The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

8.4. Oblivious (Old Shalon)

"Okay, let's all move together," I said to Money and Michael when the elevator doors opened.

Money was between us, his head hanging, barely conscious. Every step was a workout for all of us.

When we rounded the corner from elevator into the hallway, the first thing I noticed was a door across the way hanging open.

Curiouser still, when I managed to peek inside, it seemed the apartment was empty. Memory serves me, Commander Tom had been storing food in there for his 'troops.' Against all of my protests, he'd set up his command centre on my floor and the roof. The Exeter was one of the last condos standing in Old Vancouver, built in the window between the Big One - The Cascadia - and WW3 just three years later in 2034.

That empty room got my heart pumping. I shifted Money's weight and looked down the hall. That's when I saw that all the doors were open.

I immediately dropped my significant half of Money.

Michael was suddenly overwhelmed by the weight, and Money did a slow-topple onto the floor. Michael extricated himself from Money's arms and stood up and stood beside me.

I was in complete shock. "My books," I said quietly. My books, my books, my books.

"Shalon?" Michael asked. "Why're all the doors open?"

I took a deep breath and screamed, "My BOOKS!!!" and started running down the hall. I ran as fast as an out of shape, malnourished, seventy-two year old woman can run.

My stomach was an ocean of the darkest, coldest water. My mind was roaring with anger. "My f*cking books!" I screamed as I ran down the hall.

I entered the library, what had been suite 2714, and my suspicions were confirmed: my books were gone. All of them.

I spun around - every last book was gone. I bit my knuckle until it bled, trying to hold back the fury, the deep anger and rage. And heartache behind it all.

"That f*cking bastard stole all my books!" I yelled, seeing stars. I reached out to the wall beside me, about to faint. I leaned against the wall, and tried to catch my breath. My books were everything. My books were everything to me - everything. They made my life over the past twenty years mean something. They made me who I was. Without my books I was nothing. Nothing.

"Nothing!" I screamed and started falling down the wall to the floor, sobbing the greatest tears of sadness.

Michael raced to hold me up.

"Nothing, Michael," I cried. "They left me nothing."

"I'm so sorry, Shalon." Michael was crying too.

I clutched onto him. He knew - Michael knew they were gone. Somehow he knew it as well as I did. They were gone for good.

"Nike," Michael said, some moments later. "Help me get her up. Let's get her to the apartment."

I turned and there was Nike, standing at the door. She was wearing some new boots Michael had brought back for her - a crusty pair of cowboy boots ten sizes too big - and her white puffy jacket pulled up around her chin and down to her knees, two small stick legs connecting the two.

"They stole my books, Nike!" I cried.

She rushed over, and hugged me.

"Tell me what happened, Nike. What happened?" I clutched at her white jacket and her tiny frame, no more than a hundred pounds, fell easily towards me. "Please, Nike, tell me everything!"