"I was up on 33rd and Cambie, helping Crystal.... But I came here first thing this morning. I tried to come here as fast as I could."

I took a deep breath and rubbed my face with both hands, feeling like I could maybe rub this feeling away. Holy shit, I thought to myself. This is big. This is really big. "So, what did you say to him – you said you'd do it?"

"Yeah, I said I'd do it."

"And did you bring him books?"

He got excited, "Yes, I spent the evening..." he stopped, embarrassed at being caught in his own lie.

The little bugger. But I couldn't really blame him.

"Go on, go on, never mind. What did you give him?"

"Well, first I gave him a bunch of old rotting paperbacks that Crystal was using to start fires with."

"And... what did he think of them?" I was a bit skeptical that a bunch of paperbacks were what this man was looking for.

"He said it was great, and he took 'em from me right away. He had this... machine thing. It was like nothing I ever saw. It..." he got up to show me the dimensions, "it was like this big and it had a handle sticking out and a giant box on top of it, and underneath weren't any wheels – weren't nothing. Thing was just floating there, and it moved light as a feather. He could move it around with one hand."

He modeled the way the man had pulled the device behind him.

"Yeah, that's called a Hauly," I replied. They must have power in New Van. This just kept getting bigger. "So, go back to your conversation. Tell me about this deal you made with him."

"Well, okay, so he said he's also a book collector and he's on a special mission from some taskforce..."

"What do you mean, taskforce?"

"It had some really long fancy name." He stopped to think. "Something like the 'Cultural Preservation Taskforce' or something like that. And he's on a mission to save human culture from being destroyed."

This just kept getting weirder. I nodded for him to continue.

"He said he's willing to pay me to help him and I asked him what I had to do, and he said I just need to find books for him. And I asked him what kind of books, and he said, any – all – any that were in danger of being destroyed. And he kept going on and on about his taskforce and his mission and how important it was to save our culture from being destroyed. I kept thinking, what culture. I didn't know what he meant, he was using big fancy words that I've never hear before."

"Then what – how'd you agree to work for him?"

"Well, I asked what he would pay me with and he said he could give me food or clothing, or medicines, whatever I needed. And I told him I'd do it."

"And then what?"

"Then he shook my hand – like proper. I never shook anyone's hand before." He reached down and rubbed his right hand, as if the energy of the handshake was still there. "It felt really weird -- really cool." 

He noticed I was watching him closely and clammed up. After a moment he gave his best attempt to change the subject. "And then he gave me this backpack." He leaned and reached under the table and brought out a bag I hadn't noticed before. 

He put his bag on the table and opened a zipper on the side. It made a sound that I hadn't heard in a long time. A fresh, strong zipper sound – I knew immediately that the bag was of high quality. 

He reached inside and pulled out a phone or some kind of walkie-talkie. He turned it around, examining it and I realised he was about to do something with it, turn it on or something. 

"Stop!" I yelled. "Don't turn it on here you fool!" I grabbed the device from him. "Don't you ever turn it on anywhere near here," I hissed. "That technology can probably track where you are, where you've been."

I looked at it, turned it around, examining it in the same way he had. Looking for a light or some sign that it was already broadcasting a signal. 

He looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, Shalon."

"Don't you think this guy wants my books?" I looked at him, shaking my head. I knew he was sorry and didn't mean harm, but I felt he should have known better. "Don't you think that if he knows about you then he knows about me and my library?" 

"I swear, Shalon. I didn't tell him about you – about..." Michael looked around. "About your books. There's plenty of other books out there, you just got to know where to look....  And I know where to look. " 

He fell silent and then after a moment, he lifted his eyes again and said, "Its true, you know, they are getting destroyed." A silence. "I think he's doing a good thing."

I felt anger burning in my chest. I couldn't believe what an idiot he was. "Jesus Christ, Michael, you're being naive – you don't know a thing about this man. You don't know what he's doing with these books – he could be burning them for all you know."

Michael frowned. "Why in the world would he do that?"

"Why would anybody do that? It's happened throughout history. Sometimes people don't want certain information being out in the world. For whatever reason – maybe it goes against their religion or their values, maybe they want to keep a secret." 

I shook my head at him. I was so angry. "Books hold information, Michael. Information that you have that others don't have is power. That's what power is essentially: information that you have that others don't." 

His eyes had grown wider and wider as I talked. 

"My point is that you don't know what he wants with the books." 

Michael nodded his head. After a thoughtful moment of silence, he said, "Well, you're right – I don't know. I'm sorry, Shalon." 

I exhaled at the concilatory tone to his voice. 

Then he continued. "But you know what? I don't care either! I don't care what he does with those books. He can burn them – why not? Everyone else is burning them anyway – for heat, for fires. You don't know. You haven't been out there in years, what do you know!? Did you know that there aren't even any books left in the Mount Pleasant library? They're all gone up in smoke. No one knows how to read here – books are useless. The information in those books is useless to people here...."

"Listen!" I interrupted. I'd let his rant go on long enough. "What I'm saying is that you don't know this man's intentions. You don't know if he'll keep his word and bring you to New Van."

"Yes I do," he said sullenly.

"You do, do you? And how do you know that?"

"Cuz I know. I can feel it. I trust him. Just like I trusted you."

Well that last one had me. I sat back and shut up for a moment. He had trusted me – like a dog following me around, just knowing that I'd take him in if he persisted. He did have an intuition on him, that boy.

"You feel it, do you?" I asked at last. 

"Yes, I do. I can't explain why, but I know he's telling the truth. He's going to bring me to New Van, and he'll bring you too, I'm sure of it. You have so many books – his eyes would pop out of his head if he ever saw your library. This is your ticket, Shalon!" He hopped out of his seat, full of passion, full of excitement and hope for the future.

"Goddammit!" I slammed my hand down on the table. Michael cringed. It wasn't going to be as easy as that. He was living in some kind of fantasy.

I had to close my eyes and breathe. I had to calm down. It wasn't the boy's fault. I just had this horrible feeling – it was all falling apart. No matter what way I turned, things just weren't going to work out. There were deep cracks forming in the house that was my life and I didn't like it.

I kept my eyes closed and said calmly, "So he gave you the bag and then what?"

Michael had sat back down. I could tell he was just about as frustrated with my bad mood as I was with his dangerous ignorance.

"Then he asked if I could read. I told him I could. Then he asked me where I learned and I told him a friend taught me."

I opened one eye and peered at him, looking to see if he was telling the truth. I nodded for him to continue and closed my eyes again. 

"So he gave me a piece of paper, shiny and white and new and printed on a printer!" 

"What was on the paper, Michael?" I asked, losing my patience. 

"A list of the types of books he's especially interested in." There was a rustling sound as Michael unfolded the paper. 

I couldn't open my eyes. "Read it"

"Math, geometry, life sciences, engineering, architecture, history, computer sciences, anything on technology..."

So he was looking for cultural information, but what he was doing with it was anybody's guess. When Michael was done reading off the list I asked him, "So what's the deal with those books?"

"He said they're particularly valuable and that he'd pay me more..." There was a pause. "And then... he said if I was really helpful, if I dedicated myself to his cause, he'd take me to New Van."

"Dedicate yourself to his cause – what is he, a missionary?" I didn't like the sound of that.

"What's a missionary?"

"Never mind. So, are you going to 'dedicate yourself' to his cause?" I asked sarcastically?

"Well I don't know yet, but probably. I mean... I want to leave here. There's nothing for me here."

I had to admit the kid was right. I could understand why he might jump at the chance to leave Old Vancouver. I looked away out the window. "So, when are you meeting him next?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, a few hours before sunset. We're meeting down by Main and 5th, by the water. He's going to take me across the water to downtown to see his operations at the library there."

"Operations at the library?" I said, finally looking him in the eyes again. Jesus Christ, it just kept getting worse.

"Yeah, I don't know – he said they're doing something over there."

I got up and went into the living room, climbing over stacks of books to get to the window. "Help me out!" I yelled back at Michael. I cursed under my breath, feeling as cranky as a crab. I just wanted this day to end. Honestly, I felt like crying again.

"Come here," I yelled. "help me get this stuff out of the way so I can see out this window!" 

Michael came over and we moved the books away from the window and opened the dirty curtain. The window was covered in dust and cobwebs – I couldn't even remember the last time I'd looked out it. I felt a sudden shame, but pushed it aside and wiped a smeary hole in the dust and grime to see out of. 

But I couldn't see much – there was a fog on the water. I looked down at 5th and main, just a few blocks away. There was no activity down there right now. I scanned the rest of the waterfront as far as I could see. No boats, just a heaping mess! 

I closed the curtain, remembering why I hadn't looked out that window in years. What was there to look at except the carcass of a dead city and the mess its abandoned children were making, feeding off the carcass like cannibals, destroying any semblance of normal. 

Normal. I looked around my apartment, which was my little piece of normal. With the windows closed I could almost pretend that things were normal. Except for the books. I looked around at the books stacked everywhere. Every surface covered by books except for narrow passageways from room to room.

Michael silently started clearing the path back to the kitchen.

"Keep the area around the window clear – I want to look out there again when the fog lifts."

He did what I told him, like the good kid he was. I wondered what he was thinking. Then I realized that I'd never really wondered anything about him before. He'd always just been there, silent and caring. I never even wondered why he took care of me all these years. What had he gotten out of it? Bringing me food and books, fixing and replacing things that wore out. Hauling stuff up 29 floors for me. I never gave him anything in return. I guess I taught him to read, which was a gift worth more than any object, but I'd only done it for selfish reasons. I wanted him to be able to pick up certain kinds of books for me. Before I'd taught him to read, he'd bring me the worst trash. 

After he'd cleared the space, I shuffled back to the kitchen to sit down. I felt exhausted.

Michael was fidgety – he wanted to get out there and 'dedicate himself' no doubt.

There was only one thing to do – that was clear. The thought terrified me, but I swallowed my fear. I had to be strong.

"I'll come with you to talk to the man tomorrow."

"Really?!" he beamed.

"Listen, get this straight. I'm just talking to the man – don't you start thinking that I'm going anywhere, because I'm not." I would never tell him what I was really planning. 

"Okay, okay." But he didn't stop smiling.

Jesus Christ. What was I going to do?