Dark Museum

Josh

They'd never had hot water in the shower, but at least they had water. Every bout of cleanliness was an exercise in speed; wet the body, shut off the water to soap up, rinse while shrieking.

Josh missed taking long, hot showers. They gave him time to think to zone out. Thoughts of Erica used to come up frequently in the shower, innocently enough: she liked certain smells, so Josh bought shampoo and soap to bring her closer. She liked clean-shaven men, so he shaved, imagining what conversation they might have that day either before a show or on the phone, whether his baby soft skin would raise her eyebrow.

She never commented on any of it.

Showering at the museum gave Josh something to occupy his time, like now when he couldn't sleep. That, and he wanted to ensure Sophia didn't find him repulsive in case they got close. If he messed things up with her, the next few weeks or years would be awkward.

It won't be years, he thought. We'll all be dead because the food's almost gone.

Because the bar of soap they used as shampoo gave them no variety, Sophia never told him which scents she preferred. While Cy's leftover things contained a few disposable razors, and Josh kept his face smooth for the first week or so, the lack of shaving cream irritated his skin. He actually liked himself with stubble. Letting it grow left Erica behind.

He supposed if he were rescued and found his way home now, Erica might perceive him differently. Extreme situations tended to bring people closer, but she'd made her intentions clear. Josh thought he and Sophia would stay together once they were free, although he couldn't remember if she'd mentioned being attached to anyone outside; extreme situations also promoted infidelity.

Getting on with his life was a satisfying jab at Erica, although she might never know. And that was the thing — no one might ever know what happened to him because they might never escape. The tour would hate for a while because he'd bailed on them. His friends wouldn't notice he was gone because he'd been on tour for the past month. They weren't expecting him back for another forty days, at least. Same with his family: he'd already told them not to expect him for Christmas; they were upset, but they wouldn't be waiting. He was the perfect kidnapping victim.

The soap at the museum, like the food, was down to a sliver. He lathered the piece in his hands once, rubbed the suds on only the most important areas, and let the rest go. His hair was already adjusting to infrequent washes, although his curls wanted conditioner.

He shut the shower off, grabbed the t-shirt he'd claimed as a towel, and shivered as he dried off.

"Is it strange we haven't run out of water?" Ajay said.

Josh dropped the shirt in surprise. Ajay was standing at one of the toilets.

"Didn't hear you come in," he said and continued toweling.

Ajay zipped and washed his hands. After a silent moment, he said, "We all make mistakes."

Ajay wiped his hands on his pants.

Josh pulled his clothes on.

"All of us," Ajay continued.

"What are you talking about?"

Ajay leaned against the sink and rubbed his hands down his face. "Got any kids?"

"No."

"I do. One. He's ten. I'm not there all the time, but I do the best I can with my schedule. Mostly if we're filming in Mumbai, I'll go home every night, but I'm also on the road a lot. He spends so much time on his video games and reading books — my wife can't really get him to open up or socialize, but I can. She says he's like a different person around me."