“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.
14
Nightlights
If there was a way to describe the feeling that overcame me, it was like my entire body was being pulled down the drain of a tub, water fighting to drown me as my bones were mashed together. No matter how much I struggled or how badly the force mangled me, I could not fight hard enough to escape.
I looked up from the pictures, letting them fall into my lap, staring at Callista and Thad with fright and inwardly hoping that one of them would protest.
They were looking at me with wide eyes, probably a mirror of my own face. But they didn’t say anything. Why weren’t they arguing, why weren’t they at least trying to prove me wrong? Didn’t Callista always try that—why wasn’t she now?
Thad bent forward, resting his head on his knee and running his fingers into his hair, leaving them there, letting the realization flow through him.
“The dreams were real,” I said, pieces still coming together like keys into locks. “We’ve lived before. Everything I saw…those were my lives. I’ve already failed twice.”
I pointed to the pictures. “This is what Anon wanted me to know. That’s why I saw both of you in my nightmares. We were running from the Guardians in the first, and you tried to save me in the second life, but it was too late. And now we’re back.”
“This is insane…” Callista breathed out, her voice dropping to a nearly indiscernible level. It was affecting her just as much as me. All along, we’d been far more important than we’d thought. Suddenly, we all knew why the Guardians wanted us dead so badly. How could this have happened?
Nothing we could have spoken would have been of any comfort. What we’d thought was larger than us was now even a hundred times bigger. But who was I supposed to hate? Myself, for dying and pushing it onto me? That was the worst part, because if what I’d found was true, I was the only person to blame for it.
“We need a plan,” Callista said.
“I don’t have one,” I replied, unintentionally whimpering.
“We need a damn plan!” she exploded at me, screaming so loudly that it bounced off the walls and the furniture, ringing on the glass of the TV.
“I don’t have one!” I barked, my head snapping up as the roar left my throat, so harsh that it was painful. She didn’t back down.
“Do you understand that they are going to kill us?” she shouted straight into my face. Her hands were in fists so tense that her knuckles were white.
“Do you understand how big this is?!” she said. “We will die. They will make sure.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I was just as loud as her, refusing to back down. “They’re after me. I’m the target. I’m the one who has to die.”
“And if you die then we do too,” she said. “So if you let yourself die because you don’t even have any of this thought out, then you’re our murderer.”
My hands slid down to my sides on the bed, ready to push myself up and face her, fury pumping through my veins. I moved but only made it to standing halfway before Thad lashed an arm out, slamming it across the front of my shoulders, forcing me to sit.
“Sit the hell down!” he yelled at me. I fought, but the muscles on his arm were almost twice the size of mine.
“You too!” he ordered Callista, just as harshly. “Sit down, now!”
Callista didn’t take orders. But I’d never seen Thad so furious, arm still latched across me like an iron brace, fire in his eyes as he glared at Callista—lions in a war of territory. She bit her lower lip, but in the end, she sat halfway on the edge of the dresser, turning her head away with hot, angry tears in the corners of her eyes.
“That’s enough from both of you,” Thad snapped. “We’re not going to get anywhere if we’re fighting with each other. That’s not what we need right now.”
“What we need is a plan—” Callista started. He lifted his other hand.