Ending A of 3

The Permanent Collection

You lift the glass lid and lean in to read the card more closely. The velvet is soft. It is so soft. You do not remember climbing inside, only the quiet click of the lid settling over you.

The sheets slide off the other cases one by one. Beneath them stand the guards who came before you, each in a uniform from a different decade, each wearing the same calm expression you can feel settling onto your own face.

In the morning, for the first time in forty years, the doors of the Halloran open to the public. Children press their noses to your glass. You are, everyone agrees, the most lifelike exhibit in the building.

You became part of the collection.