Mortimer was born on an unremarkable spring morning. His parents were simple people, farmers, and Mortimer was the fourth of an eventual eight children.
He spent most of his childhood doing chores. He was a quiet boy, who never really got in the way or talked with the rest of the family. For a couple years, his eldest brother decided to pick on him quite ruthlessly, but he grew out of it, and Mortimer never complained or cried.
When he was 18, Mortimer left home to move to the city. Years before, his brother had left as well. His parent’s had begged his brother, “Don’t leave, we need you. The farm will be yours one day.” Yet Mortimer was unsure if anyone noticed his departure. If they had, they did not say anything.
In the city, life was very different. Everything was busy and loud, and it seemed no one had time for anyone, not just Mortimer. He found a job, working in the storehouse of the city museum. It was quiet, lonely work, but he found himself surrounded by antiquities and curiosities from around the world. He would work late into the night, long after the others had left, and imagine he was a different man from a different age.
It was a brisk fall morning he met Ruby. She saw him sitting on a park bench, oblivious to the cold, reading a history textbook. She started a conversation, and she thought his awkwardness was sweet, his quiet nature calmed her. Her friends had told her she needed to seek a different sort of man, as she had been so wronged, and Mortimer felt very safe to her.
For the first time, Mortimer got a taste of love. Everything seemed brighter, fresher and more interesting with Ruby in his life. He worshipped her, and for two years he poured his every thought, dream and energy into her. And he was happy to do it.
One summer morning, she was gone, and remained so for every morning to come. Mortimer had at first been worried, but her friends assured him she was fine. She’d met someone new, who excited her, and she was finally happy. He had thought she had been. But as time passed, he began to understand. She was meant to fly, and Mortimer lived underground.
More years passed, and he retreated deeper into his mind and the museum. His life was there, his dreams lived in the artifacts, and he didn’t feel at home in the building he slept.
One day, he was no longer alone as he stayed into the evenings. A new guide, Pearl, wandered the halls and storerooms at night as well, lost in the history and mystery of the treasures. It was only a matter of time for them to connect. Kindred souls, their understanding of one another was a peace Mortimer had never known, or even thought possible.
Before long, they were wed, and Mortimer felt he had become the man he had been suppose to be. He did not think life could be better, until the day she told him she was pregnant. His heart unlocked, and he was truly joyful.
But there was complication after complication, and four months later he held her hand as the doctor told them they’d lost the baby. He held her so tightly that night, and each of the following nights, as her body shook with sobs. We’ll get through this, he thought. I love her, we’ll make it though.
But it was too much for Pearl, and one spring evening, Mortimer came home to find her dead in their bed, empty pill bottles scattered about. And as he lie there beside his wife, he held her and cried quietly, and wondered if she’d forgotten it was his birthday.
Though his world and heart had shattered, Mortimer’s day to day did not, and he went on working away his days, and wandering the halls at night, until he became an old man. The other workers would make jokes about retirement and laugh, and he would smile or chuckle and pretend to not get that they weren’t really joking. No one wants to work with the creepy quiet old man, but this place is all I have, he knew.
He was taking a crate of ancient ornaments into basement storage when he fell. He tumbled down the stairs with his cargo, and crashed into the floor. He knew he was hurt, that things were broken, but he couldn’t find the strength to call for help. He waited for five hours until someone stumbled upon him. As the paramedics were taking him from the museum, he overheard some of the other employees talking. “Those ornaments were irreplaceable.”
He died in Central City Hospital before anyone there had a chance to care about him. His body remained in the morgue for ten days as the staff tried to contact family. They were unsuccessful in their efforts, and he was buried on a county plot, in a row of John and Jane Does.
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