds. Without hesitation, Sean flung the rack and himself to the glass window, half expecting it to crack. The rack bounced off in rejected contempt. Sean tried a second and then a third, but he could see through slitted eyes that he was becoming increasingly slow and cumbersome.
     He then turned to the frozen cashier girl, gesticulating with all one rigid arm that he needed her help. A fuzzy image of Aubrey’s entered Sean’s field of limited view and he held out the metal rack. After a few wasted seconds of conjecture between the two teenagers, Aubrey took hold of one side of the metal rack, and Sean on the other. Both of them pulled the rack back as far as they managed, and with a silent count in between them, they worked in unison to drive the metal shelf into the glass. Sean thought he heard the faint sound of hissing and crackling glass; not fully able to see the splintering crack that snaked it’s way up and down the glass door, they both swung again. And again. Again. The thought of not even survival continued in Sean’s mind. His brain was long gone, but his mind was still there, amid the muck and confusion and the din that clattered around the edges of his skull.
    His mind… and the thought: AGAIN. He swung the rack. AGAIN. His vision turned from an excessive blur to a black shade. AGAIN. He might’ve cried it out too, but none of that mattered. Breaking the glass mattered. Swinging that small newspaper shelf mattered. AGAIN.

     Sean found himself lying on the blacktop just outside of the 7-Eleven. His face was inches away from the stick figure in the wheelchair located in the disabled person’s parking spot. He was also staring at the two foot long glass shard that lay three inches away from his nose. To Sean’s surprise, he had regained control over his bodily functions. He could see. He could see the street lamp that illuminated the sprinkle of glass that littered the entire walkway and entrance to the convenience store. He could feel the several abrasions on his hands and knees that felt like insect gnawing on his flesh. He heard the wind cascading through the leaves of the neighbouring trees, their whistling cries bemoaning the state of the smashed window pane glass.
     Sean groaned, hefted himself onto both elbows, and looked into the convenience store. The ceiling panel lights were gone, obliterated. Not only was the front door missing glass, all of the other windows had burst, an array of glittering twinkles of light smattering the sidewalks like stars in the sky. Sean looked around, scanning the empty parking lot. There were no cars. But not just in the parking lot. He couldn’t see a single vehicle, not one motorcycle, not even a bicycle on the nearby streets. Sean staggered to a kneeling position, swaying. The stoplights were all glowing an ominous red, giving the atmosphere a haunting glow. It was as if the whole city had become quiet.
     And empty.