Ben pressed a button on his car stereo, then another, and yet another… after a few minutes, he turned it off in frustration.  He was begging – he was dying – for something to get his mind off the dream he had last night.  The worst part of it was the one part he couldn’t quite remember.. it ate at him, drove him completely insane, and if there was one thing he couldn’t stand was something that he couldn’t decipher.  As he turned the corner and saw the museum in the distance, he was starting to let go.  Something about going to work always lifted his spirits and helped him forget other issues.

He parked in back, squinting against the light peeking over the stone wall surrounding the parking lot.  As he surveyed the building, he debated on whether or not he should leave the ivy intact… he thought it lent a regal, aged look to the walls, but it was starting to look a bit ragged.  Crossing the lot to the back door, he noticed Riley’s motorcycle behind the bushes… he spent most of his nights there, tinkering with the various surveillance equipment installed around the building, as well as certain projects he took it upon himself to bring in.  Ben had little use for modern gizmos and didn’t think they added anything to the museum itself, but they appeased Riley, so he let it be.

“Hey!  Good morning!”, he said as Ben walked in.  “The virtual reality display?  The one set up by the interactive model of Washington crossing the Potomac?  I need to take a look at it.  It’s flickering pretty bad… I’m thinking I just need to move it farther away from the window, but I’ll look at it tonight.”, he informed Ben as he flipped through a book.  Glancing at the title, he was mildly intrigued.  Things Your History Teacher Never Told You was printed in bright red letters.       

A light breeze blew through the hallway as the back door opened to reveal three men in white jumpsuits, wheeling in a large awkward crate.  Riley barely acknowledged them as he continued to read.  “Ben… hey, check this out…it says here that… oh, wait, never mind.  You probably already know this.”.

            “Know what?”

            “No, forget it.  It’s stupid.”, he answered dismissively.

            “Riley….”, Ben warned.

            With a sly smirk, he continued to read aloud.  “The American Revolution was not started by unfair taxation on tea and other goods sent to the colonists by the British.  In fact… it actually started with prices that were too low.  The British sought to ostracize the other countries that were providing goods to the colonists by outbidding them and setting it up so they were the sole providers of goods, and after this was established, they started imposing steep taxes.  Did you know this?”.

            “Yes.”.

            Riley’s face fell, and he slammed the book shut.  “OK, whatever.  I’m going home to get some sleep… I’ll be back tonight.”.  Grabbing his jacket and backpack, he turned to face Ben before leaving.  “How are you feeling?”.

            He was absentmindedly leafing through some paperwork and turned to face his friend, who was bouncing his knee expectantly.  “What do you mean?  Oh, wait…”, he replied sarcastically, “You want to know if I’m still licking my wounds after my latest heartache, right?  Is that what you’re referring to?  Riley, please…”.

            “Hey, just thought I’d ask.  Catch you later.”, he replied flatly as he walked out the back door.  After signing the invoice for the new merchandise, Ben locked the back door behind the deliverymen and checked his watch… it was already time to open.  

            After unlocking the front door and turning on the touch-screen electronic guestbook – another gadget Riley insisted upon purchasing – Ben walked through the museum as he did every morning and every night.  Tiny particles of dust floated and swirled in the late morning light that filtered through the windows, spilling over the floor.  Its walnut inlaid design, austere and ornate against the plain plastered walls, expanded over tens of thousands of square feet, and sometimes when Ben was there alone, late at night, he thought he could hear the footsteps of so many people he had studied and admired, each a piece of the puzzle that had been taken apart and put back together a thousand times by other history freaks just like him.

            No matter how many times he made his rounds, he was still amazed at its size and complexity, and by the time he reached the center of the building a few guests were already trickling in.  Turning to face the staircase, he briefly admired the mock stone walls that enclosed it on either side.  From his vantage point, it looked like the exterior of an ancient church or castle; one side partitioned a section of the museum that housed his vast book collection.  Arched windows allowed anyone to peer into this room as they climbed up to the next floor – yet another feature to add to the illusion of one building inside another. 

            As he reached the top of the first flight, he noticed someone looking out one of the windows, a bit too intently.  It was obviously a woman, and he caught himself gazing at her backside and long legs folded underneath her.  She was staring at something – or someone – in the library.

            “Um… excuse me?”, he ventured, and she jumped off the step and tried to bring herself upright, looking rather flustered.

            “Oh, excuse me..”, she stammered quietly, and a flash of recognition crossed her face when she faced him squarely.  “You’re Ben Gates, aren’t you?  Oh my goodness… oh, I’m so embarrassed… I didn’t think you would actually be here.  But I’m glad you are!”.  Her words were rushed, but barely above a whisper. 

            “You know who I am?”.

            The woman nodded her head excitedly, peering at him from behind her glasses, their oval frames glinting in the sunlight that dotted the staircase.  “I… I’m here because I was hoping to talk with you… I was just looking around.”.

            “I noticed…”, he responded, squatting down to look through the windows with her.  For a moment he caught a whiff of her perfume… it was a soft honeyed smell, one he couldn’t quite place, and he was a little embarrassed that he picked up on it.  “What were you looking at just now?”.

            Before the woman could respond, he saw a familiar face, one that made him grimace in disgust and anger.  A flash of light blonde hair and a slender frame, facing a long row of books and looking through them frantically.  “That woman was acting suspiciously.  I don’t know what made me think that…”, she said to Ben, and noticed the look on his face.  “Do you know her?”.

            Unfortunately, he knew her all too well… Dr. Abigail Chase, yet another woman from his past that had given him grief, but this time around it was almost more than he could handle.  She had the tenacity of a real treasure hunter, and even after his banning her from his museum – and his life – she found her way back into it time and time again.  Watching her from above, as she manhandled his precious books and occasionally glanced over her bony shoulder in paranoia, ignited a rage deep within him that he sought to control in front of his guest.  Without another word, he turned on his heel and ran down the stairs, two at a time.

            As he rounded the corner, he realized they weren’t alone – the museum was teeming with people.  Straightening the cuffs of his shirt in nervous tension, Ben leaned against the doorway and watched her carefully.  She knew what she was looking for, even if he didn’t… he had warned her too many times to stay away, but she kept coming back.  This time she didn’t even bother to wait until he was gone.  It took a moment for him to realize that he no longer felt those old pangs of longing when he saw Abigail.  Maybe I’m finally over her, he thought to himself as he crossed the room to confront her.

            “What the hell are you doing here?”, he hissed at her, straining to keep his voice down.  She squeaked in surprise, arching her shoulders and back defensively.  A book slipped through her hands and hit the floor, echoing along the high ceiling with a dull thud. 

            “Ben….”, she murmured, not brave enough to face him, “Please don’t be mad… really… I’m here for a very good reason…”.

            “There’s no reason good enough.”, he responded curtly, cutting her off.  She was trying to sweet-talk him again, just like all those other times before.  “I’ve tried being reasonable with you, but you just won’t listen!!  You’ve never listened!  I don’t want you here.”.  Ben spat out the last sentence with renewed strength and finality, and at this Abigail turned to face him calmly.  When she looked up at him coquettishly with her big blue eyes, he felt his muscles turn to butter all over again.

            “But this time I have something I know would be of great interest to you.  You just have to listen to me.”.  When he didn’t respond, she moved in a little closer, tentatively.  “Baby… come on… we’ve had our differences, but I want to forget all about that and move on… just the two of us, together.”.

            He felt the hot familiar flush down his neck and across his chest when she spoke to him so intimately, but came to his senses.  Reaching into the front pocket of his pants, he fished for his cell phone.  “Abby… leave.  Leave, and don’t ever come back.  The door is closed.”, he told her as he pulled out his phone and flipped it open.  “Actually, you know what?  I’ve had enough of this!”.  This time he didn’t bother to control his voice, and some of the patrons peeked around the corner in response.   “I’m calling the police.  Enough is enough.”.

            Abigail threw her hands in front of her defensively.  “Asshole… you are such an ****!  You’ve always been a weird obsessive ****, and you’ll never change!  Stay here with your precious books… your precious little documents that are soooo important to you!”.  As she stormed out, she kicked the book she had dropped on the floor, sending it skittering under a table.

            “Obsessed?  Do you really want to go there, Abby?  Do you?”, Ben screamed behind her as she ran out the door, pushing aside two college-age guys who were listening to the whole exchange, snickering in delight.  Watching her leave, and rehashing that one quick exchange, made his stomach churn.  As he closed his cell phone, he realized that his palms were moist with sweat…  it sickened him to realize that she could still rouse his emotions so effectively, even if it was mostly anger.

            “I really picked a bad time to see you, didn’t I?”, he heard a voice say behind him.  It was the woman on the stairs… she had seen the whole thing.  “I’m so sorry… maybe I should come back later?”.

            “No… no.  Don’t worry about it.”, Ben answered softly, then realized that he had no idea why she was there in the first place.  “What did you want to talk about?”.

            For a moment, the woman stared at him, fidgeting with her pinkie ring.  “Well, um… I need your technical advice on something.  You see, I’m a writer… um, not professionally, but I’m hoping for that eventually.  And I know that you’re incredibly knowledgeable about history.”.

            As Ben listened to her, he realized that they were gaining more attention from the patrons than the artifacts, and he crossed the room to meet her.  “Let’s go upstairs to my office.  I think I’ve made a big enough spectacle of myself for today.”.