“Oh, no.  No, no, no.  This is bad,” Percy mumbled nervously.  He’d been a computer expert for a while and was in charge of the museum’s surveillance system because of this, but he’d never gone through something this bad.  Percy had generally worked on his own and relied on the security guards to handle any possible problems while he’d focused on the pieces of technology used to monitor the building.  However, today was different.  He found himself all alone inside, with the museum’s guards on the outside and focused on any possible entrances.  The head of the museum’s security had suggested this plan which would Percy alone inside.  He didn’t particularly like this, but the head of security was a burly, intimidating man, and as far as Percy was concerned, burly, intimidating men were not particularly good people to argue with. 

Adversely, Percy was small and feeble: five feet and six inches of skin and bones.  The timidity continued up to his mouse-like face, topped in dark, messy hair that went every which way and covered partially by a pair of ill-fitting old glasses that had been repaired too many times to count.  He’d gotten these glasses when he was fifteen years old and had been wearing them for fifteen years more, and every time they broke he’d been urged to get new ones by his parents and friends, but from Percy’s perspective, they already worked, so why bother replacing them?  He knew how to repair them himself, so it saved a lot of cost.

His main focus was a set of monitors that showed the feed from each security camera, and what was particularly distressing was the fact that one of the monitors had gone out.  Normally this was a fairly simple fix, but it wasn’t the fix that was concerning - it was the fact that this feed had come from the security camera that monitored the museum’s most valuable treasure: a classic painting that was worth upwards of a million dollars. 

Percy shuddered at the thought of having to deal with this situation.  He was normally uneasy, but with this much money on the line, it was even worse.  Part of what he liked about computers was that once he learned enough about them, he could know exactly what was going on and how he could control it.  However, he had no idea what was going on here, and he knew that he had to face this situation, whether he liked it or not.  Had he been thinking logically, he would have realized that someone had to have messed with the camera.  Percy had adjusted the security system to a tee: it was exactly how he liked it, and he knew exactly how to control it.  And the cameras rarely, if ever, cut out.  However, as Percy’s anxiety began to take over, he hoped against hope that nothing had happened: that this was just a glitch in the system, that the camera had simply gone out.  But even if he didn’t acknowledge it, the fear in the pit of his stomach was still there, and the possibility of an intruder haunted him.

As much as he detested lying, his pure, unadulterated panic made him lie to himself. 
“It’s not a lie if you believe it,” he argued to nobody in particular, as if someone, somewhere had tried to make him wrong.  “I don’t have to go.  It’s probably nothing.”  The truth of the matter, however, was that he didn’t believe it - and regardless of his anxiety, it was his conscience, not his hatred of deceit, that would prove the deciding factor.  He simply couldn’t stand by while someone could have stolen such a valuable painting.  He couldn’t be responsible.  Even if it seemed like a reasonable task, for the first time in his life, Percy decided not to take the easy way out.  He sighed, got up from the chair, and began his journey.

Regardless of how large the metaphorical step was in his fight with anxiety, what he was doing now was much less a leap and more of a nervous shuffle.  “This was the wrong decision,” he mumbled to himself, knowing that he had made the right decision.  He was moving slowly down the hallway towards his destination, the high-security room that held the museum’s most valuable artifact.  Even if he had challenged his fears, he still didn’t want to spend any more time on this journey than he had to.  With no hallway lights on, he relied simply on the moonlight to illuminate the large, empty hallway that made him feel so small and alone.   The plain white walls were a canvas for the dark paintings that were the shadows, and these paintings were an accurate portrayal of his fear.  Glancing to each side, he saw a human figure from the corner of his eye, but as he hurriedly turned back for a second look, the silhouettes had disappeared and drifted back into the dark corners of his mind.  Regardless of the journey’s distance, his walk to the room that had housed the famous painting felt like a long trek, as the same images in the shadows appeared, disappeared, and reappeared from his vision.

He approached the door with a surprisingly calm silence.  In spite of his fear, he had realized over the course of his journey through the hallway, that whatever happened, he knew he had made the right decision.  He had conquered his fear, and in knowing that he had made it through the anxiety, knowing that his anxiety was conquerable, had made him comfortable with his position.  With his newfound confidence, he gripped the door handle wearing a grim smile.  He turned the handle, pulled it...and nothing happened.