Owen yawned tiredly as he wrapped himself in his bathrobe, slipping on his slippers.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" He yelled in response to the knocking on his door.
It was the day after his first night at the Museum of Natural History, and he was exhausted. For one thing he had stayed up all night and, even though he had stayed up late at his old job, he had not been prepared to stay up the entire night. There was also the fact that he had spent the night running around in almost pure terror, which tended to tire out the body. On top of all that, he was not a night owl, so he had a hard time sleeping during the day. So the final tally was- he had gotten roughly three hours of sleep in the past thirty six hours, and was drowsy and miserable. Plus, he had to be back at the museum at eight, so he was not pleased at being interrupted from sleep.
"I'm coming!" Owen yelled again, finally reaching the door. When he opened it, he immediately regretted the tone he had used.
There was his landlord, all nice and tidy in his suit, his arms crossed and holding a white sheet of paper in his hand. Owen immediately took a step back, wrapping his bathrobe to cover himself better and tying it quickly. He smiled sheepishly and nodded a greeting, silently stepping away from the door to allow his unexpected guest in.
"Mr. Scott," The landlord said, setting his suitcase down with a thump that made Owen wince. "I'm here to inform you that as of now, you have exactly one week to make your monthly due, or you will be evicted from the premises."
"What!?" Owen asked in surprise, his heart skipping a beat. "A week!?"
The landlord nodded, and opened his case to pull out a white slip of paper, with black words printed on it. He handed it to Owen, who took it gingerly, his eyes scanning the paper.
"Three thousand and…" Owen muttered, his blood running cold. "There's no way I can make this much in time!"
The landlord shrugged. "That's your problem, then. I expect the payment mailed to my address before the end of the week. If I do not have it," The landlord made a slitting motion with his finger against his throat, and gestured with his thumb to the street. "That will be your new home."
Owen nodded faintly, his mind reeling. "Y-Yes…"
WIth a curt nod and a grunt of approval, the landlord gathered up his case, opened the door, and left.
Owen stood there, a tremble traveling through him as the knowledge of his intimate eviction sunk in. What was he going to do? Where would he go? There was nowhere for him to go. He had just started his new job, and wouldn't get his first paycheck until Friday. And it was a minimal paying job!
Owen knew with a dreary heart he was doomed. He trudged into the living room and sank onto the couch, allowing his head to sag limply over his lap. He took a shaky breath and grasped his head with his hands, breathing deeply, in and out, in an attempt to clear his mind. He needed to stay calm. Calmness was the only way. Panic was certain doom.
Yet, he could not keep himself calm as he imagined himself homeless, unable to even get the shelter of a box, on the streets. He would be forced to sleep under bushes and park benches, beg for money, sleep and live in the cold, wet climate of New York, taking whatever little jobs he could and having to rely on others to help him….
Owen took another shaky breath, and closed his eyes. He would not let this problem get the better of him. He could do it. But even as he told himself this, he knew it was impossible. With a troubled sigh of defeat, he laid back against the cushions, he fell asleep.
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"Hey, Owen." Larry said, smiling with a friendly face as Owen walked in through the spinning doors. "How are you tonight?"
Owen gave a deep sigh, and forced a smile onto his face. "Oh, you know, just the usual struggle of waking up while it's still dark."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He had hit the snooze button about seven times before finally waking up. The new schedule wasn't easy, but he'd have to get used to it.
"Hungry?" Larry asked, gesturing to a McDonald's bag he had on the information desk. "I figured you might want something to munch on. I'd bought it for my son, but he decided to stay with his mom tonight."
Owen blinked, then replied quickly. "Um...thank you…" He took the offered food, and unwrapped the breakfast sandwhich within. Indeed, he had skipped eating his….breakfast?...before arriving. He just hadn't had any time. And, it had been drizzling that, so eating on the go would have been a struggle.
Larry smiled again, and glanced down at his watch. "We have about fifteen minutes 'til sunset."
"Oh." Owen said, swallowing his mouthful of biscuit. "I thought I was on time…"
"On time?" Larry shook his head with a small snicker of laughter. "You're earlier than I thought you'd be."
"Really?" Owen asked, curious to know what his veteran coworker thought of him.
"Yeah. When I first started, I was pretty keen on getting here on time. Still am."
"Since you must be here before sunset, to protect the….exhibits?" Owen asked, unsure what he should refer to the living beings in the museum.
Larry nodded. "I can't afford to be more than a few minutes late. These guys seem to go crazy every time I'm not around."
Owen thought for a moment, before speaking again. "What is it like, guarding them every night?"
"Hard." Larry said, nodding once. "Definitely hard. But you get used to it. They're good people, good friends."
There was silence for a moment, both men thinking to themselves. After a minute Owen cleared his throat, and spoke.
"You mentioned you had a son?"
Larry nodded, taking a sip of coffee. "Nicky. He's thirteen. Turning fourteen next month."
"Ah." Owen said. He gave a small smile, and a slightly longing look filled his brown eyes. "I wish I had children."
Larry smiled. "Kids are great."
Owen gave a small laugh, before breaking off into a sigh. "I could have had children with Sylvia…"
Larry raised an eyebrow, gazing curiously at the other night guard. "Sylvia's that girl, right?"
Owen nodded, letting out a deep sigh. "I shouldn't have trusted her. She took everything I had, everything I worked for. She took my money, she took my job…" Owen paused, taking a deep, stressed breathe. "She may even end up taking my house."
Larry frowned, leaning forwards slightly and clasping his hands on the desk. "Owen?"
Owen looked up, ashamed he had shown his uncertain stress in front of his coworker. If he seemed too stressed, he could lose the job….
"Is that why you're upset tonight?" Larry asked quietly.
Owen nodded in defeat. "My landlord came during the day. He told me I have a week to pay my bill, or I will be evicted."
Larry winced. "I'm sorry…."
"It's okay." Owen said, giving his shoulders a shrug. "I'll find a way to make it."
"How much is the bill?" Larry asked. He knew it was none of his business, but he felt that he needed to know more about Owen to understand him.
Owen hesitantly handed him the bill, which he had left in his pocket in the hopes that it may magically disappear and all would be well again. Larry sucked in a breath, and looked at Owen.
"That's a lot." He said, shocked at how far behind Owen seemed to be on his payments.
"I would have paid it already, but Sylvia," Owen said the woman's name as if it were poison. "Took that, too."
"I wish there was something I can do…"
"It's okay." Owen said, giving the other night guard a small smile. "What time is it?"
Larry looked down at his watch, and stood. "Sundown is right now."
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Owen continued his steady pace through the hall, his senses stretched to the limit as he patrolled his assigned halls. The display cases holding the inanimate artifacts were a tempting distraction, but Owen stoned his curiosity back into submission, and made sure his eyes were fixed on the exhibits that passed him bye.
Luckily for him, his first night patrolling alone had been quiet and problem free. Most of the exhibits were downstairs, playing soccer on a makeshift court. Larry was coaching the whole thing, and had offered Owen to stay and watch. But Owen had politely declined. He was eager to prove himself a worthy night guardian, and had been happy to hear Larry tell him he could patrol the second floor.
Since there were so few exhibits about, Owen had been able to observe life at the museum without drawing attention to himself. He had seen some Viking women doing laundry in the bathroom, as well as a pair of intrepid explorers keen on making a map of the place. He had seen a few capuchin monkeys scamper fast, giving him nothing but an uninterested glance as they passed, chittering about something they obviously found interesting.
There had only been one hair raising encounter, when he ran into the local pride of lions. They had regarded him with hostile growls and a fake charge that sent the poor night guard screaming back the way he had come. Other than that, all been well.
Owen looked at one of the old antique clocks in the museums, one of the few still working. It was just past midnight, and Owen had pretty much explored every room on the top floor. Except, the one hall Larry had told him was under reconstruction. His legs were tired from walking, and he collapsed down on one of the wooden benches near the hall. His curiosity told him to walk in and confer with the tiny people he could see wandering about, but relented. It was not worth getting into trouble. Still, though, he was curious, and allowed himself a few moments to gaze into the hall and watch the bustle of the three dioramas.
As he watched the nightly commotions, his ears caught the sound of almost soundless footsteps below the bench. Owen froze, surprised at the sound. He had been sitting with his legs up on the bench, so he had not been spotted by whoever was walking beneath him. As quietly as possible, he moves onto his stomach, and hesitantly peaked beneath the wooden seat.
There, hiding in the shadow of the bench, was a tiny, blonde haired cowboy, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the giant man. Owen observed him, watching as he paced the length of the bench, his hands clasped behind his back and his head down. The tiny cowboy seemed to be deep in thought, and continued his pacing.
As he passed through a small beam of light, Owen caught his features. Coarse, blonde hair reached down to right about his neck, and he wore the typical cowboy garb. Nothing that significant, but Owen found himself even more intrigued after seeing his profile.
Perhaps it was the fact that such a small being was walking about and wanting to ask how, or maybe it was the strange feeling of familiarity he felt when he saw the cowboy. Either way, Owen decided to greet him.
"Hello there." Owen said softly.
The tiny cowboy jumped in surprise, giving a small yelp and whirling around to face the upside down head. Owen immediately regretted the sudden hello, and slowly maneuvered himself off of the bench, and onto the floor.
The tiny cowboy looked at him, his tiny body trembling as his blue eyes gazed at the face. Owen reached out with his hand, but the little cowboy shuffled back, pressing himself against the leg of the fence. Owen studied his features.
He looked afraid, and also slightly confused. Owen realised it was probably because of his sudden appearance. It seemed natural, for someone so small to be afraid of him. Owen also noted, with slight empathy, the dark bags under the cowboy's eyes, and the sad, lonely look in their depths.
"It's alright." Owen said gently, trying to sound nonthreatening.
He went to reach out again, but before he could, the tiny cowboy spoke.
"O-Ockie…?" He whispered, his voice hoarse and tired.
Owen frowned. "Pardon?" He asked, confused. Who was Ockie?
"Octavius...is...is that...you?" The cowboy asked, moving slowly out from under the bench.
Owen's frown deepened, and he shook his head.
"I'm sorry." He said, shrugging to add emphasis to his words. "I don't know anyone named 'Octavius'."
"But…" The cowboy stammered, his gaze confused.
Owen shook his head again, and scooted backwards as the tiny cowboy took a few paces towards him. They looked at each other for a moment, both unsure what to do. Owen looked into the saddened blue eyes, and felt a tearing sensation in his heart. There was something about the tiny cowboy that reminded him of someone he had once known, but could not recall. Owen had always been empathetic, but seeing the small cowboy so depressed and in pain hurt him somehow.
Owen reached out his hand, taking the tiny cowboy into his grasp. He held him up to eye level, where they looked at each for another long period of time, before the tiny cowboy's face lit up into a smile.
"Ockie! You came back!" He exclaimed loudly, startling Owen.
Owen was uneased by the cowboy's insistence that he was "Octavius" or "Ockie" or whatever.
"I'm not-"
"Yes you are!" The cowboy yelled, cutting Owen off. There was a glimmer of joy in his eyes he spoke. "I knew you'd come back!"
Before Owen could find a way to reply, he felt a sudden clash of fear and happiness in his heart, and without realising it he shook his hand, accidentally making the cowboy slip off his palm, landing on the floor.
"Ow!" The cowboy yelped, landing with a small thud. "Ockie! Don't go! Please! Come back!"
Jed stared in shock at the back of his fleeing friend, grief and confusion ripping at his tiny heart. Why hadn't Octavius said anything back? Why did he say he wasn't Octavius? Why had he left him?
"Octavius!" He yelled again. But he had already turned the corner. "Ockie…" Jed whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. He reached out a tiny hand after him, but let it collapse into his lap in distraught grief. A single tear fell down his cheek, and he fought to suppress a sob. "Come back…"
But Octavius was gone, disappearing around the corner, leaving the tiny cowboy to his misery.