Chapter 14
1030 Words
The Tuesday meeting at the museum felt like a visit to a bygone era. Shantali walked through the familiar corridors with David beside her, their footsteps echoing against marble floors that had once been the backdrop to her nightly obsessions. Now, the Egyptian wing held no mystery for her, just artifacts behind glass, ancient but safely contained in their climate-controlled cases.
Dr Hassan was younger than Shantali had expected, perhaps mid-thirties, with intelligent dark eyes and prematurely silver-streaked hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. She greeted them in the conference room with a firm handshake and an appraising look that lingered on Shantali's face.
"Thank you for coming," Dr Hassan said, gesturing to chairs around a polished table. "I hope you don't mind that I asked Mr Chen to join us. Given that he witnessed the phenomenon as well..."
"That's fine," Shantali replied, settling into her chair with David beside her. "Though I should mention upfront that I'm here in a professional capacity only. I've documented what I observed for security purposes, but I'm not interested in extensive research collaboration."
Dr Hassan nodded, opening a thick folder. "I understand. May I ask what changed your mind? When we spoke yesterday, you seemed... protective of your experience."
"I chose to prioritise my personal life over pursuing supernatural mysteries," Shantali said simply. "Some things are more important than understanding everything."
A flicker of something, regret? Recognition? Crossed the Egyptologist's features. "A wise choice. One I wish I had made years ago."
She spread several photographs across the table: thermal imaging, electromagnetic readings, and atmospheric composition charts. The data looked familiar to Shantali, similar to what she'd captured during her own brief investigation.
"These readings span three years," Dr Hassan continued. "Seven documented incidents of atmospheric anomalies in the Egyptian wing, all centred around the Ptolemaic collection. The patterns are remarkably consistent."
David leaned forward, studying the images. "Seven people experienced what we did?"
"That we know of. Likely more went unreported." Dr Hassan pulled out a leather journal, its pages yellowed with age. "This belonged to Dr Amelia Thorne. She left it to me before her death, along with instructions to 'find the others who had seen the serpent's truth.'"
Shantali's chest tightened. She'd returned Dr Thorne's published journal to the library, but clearly the professor had kept private notes as well.
"What did she discover?" Shantali asked, despite her resolve to remain professionally detached.
"That the cobra manifestation isn't random. It appears to individuals at crucial decision points, such as career changes, relationship crossroads, and family crises. Always, when someone is paralysed by fear of making the wrong choice." Dr Hassan opened the journal carefully. "She theorised that certain electromagnetic fields around ancient artifacts can trigger temporal perception shifts in sensitive individuals, allowing glimpses of probability streams rather than fixed futures."
Shantali felt David's hand find hers under the table, anchoring her to the present moment. "And Dr Thorne's conclusion?"
"That the visions themselves aren't dangerous, it's the obsession with controlling their outcomes that destroys lives." Dr Hassan's voice carried the weight of personal experience. "She spent her final years trying to warn others, but few listened. Academic pride, you understand. The need to be the first to solve an ancient mystery."
"What about you?" David asked gently. "When did you encounter the cobra?"
Dr Hassan closed the journal, her fingers tracing its worn cover. "Three years ago. I was considering leaving my husband for a colleague, someone who shared my passion for Egyptology in ways my marriage seemed to lack." She looked up, meeting their eyes. "The cobra showed me two futures: one where I pursued that affair and ended up brilliant but alone, and another where I recommitted to my marriage and found a different kind of fulfilment."
"Which did you choose?" Shantali asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.
"Initially? The wrong one." Dr Hassan's smile was rueful. "I became obsessed with documenting the phenomenon, convinced I could unlock its secrets. I nearly lost my marriage anyway, just through different means. It took Dr Thorne's death, and finding her alone in that office, to shock me back to what mattered."
The conference room fell silent except for the building's ambient hum. Shantali understood now why Dr Hassan had wanted this meeting, not for research, but for closure. To see that someone else had chosen differently, had learned from the warnings embedded in the experience itself.
"How is your marriage now?" Shantali asked.
"Stronger than ever. We renewed our vows last month." Dr Hassan's expression brightened genuinely. "My husband finally understands why I'm passionate about ancient cultures, and I've learned to appreciate his perspective on the present moment. The cobra was right, some futures are worth choosing, but only if you're willing to do the work to build them."
David squeezed Shantali's hand. "So what happens to your research now?"
"I'm documenting the pattern, but not to solve it. To help others recognise it for what it is, a gift, not a puzzle." Dr Hassan began gathering her papers. "Dr Thorne left detailed instructions. When someone experiences the cobra's visions, I'm to offer support, not encouragement to investigate further."
"A supernatural intervention program," Shantali said with a slight smile.
"Something like that." Dr Hassan returned the smile. "Though I suspect you two no longer need my support. You seem to have found your balance."
As they prepared to leave, Dr Hassan handed Shantali a business card. "If you ever want to talk, not as researcher to subject, but as one person who's been there to another, please call. Sometimes it helps to process these experiences with someone who understands."
Shantali pocketed the card, surprised by the sincerity of the gesture. "Thank you. I might take you up on that."
They walked together toward the museum's main entrance, past the Renaissance galleries and contemporary exhibits that had once been routine stops on Shantali's patrol route. The Egyptian wing now felt distant, its mysteries resolved not through research but through acceptance.
"One more thing," Dr Hassan said as they reached the lobby. "The hieroglyphics on that statue the Abernathys gave you, would you like to know what they say?"
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