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The pouring rain strained our vision, as we ran over the slippery asphalt. My brother, Abel, followed close behind me. Even though we tried avoiding puddles, our shoes were wet and soggy already.
“In there, the museum looks like it’s still open,” I called over my shoulder. We reached the doors and didn’t hesitate for a single moment, before we barrelled in. The light in the lobby was still on, a clerk sat bored behind the monitors, glancing up from his crossword puzzle. The desk was right by the door, but just past the desk was a little area with seats. It reminded of a doctor’s waiting room with the magazines on the coffee table and the white walls.
Abel sighed and slumped against the door. We dripped all over the door mat, from coat to Abel’s jeans to my wool skirt – everything was soaked through. I wiped at my face, trying to avoid messing up my make-up.
“Good evening,” the clerk greeted and I walked a little closer.
“Hello. Do you mind if we stay here and try to dry up a bit? I know it’s late…” I said.
“Nah, go ahead,” he said with a wave of his hand. “The New Year’s party is going on upstairs so we aren’t closing anytime soon.”
“Thank you,” I said with a nod and squeezed the water from the hem of my wool skirt. Disgusting. Boisterous noises came from upstairs; yelling, laughter, people popping small fireworks. Abel and I exchanged a look.
“Sounds like quite the party,” Abel said.
The clerk shifted. “Sure is.”
“Let’s dry off in the bathroom,” I said to Abel.
“Down the hall to the right,” said the clerk and we went on our way.
“Can’t believe it’s still not stopped raining,” said Abel, nudging my knee with his foot. We sat on the couch in the museum lobby, staring restlessly outside. We worked our way through the art magazines that were strewn about the coffee table, but nothing could quell our unease. At some point, the party upstairs quieted down inexplicably, but no one came down to leave. We’d taken our shoes, gloves and coats off and left them on the radiator, hoping they would dry soon. My hair was still dry, thanks to my thick fake fur hat, that now laid sadly next to the gloves, looking something like a deflated wet rat.
“Can I write on this? It’s yesterday’s paper,” I held the paper up.
“Go right ahead,” the man said, hiding a strange tenseness by pretending not to be interested. Bored out of my mind, I circled the fun words, doing as I often do on the train; to see if there is a hidden poem in the front page article.
I turned to Abel. “It’s already half past eight. You were meeting some friends at ten, right?”
The clerk glanced up, something uncharacteristically calculating in his eyes, for a museum desk clerk. Something felt off. We’d better get going soon.
“Yeah. There’s still time. What are you doing?”
“Black out poem.” I nudged the paper to him. “Your turn. Just circle words or connect them.”
He blinked at me. “Mom and dad should’ve never let you study art.”
I laughed. “I assure you I would’ve been equally pretentious even without the education.”
A static buzz made us look to the desk, where the clerk answered a walkie-talkie.
A walkie-talkie is not something front-office workers usually have in a museum, is it? Something was definitely wrong. I pulled the newspaper towards me and penned a quick ‘er is iets mis’ on it. Abel nodded, mirroring my worried expression. We got up, trying to not let our alarmed expressions show.
"You're leaving?" asked the clerk.
"Yeah, if the rain isn't letting up anyway, we better get home and dry up there," I said, going for my shoes. Ew, still soaked. Cold, too, and I hoped my toes would recover quickly once at home. Not that it mattered now, since it was still coming down in buckets and we'd be soaked through even if our clothes were dry.
"Gross," said Abel, his lip curling with the feeling of it as he pulled the still wet shoe over his socks. Before we could get our coats on, a small group of men came down the stairs. They walked quickly, with purposeful strides, The one who came down first wore an impeccable suit, was he the museum director? Whether he was or wasn't, Abel and me backed away to the door. I grabbed my coat over my arm and held my hat, same as Abel.
"There was only one thing I asked of you, Johan. It was to keep people out," said the one in the suit. With the way he strode towards the clerk, it looked like he wanted to hurt the man. We should've listened to our gut sooner.
I pushed against the door, and instead of it giving way, it made a beeping noise and stayed shut. The eyes of the men from upstairs fell on us. Suddenly it was like I was a kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and I stared back at them with unease. The one in the suit, the scariest one, turned around, and our eyes locked. His expression changed.
"See, the alarm was on, I swear-"
"Johan," he drawled, "you didn't say we had such a lovely guest."
He made a jovial gesture, and came closer. "How rude of me not to introduce myself."
His sudden pleasantness threw me off. He extended his hand, and the way he did it made me take it, despite the strangeness of the situation. "Hans Gruber. And you? Hiding from the rain?"
"Ursula," I said, trying to apply equal pressure to the handshake. "Yes, we're very sorry for intruding. We just came by here from work, and..."
His touch lingered, warm. His smile was the most charming one I've ever seen. "And this is your..?" He gestured to Abel.
"Abel," he said, reaching out to shake his hand. "We're siblings."
Hans nodded, still smiling, as something calculating crept in his gaze. "Good, good. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Actually, why don't you stay a little while longer? We are just wrapping up here. How about, after that, I'll take you home?"
It didn't feel much like a question. His eyes lingered like his touch did. When Hans turned around, his demeanour changed again. A business man.
"Johan, I'll deal with you later. Karl; get the car. Fritz, Tony; get the bags from upstairs."
They did as he said, dispersing quick and without fuss. One thing is certain; Hans is not the museum director.
Abel and I exchanged a confused glance. I tried the door again, muttering a mild curse when it didn't still didn't open. Before I could ask if this was a good idea, Hans turned back, coming closer now.
"It's really no trouble for us to walk, we wouldn't want to inconvenience you."
"You're not from here, are you?" Hans ignored my statements to weasel our way out the door. His hand rested on my shoulder, as he directed us away from the exit and towards the elevators. "When I first came here, it was those times when strangers showed great kindness that made me feel welcome. Let me extend that same kindness to you, today."
"Sir, it's New Year's Eve, surely you have something better to do."
"Oh, Liebling, just call me Hans." His hand slipped to my back now, pressing on insistently enough to make it awkward to linger. "Isn't that even better? A festive mood during a festive time. How are you celebrating?"
Even though Abel followed by my side, it felt like Hans addressed only me. We reached the elevators and Hans stepped forward, pressed buttons, no matter that we didn't agree to come with at all. Abel glanced back at the door. I shrugged at him.
"Abel is going to see some friends later," I said, shifting the focus to him. "They're going into the city, find a good spot to watch the fireworks."
"How nice," he said. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Hans went in first. He expected us to follow, but more so than that, it felt like he didn't even consider it a possibility that we wouldn't. We stepped in and the doors closed. "And you, Liebling?"
Me, Liebling... "Hmm, watch fireworks from my window and go to bed on time. I'm not such a fan of the loud and the-" I gestured with my arms, "the boisterous."
Hans looked at me for a long moment, no judgement in his eyes, only curiosity and an unexpected fondness. "Then join me in doing the same. My hotel room has an incredible view." Where someone else saying the same thing, would have been a gaud-ish boast, it wasn't with him. His voice was soft, the quietness in which he said it made my heart stir. Would he not be celebrating with those men from before? Or with friends of his own? Not even a wife? If he’s staying at a hotel room, he could be far from home… Just like me.
I kept silence, not breaking eye contact. The moment lasted like that, us staring at each other, Hans' request hanging in the air between us. If we kept it up like this, I wouldn’t need to say anything at all. He could see it all, written on my face, just for him to read – that’s what it felt like. The elevator dinged. Despite having, once again, heard no ‘yes’, Hans led us to the car.
"Bring Abel home first," I said. "Then we can talk."
Hans’ smile was brighter than even the most colourful fireworks.