“Hit the lights.” He is ordering her now. Mary releases his arm and stretches her hand across the wall behind them, flipping the switches. One. Two. Three. The overhead lamps shine. “Where was it?”

“There.” She points down the corridor, and that is where Dr. Fisher goes, holding his briefcase in front of him like a shield. Mary watches him cautiously step into the reptile room. She grips the handle of the door, keeping it open just enough, she thinks, looking at it, judging, for Dr. Fisher to slip through if he has to make a run for it. She hears footsteps and glances up. His briefcase is at his side.

“There’s nothing there.”

“But I’m sure,” she begins to say. Mary is still frightened, but she steps tentatively down the corridor to the reptile room. On a table, underneath a thick plate of glass, there are four different piles of eggs. Next to them is a sign that has recently been added, to make the museum more interactive. Can you guess who will come out of these eggs? If a button is pushed, the other side of the window lights up and a small preserved group of baby alligators, snakes, turtles, and lizards appears, surrounded by bits of shell. Mary gets on her hands and knees and looks under the table. She stands and searches the corners, the king cobra, the montage of a crocodile swallowing a goat. When she comes out, Dr. Fisher locks the doors behind her. He catches hold of her wrist. Mary is terrified for a moment that he is going to kiss her. Then she realizes he is taking her pulse. He stares at his watch, his lips moving slightly as he counts. She feels nauseated and strangely disappointed.

When Mary gets home, her father is waiting with his glasses on. There are magazines and books on his bed. Except for his emaciated body, he looks like the kind of father she wanted as a teenager, the kind from television, who dispenses advice, stays home every night, and worries about his daughter’s virginity.