The Storage Space didn’t even care when the ghost of that so-long-dead Shakespearean actor returned. Didn’t even care enough to ignore it and avoid it as it had done for so many tired years. Therefore, for the first time, it heard Edward’s thoughts. He was pining for her, the one both of them grieved, the greatest actress of them all who had fallen to her death so many years ago.
“And just why did she fall to her death?” the Storage Space queried harshly.
But in all those long years only Karen, the one the Storage Space would still bestir itself to ignore, had heard anything it had to say. The ghost of Edward did not. Instead he kept thinking of some letter that was written in Switzerland in 1898. And he directed his yearnings toward the pregnant teenager that was now gone. Because he knew.
Idly the Storage Space watched the pregnant teenager’s father, still in Unit 38 sorting through those “data sticks.” Frantic, he kept sticking one after another into a “laptop,” obviously looking for something he wasn’t finding. Each failure resulted in his punching a metal wall.
But the Storage Space didn’t care. It didn’t even care about the one both it and Edward had grieved all these long years. Even when it knew she had been reincarnated into the baby the pregnant teenager now carried.
No. At long last the Storage Space could only care about one thing: regret that it, along with its once-beloved tea room now gone, hadn’t been torn down long ago.
