Page 65 of In Deep
Inside, apart from a class of excited school children, the museum is empty. Their speedy chatter echoes off the stone walls and the high vaulted ceiling. But soon they’re being hurried away and we have the museum to ourselves.
“Definitely spooky,” Ollie says, glancing towards the line of dimly lit glass cases with their stuffed animals. “That is morbid.”
“I know,” I say. “But look.”
I lead him to a case of birds, varying in size from a giant ostrich to a tiny, colourful hummingbird. I point to a squat, dull looking bird about the size of a goose. “It’s a dodo,” I tell him.
“Wow,” he says, crouching down to examine the extinct creature. “I’ve always wondered what one of these looked like.”
“There’re quite a few animals in here that don’t exist anymore.”
“If they hadn’t been hunted and stuffed in museum cases, maybe they would still exist,” he points out.
“Yep,” I nod. “These are all Victorian. But I think most of the extinct animals in here died due to the destruction of their habitats. There are people at the university studying these old animals and applying the findings for conservation purposes.”
“Is it all stuffed animals in here?” Ollie asks, gazing at me with amusement.
“No,” I say, grabbing his hand. I pull him along to the geology section. “This,” I say, rubbing my hand over the giant slab of stone, “is my favourite.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a piece of an asteroid. It hit earth millions of years ago. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Ollie smoothes his own hand over the stone’s surface. “It came from outer space?”
I nod.
“What do you think is out there? Is there life?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re a physicist.”
I watch him study the stone. “I think there must be life somewhere. But it might not be as advanced as us.”
“So no little green men in flying saucers?”
“Maybe.”
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“More Shakespeare?”
“If you’re going to quote anyone, little mouse, it should be Shakespeare.”
He fiddles with the tie holding back his long hair and then gestures to a small sign hanging on the wall. “Alphas and omegas.”
I peer up at the sign. “Oh yeah,” I shrug, “there’s a small display on the history of alpha and omega culture.”
“Can we see it?”
“I don’t really–”
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me that way.
The display is in a small room at the back of the museum, poorly lit and heady with the stale scents of previous omega and alpha visitors. Still, gripping my hand, Ollie heads to the first case and peers down.
“Omega collars,” he purrs, examining the three leather Victorian collars on display. “Alphas used to place them on their omegas once they’d claimed them.”
