Harken

13 Daniel Rothfeld

The moment we read the final words, and probably even a second before, the three of us spun around, immediately searching for a television. We didn’t need direction: I shot off one way, Callista the other, Thad up the stairs, our feet pounding against carpet and tiles and hardwood floors from different parts of the house.

Finding a TV was not hard at all in that well-furnished place, but finding a TV with a VCR proved to be far more difficult. I dove in to an office with eerily empty bookshelves and a desk with fake flowers in pots, and checked the TV on the wall to find that it only played DVDs. I bumped into Callista as she came out of another room.

“There’s a whole entertainment room but no stupid VCR,” she told me. Who even used VHS tapes anymore? Finding a cart and buggy might have been easier.

In the end, Thad called out from upstairs, and Callista and I stepped on each other’s feet in our haste to get to him. He’d gone into the green bedroom and found that the small television had both DVD and VHS players embedded in its front. Callista pushed the tape in without hesitation, flipping the TV on and finding the correct channel. Thad and I sat on the bed and she squeezed between us while holding the remote.

The tape started. We had fallen into such a hush of anticipation that I could pick Thad and Callista’s anxious breathing apart from each other.

There was a little rolling static in the beginning of the recording, but that ended in seconds. Then it showed a blank screen, and finally a face.

It was a man filmed shoulders up, sitting in front of a nondescript white wall. He wore a black button-up shirt but no tie, his skin white but not pale enough for me to think that he was unhealthy, slight circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He had a carefully shaven face, leaving a slight stubble that looked too intentional to be unplanned, hair swept to the side leaving his forehead exposed. His eyes were hazel, staring straight in to the camera, making certain it was filming before settling back a few inches in his leather chair.

He hesitated, just looking at us. It was almost like he was studying us, or rather debating what he was about to say. He cleared his throat.

“I am Daniel Rothfeld,” he began. “When you see this tape, I will have already been murdered many years ago, because tonight I will die.”

Hadn’t Father Lonnie said something about a Daniel before? The man on the screen didn’t show any feelings of fear or even sadness. His eyes didn’t quiver as if he was reading a script behind the camera, though he appeared to have practiced this speech.

“There are some things you should understand about me,” he said. “First, is that I didn’t want it to happen this way. If I could rip the conscience out of my chest then I would, even if it meant ripping my own heart out with it. But I cannot, just as I cannot go on ignoring what I know needs to be done.”

He took a deep breath. “Secondly, this world is not what you think it is. If you are watching this tape, then I’m sure you already know that much. You likely know of the Guardians, have seen an inkling of their hold on this planet. By the time you watch this, their grip will have worsened. I know, because I am partially to blame; I am a Guardian with them.”

I heard Callista swallow hard beside me, her hand tightening against her knee.

“But despite what they may tell you, their plans are not a part of the Grand Design,” the man continued. “All is not right—in fact, few things are. The powers of the Guardians were never meant to establish them as a superior race on this planet. They have done well to hide the truth of our history—of how we really came to be in power.”

He stopped for a moment, as if considering delving more into the past, but deciding against it. Time concerned him, his voice never rushed but his mind intent on sticking to what he’d already decided to say.

“I discovered a plan of theirs,” he said. “I only had to look back—history repeats itself. The world is growing too quickly for the Guardians to keep their hold. Their power is slipping as human numbers grow. Then like a reaper, they will cleanse the world of all they deem unnecessary. It is genocide against humanity.”

He shook his head. “When you have seen the great evils that Guardians have caused, when you have seen the manner in which they have enslaved the earth, you will understand why they can no longer remain in power. You will understand why I have come to this decision.”

He finally glanced away from the camera. “I must end the Guardians. The darkness of their power must end to bring the world into a new dawn.”

A flare of static caused the tape to shift, but it restored itself a moment later.

“To do this,” he said, “means to betray who I am, to betray those who I’ve wrongfully trusted. But I have no choice. Because I am the only one who can stand against them, I am the only one who can complete this. This was the true Grand Design.”

He spread his hands. “You should also understand this: Guardians do not die natural deaths, and are therefore impenetrable to natural law and order. We will never die of age. If we are killed, there is no corpse: we turn to dust. Our essence is then reincarnated into another body, hosting off a human to continue our line. In this way, we never end, and continue to return forever.”

Mr. Sharpe, I realized. His body had disappeared! After all this time, suddenly I had an explanation for how he’d left no trace behind.

The tape went on:

“So even if I was to alert the world, as unlikely as they would be to believe me, and even if I was to form another army against the Guardians, it would be no use. Killing a Guardian would only make them return again. I found myself in a dilemma.”

Then, leaning back, his face opened with a slight, triumphant smile.

“But I made a discovery,” he said. “I do not have the time to tell you how. But I found a hope.”

Here, he reached to his side and off the camera. When he pulled his hand back in front of us, he was holding a knife.

The opaque black of the dagger’s handle looked like it was made out of charcoal, wrapped in complicated swirls around a yellow guard for the bearer’s hand. The weapon was no longer than his forearm from hilt to tip, and the way he held it so lightly made it appear almost weightless. The long edge itself grabbed my attention at once because it didn’t appear to be a knife. In fact, the entire length of the razor looked exactly like a giant feather.

“This is the Blade,” he said, voice dropping to a strong tone filled with intensity. “This is what they fear.”

He was holding the Blade a safe distance from himself, but still his other arm and shoulder were drawn back. He looked nervous just holding it.

“This dagger has a power opposite to theirs,” he said. “One cut from this weapon strips a Guardian of their power: making them just as human as those they despise.”

The three of us sat dumbfounded, and I closed my mouth when I discovered that it was hanging open. My eyes crept to the side, trying to gauge their response, trying to see if their breath had also increased its pace with every sentence the man on the screen had spoken.

Thad’s eyes were still locked on the television. Callista’s hands were now clenched. Daniel Rothfeld paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before going on.

“So this was my plan,” he said. “I was to remove their powers, to make them human. To force them to be equals. But I have already failed in my mission. I’ve been found out. I know I will be killed tonight.”

He said this flippantly, like it was merely a small roadblock. But of course, I realized. He was a Guardian. If they killed him, he knew he’d just come back in another life, right? That piece was so vitally important that I was shocked I hadn’t figured it out on my own.

“I could try to run, but it is too late for me, and the risk is too high—they would catch up, and then have the Blade,” he continued. “They are on to me, and I have been told by a confidant that they will end me tonight.”

Finally, there was some inkling of emotion, just a prick of sadness in the man’s blankly staring eyes.

“When a Guardian is killed, his two Chosens vanish immediately as well,” the man continued. “But that is their duty. My Chosens will die with me. It is the only way. But we will see each other again.”

Even such a small reaction to the thought of his Chosens dying felt considerable, because for it to seep out meant that he was feeling great inner pain. He managed to push it back inside.

“So I am hiding the dagger,” he said. “They will never find it, and even if they do, only I can obtain it. And that is why I am making this tape.”

He nodded at us as if he could see is through the glass of the TV. “At this very moment, I walk among you. At this very moment, I am with you. I have left everything that I need to continue my mission as if it had never been stopped. You only need to find me…wherever I am. Find me, and aide me. I will do what is right.”

There was a click from the tape. The screen went black.

That couldn’t possibly be the end!

A burst of empty static shot through the speakers in answer, making all of us jump and Thad swear. Callista leapt to her feet to eject the tape and switched the awful noise off. The screen fizzled as it disappeared.

She spun to Thad and I, but stared at me. The room felt like it’d gone hot from our racing hearts, my hands uneasy as I tried to digest what we’d just watched. I wished that I could have read a Glimpse through videotape, but alas I could not.

“W—what do we do now?” I asked. They were both looking at me. Their eyes made me uncomfortable, as if they thought I should have the answer to my own question.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Callista replied. She crossed her arms, still not seeming to believe what we’d heard. There was so much that had just been dumped on us at once.

“Well if they—we—reincarnate,” Thad suggested, “do you think that Anon was Daniel Rothfeld?”

I didn’t know whether to nod or shake my head. Why would Anon give us the tape if he already knew who he was? Was this his way of enlisting our support, to make us part of some army of his? The most perplexing part was why: we’d gotten so many questions answered, but now had an equal amount new ones.

I was still holding the red gift-wrapped present from Anon, the final thing from his letter. Callista and Thad looked down at it the same time I did.

“That’s too small for another tape,” Callista observed as she slid closer, Thad inching across the bed to be next to me. I turned it over to find the edge, ripping the paper across and tossing it onto the bed comforter.

Underneath, I found a stack of three metal rectangles, with hinges on their sides that connected them together. I guess I’d been expecting a cassette or a tiny box with something important in it. I lifted it by the edge and found that the three pieces folded out into a line.

Now there were three rectangles next to each other attached by the hinges. They were small picture frames, silver and new. At first glance I thought it was odd, until I saw that there were already photos in them, some that I recognized.

The bottom picture was of me, smiling in a gray sweater and white t-shirt against a marbled blue background. It was my latest high school photo, the same that my mom kept sticking to the side of the refrigerator even though I’d tried to hide it dozens of times.

Stranger were the other two pictures. The center photo was of a boy who was also my age, but who had black hair combed back and deeply emerald eyes. He was far tanner than me too, relaxed and smiling without showing his teeth, a leisurely grin telling the world that he didn’t have many monetary cares. The paper on which it was printed was old and bent at the corners, carefully placed behind the glass so it would stay together.

Then there was the third picture, at the top. It was a photograph of Daniel Rothfeld, looking much like he had in the film but not nearly as tired or afraid. It intrigued me how I hadn’t picked up much strain from the man when he’d been on the tape, but now that I saw him in this picture and could compare the two, I realized just how different he was. It was almost like that picture had been taken before he’d gained his conscience.

We continued to study the faces, trying to unravel this code. I couldn’t ignore a strange feeling emanating from the pictures. Something kept biting at me every time I looked from one to the other.

I tried reading their Glimpses. That was easy. Daniel Rothfeld—finally, in a photo—was molded out of confidence, so filled with power and prestige that it practically shone from him. I knew it came from his power as a Guardian.

Strangely enough, though, when I looked at the center picture I began to detect a similar feeling. It wasn’t as strong, just power and command deep in his eyes. Something…similar between the two.

I finally looked at the bottom picture, and read my own Glimpse.

And then it clicked.

The three eyes—though all different colors, and all with different shades of feeling—were the exact same. Even when I hopped from the center, then to Daniel Rothfeld, and finally to my own, I knew that what I’d just discovered had been lying in front of me all along, and I—the Eye Guy—had just been too blind to see it.

“I’m Daniel Rothfeld,” I realized.