In the end, neither Virgil nor I had the right skills or confidence to start tearing down walls on our own, so we agreed to come back in the morning with Homer and some blueprints. At least then we stood a better chance of not knocking down a massive support beam and sending Monmouth crashing down right on top of us.
"I wasn't expecting to come down here in the middle of the night, but with that strange man wandering around, I'm glad I did," Virgil admits when we emerge from the depths of the basement and into the dimly lit hallway with the old science posters on the walls. "We always lock the doors before we leave, but anyone could break into this old place if they have their heart set on it."
"Maybe you should reconsider tying people up and blindfolding them in the basement," I reply, sarcasm lacing my voice, and I shine my flashlight down the hallway towards a set of large doors at the end. "Maybe try a broom closet instead. It seems less serial-killer-ish, doesn't it?"
"That's not a bad idea. I'll bring it up at the next poetry reading," Virgil muses, completely missing my point.
He was such an odd man, especially given his wealthy background. He was laid-back and self-assured. He exuded an air of invincibility with his designer clothes and that flip of cascading hair that occasionally fell into his eyes. But he was also oddly kind and pleasant. So he was illogical to me, and my curiosity only grew further the more we spoke.
"Come on, I'll take you back to the dorms," Virgil offers. "It's a long, cold walk across campus, and you're only wearing a coat."
I tighten the flaps of his jacket around me and glance down at it. "I think I'm going to keep it for a few days," I declare, just to spite him. "It fits me well, doesn't it?"
"You can keep it, but it looks like you're standing on someone's shoulders and about to try to sneak into a theater," Virgil points out. "It's massive on you."
We share a laugh at that before walking back to the lobby, empty now aside from the taxidermied animals still posed in their glass cases, doomed to decay slowly in this forgotten place. There had to be over a hundred creatures of different types, some of which I didn't recognize at all as Virgil and I walked past.
Birds had always fascinated me, and my mother kept doves and some cheerful songbirds in our sunroom in large cages growing up. Every morning, the canaries would make a racket as the sun rose, until one day my father had enough and hand-delivered them himself back into the wilderness behind our mansion. For years afterward, the occasional tiny yellow bird would be seen in our garden until a harsh winter blew through one season.
"I've never seen an animal like this," I tell Virgil as I stop to stare down at what looks like a large penguin with a massive, hooked beak. "It's almost like a cross between a penguin and a dodo."
"Oh," He says and comes over, his hands in his pockets, "That's called the Great Auk. It's kind of like a penguin, but it's much bigger. The poor creatures were so slow and docile that they were hunted to extinction in the eighteen-hundreds by sailors passing by. Imagine a whole species hunted to extinction all to collect a simple bag of feathers and some eggs."
I stare down at the strange bird and try not to imagine the poor things running for their lives with their short legs and bulky bodies. Humans could be so cruel and careless, and the Great Auk had never stood a chance against their weapons.
"Almost all of the animals here in Monmouth have gone extinct," Virgil explains. "These specimens were brought in by professors and archaeologists from around the world and are the last of their kind. Eventually, they'll be moved to the newer building—the one that John detests, but who knows when that's going to be."
I straighten up and try to push away the uneasy feeling that rises up inside of me at the thought of never seeing these creatures—hollow shells, really—in the wild. I would never be able to witness the Great Auk guarding its nest while I was on a cruise in Antarctica. The wild cats that stood in their glass prisons would never prowl the plains again.
Because of humanity.
Because the human race valued showing off skulls and feathers over a fireplace more than preserving these creatures' survival.
"We should go," I tell Virgil, and I turn from the display, disgusted. "I think I've seen enough."
"Hmm," Virgil hums as if sensing my displeasure. "One day we'll have the science to bring them back, Dante. There are still good people out there working hard to find the key to immortality."
There's movement from behind the Great Auk display case as we turn to leave, and Virgil stops me with one hand when a figure steps out from behind the glass, clad in a pair of tight jeans and a dirty-looking denim jacket that makes him look like the poster boy for Marlboro. Even his hair was scruffy-looking, choppy around the ends, and flecked with dust.
"Damn, you mother-fuckers talk so goddamn much." The man drawls, scratching his stubbly chin, "What's it been? An hour listening to you guys talk about dead shit?"
"Who the hell are you?" Virgil demands, "How did you get in here?"
The dirty-looking man looks around the museum in confusion, obviously unimpressed by Virgil's show of anger. "Name's Wayne Ward. And I dunno," he replies. "What year is it?"
"September 4th, 1984," I reply, "Are you drunk?"
"Um..." Wayne inspects what's left in the bottle and squints, "Not yet, but I'm about to be."
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