I’m mostly sober now, and reasonably alert. Time passes, nothing happens. At last: I hear a soft thud, a gasp. Silence. I wait. I stand up, silently, and pad into the Hall, walking slowly through the light that slants across the marble floor. I stand in the center of the doors and call out, not loud: “Henry.”

　Nothing. Good boy, wary and silent. I try again. “It’s okay, Henry. I’m your guide, I’m here to show you around. It’s a special tour. Don’t be afraid, Henry.”

　I hear a slight, oh-so-faint noise. “I brought you a T-shirt, Henry. So you won’t get cold while we look at the exhibits.” I can make him out now, standing at the edge of the darkness. “Here. Catch.” I throw it to him, and the shirt disappears, and then he steps into the light. The T-shirt comes down to his knees. Me at five, dark spiky hair, moon pale with brown almost Slavic eyes, wiry, coltish. At five I am happy, cushioned in normality and the arms of my parents. Everything changed, starting now.

　I walk forward slowly, bend toward him, speak softly. “Hello. I’m glad to see you, Henry. Thank you for coming tonight.”

　“Where am I? Who are you?” His voice is small and high, and echoes a little off the cold stone.

　“You’re in the Field Museum. I have been sent here to show you some things you can’t see during the day. My name is also Henry. Isn’t that funny?”

　He nods.

　“Would you like some cookies? I always like to eat cookies while I look around museums.