The Dreaming: Old Shalon (Book 4)

8.2. The Project

"I think she's coming around," someone said.

There was some shuffling.

My vision was so blurry, I couldn't see a thing.

"Most curious," I heard Sally say.

Screw you, Sally! I thought.

I pushed a hand away, someone was touching my cheek. "Get off me," I yelled. "Let me up!"

I blinked furiously, and my vision slowly came into view — I was surrounded by people staring down at me.

Riggs and his men were arriving on the scene, presumably just having been called over. Thankfully, it seemed I'd only fainted for a moment.

Riggs barked orders for the others to retrieve a medi-vac. Whatever that was.

"Shalon, are you alright?" Michael exclaimed. He was squeezing my hand in his grubby paw.

Ugh. When was the last time he cleaned those hands? I wondered.

Nicole was kneeling on the other side of me, chewing on a few loose threads of her sweater, looking even more vulnerable and scared than the moment I'd met her.

I tried to move and groaned. Oh, my hip! This was the second time I'd fallen down today. Other than this morning, I couldn't remember the last time I'd fallen down... not since that time with Michael years ago.

The memory flashed through my mind. Michael and I stumbling through an apartment building that looked like a volcano had spewed lave through it. Everything was scorched. That was one of the last times I'd ever been out treasure-hunting. I'd fallen — .

My thoughts were interrupted — someone was talking softly above me.

I rolled my head back, and there, staring down into my eyes, was Mercer.

I realised then that my head was resting on something warm and soft. EEUW! Yuck! He'd placed my head on his meaty thigh. He was holding my neck, presumably taking my pulse.

"What are you doing?" I pushed him away. Ach, all these people touching me made me feel claustrophobic. But I was too weak to get up. Goddamnit! I said silently.

"Please rest, Shalon. You are weak. Sally has done a complete diagnostic and has assured me that you will be fine, but you have low blood sugar combined with a panic attack." He held out his hands, "I'm sorry I wasn't a good host. I should have had a meal prepared for you. I've asked for some juice and bread."

Juice and bread sounded good, but I wasn't going to lie here on my back for everyone to stare at.

I rolled over onto my side and sat up. Ouch, my head! I must have banged it real good. Oh god, my back was seizing up. I'd probably pulled a muscle. Stupid klutz! I admonished silently.

"Help me up," I shouted at Nike and Michael, who were standing there like I was some sort of spectacle, like a whale washed up on the beach.

I realised it was an exact repeat of this morning, me yelling for help to get up.

It's a sign, I thought involuntarily. A sign of something ominous. Falling down twice in one day — that was bad, that was really bad. It must be, right? And didn't bad things come in threes? And what did it mean that I was asking children to help me up?

I pushed these anxious thoughts away. I knew better than to indulge in magical thinking. It only led to madness — I'd have another panic attack before I knew it.