The woman’s arms were laden with packages. Old cardboard boxes, rumpled at the corners, edges softened with years of openings and closings. They were long, flat rectangles. She wasn’t sure what was in them, but she assumed they were Christmas ornaments recovered from some attic or basement in an old home on the East Coast somewhere. She walked briskly through the museum trying to find a map that would lead her to her destination. The place, being comprised entirely of marble floors, walls, monuments, and statues, was bright and cool. Her children, chattering, orbited her in gleeful circles as she searched for him. Ted Kennedy had passed away a few years ago, but she was on her way to return these things to him – or to his grave, at least.
But the museum was massive and her path was convoluted. The maps were unclear, the guidance lacking. People milled about in the background, but they did not offer help and she did not ask it of them. The children had run off somewhere, or maybe left entirely, one could not be certain. Around and around the museum she wandered. Possibly in circles. There were other graves and memorials along the main hallway, and in little nooks here and there, but not the one she sought.
That was when things started to go very wrong. Everyone fled and left her was alone in the massive marble halls. She turned a new corner and wound up in some back area, with ramps for unloading new shipments of valuables. Even this utility hall was pristine, built with the same marble the viewing areas were. Fire engulfed the room and raged across her path to Mr. Kennedy’s grave. At the end of the flaming marble ramp, two velociraptors fought. And yet, with such danger around her, the woman stood at the doorway, observing detachedly, merely disappointed that she would never complete her mission.