Hugh's eyes moved from the cases and narrowed on the various exhibited objects. He saw ghastly masks with crooked fanged teeth, long and elegant daggers, ceremonial swords, charms attached to ornate chains, wooden toys, and traditional village clothes. Hugh was not certain whether he was looking at a historical exhibition or someone's personal collection. Each item lacked a caption card to provide some historical or cultural context.
Hugh placed himself in the center of the room and observed the entire collection. More questions arose regarding Office M.
Did all these pieces belong to Masha the mystic? Were these items even historical in nature or just mere replicas acting as decorations? If they were genuine antiques then how profitable could Masha's business be to afford such a collection—inside such a tower?
Hugh looked down at his watch and 12:27 beamed back at him. Too much time had elapsed admiring this collection and he needed to pick up the pace.
Hugh walked over to the door on the right side of the room and rank the intercom. The bell rang once and Hugh heard a large mechanism, like the gears of a bank vault, unlock within the door. He tested the door handle and let himself in.
Hugh entered a comfortable looking lobby whose modern appearance contrasted with the adjacent museum. Paintings hung on the walls and overlooked a neat and clean sitting area. Leather sofas nestled against a window that gave a panorama of the city. A coffee machine sat on a waist high table and offered free drinks.
Hugh was of the mind to brew himself up a drink but couldn't pull his attention from the paintings. They were strange for they depicted bright colored anthropomorphic cats. Some were arguing over bread, others were belly laughing at another feline pair that had tripped and fallen to the concrete, and one cat was even pointing a pistol at a crowd of police.
There seemed to be some sort of social commentary in these paintings, but the cartoony depictions of cats distracted Hugh from the real social message.
Hugh stopped himself from analyzing the message behind the feline with a gun and glanced around the room. He found the receptionist's desk on the other end of the lobby. From his vantagepoint, no one was there. The absence of movement behind the desk struck Hugh as odd because someone had to have unlocked the door less than a minute ago. Perhaps lumberjack Timmy had darted to the bathroom.
Hugh decided to wait at the receptionist's desk. When Timmy came back then Hugh's presence would prove that he was indeed on time for his appointment. Timmy would have no justification to take him for being late or not respecting Masha's time.
Hugh came to the desk and was instantly startled.
A man was sitting there. He was so dainty and thin that Hugh had been unable to see him from the other end of the lobby. He was not a short man, but his lack of body mass, coupled with poor posture, greatly reduced his visibility. The man behind the desk looked like a caricature of someone who had spent their entire life in a library archive researching some key literary moment in history, all the while subsisting on dust from book covers. The short disheveled white hair, barely perceptible thin lips, and an expression of having unexpectedly drunk sour milk, lent credence to Hugh's conclusion that this man could not be Timmy.
The man looked up from behind the desk, adjusted his coke bottle glasses and then looked back down at his keyboard.
“Gg-greetings. You must be Hugh,” the frail man said in a hushed and trembled voice that caused Hugh to lean a bit over the desk to hear more clearly. “Masha is waiting for you in the room down the hall. Please go when you are ready.”
“Thank you. I'll see myself to Masha's office.” Hugh said but he wasn't ready to take his leave just yet. He wanted to know the identity of this non-lumberjack behind the desk. “Are you Timmy, the person I spoke with on the phone yesterday?” Hugh leaned even further over the desk to not miss what this delicate man had to say.
In response to Hugh's encroachment, the man flung himself backwards in his chair, hunched his shoulders as if he were expecting Hugh to bash him with a blunt object, and lifted a handkerchief to shield his nose.
The man started to tremble ever so slightly, and Hugh could not believe that this was the lumberjack from yesterday's call.
The man continued to shake, quiver, and guard his nose with his handkerchief like it were some valuable gem and Hugh a well-armed mugger.
Hugh stood there, waiting for an answer to his question, but none came. The man behind the desk stared back and trembled.
“Pardon me.” Hugh said. “Did I do something wrong? I did not mean to startle you or discomfort you in any way. I can leave you if you would like. I'm sure Masha is anticipating my arrival.”
“Why would something be wrong? Everything is fine and dandy!” The man said after a few seconds. His shakes came to a stop, but the handkerchief remained on his nose and his voice cracked as he spoke. “I am indeed the Timmy who you conversed with early yesterday evening. It's a great pleasure to meet you, Hugh.”
Hugh took a step back from the desk, not just to give Timmy more personal space but because Hugh was hit with a sudden wave of unease.
Looking at Timmy's bottled-up anxiety, fear and timidness was like looking at fragments of Hugh's own childhood. His childhood, and even his teens, was a time of fear, insecurity, and loneliness. It was quite common that Hugh would be paralyzed by having to speak to another person. Hugh had to work very hard to shed the inner emotional demons that said he was worthless and would never be good enough.
Hugh's heart ached looking at Timmy and it ached recollecting the child he himself had been.
“Excuse me, but Masha is waiting for you in the next room.” Timmy interrupted Hugh's self-reflections with a gentle whisper. “Wouldn't it be wise to get going?”
“That would be a good idea.” Hugh pulled himself back to reality but delayed going straight to Masha's office. He looked at Timmy and gave him a weak smile. “I appreciate your help Timmy and I'm glad we got to meet.”
The handkerchief left Timmy's nose and he reciprocated Hugh's smile with one of his own.
“Me too. But I don't believe this will be our last chat.” Timmy said and sat back down in his chair, giving a non-verbal que that it was time for Hugh to go.
Hugh nodded and made for Masha's office.
Hugh came to Masha's office and the door was slightly ajar. He rested his hand on the door, pushed it open and passed over the threshold.
The room was more suited for a university professor than a mystic. Wooden shelves wrapped around the entirety of the room and no walls were visible. The shelves were so densely crammed with books that Hugh swore he could hear groans and moans from the shelves as they labored to contain their contents. Hugh balled his hands into fists to restrain himself from reaching out, hooking his finger on the top of a single book's spine, and testing how much it would resist being pried free.
At the center of thickly packed collection of literature reclined a person with their legs propped atop a broad, glossy, and heavy table. Bottoms of purple sneakers and the waves from a matching flowy dress shown back at Hugh, but the person's face was not visible. A smartphone, held aloft by hands with individual nails painted a different color of the rainbow, obstructed Hugh's view. All Hugh could see was an outline of the person's hair around the phone, a wild and golden puff cut to shoulder length and dyed with streaks of pink.
Hugh could hear haptic vibration coming from the phone, signaling that the person who Hugh assumed to be Masha was typing something. Since she had made no effort to acknowledge him, nor showed any sign of putting aside her phone, Hugh decided to break the ice himself.