Journey Through the Mirrors (10 page)

“That’s about the time the
Broadcaster
went back to an all-digital format and the Akasha Vault came online,” Jasper said, then gave Mr. Perrot a big grin. “See, I know
some
history.”

While Mr. Perrot began to read some of the articles, Jasper struggled to drag something that looked like an old sea chest away from the wall. Mr. Perrot stopped to assist him. The chest was made of wood that looked distressed from age. There were two leather handles on each side and another attached to the lid. Together they moved it to the middle of the room. There was no lock on its tarnished brass latch. Jasper eagerly raised the lid, and the two of them peered inside with the anticipation of pirates who had just opened a long-lost treasure chest. Jasper removed a green and yellow checked blanket that covered the chest’s contents.

“That was Cassandra’s blanket when she lived in the forest with the Forgotten Ones,” Mr. Perrot said. “Logan made use of it when he was a baby. Even my Valerie used it for a time.” Jasper set the blanket aside and removed an old oil lamp, along with a bundle of pens and pencils bound with a rubber band. Then Jasper removed something that brought a reminiscing smile to Mr. Perrot’s face. “That’s Cassandra’s satchel. When we all were on the Council and lived in Washington, she used to carry this with her wherever she went.”

Jasper laughed. “So that’s why Logan carries his backpack all over creation. It’s a genetic trait!” Mr. Perrot chuckled in agreement. Jasper opened the satchel’s flap and pulled out an old wooden bowl and a tarnished silver spoon. “Why would she keep these?”

“For remembrance,” said Mr. Perrot, taking them from Jasper. “This was the bowl and spoon that Cassandra used when she lived with the Forgotten Ones.” He rubbed the tip of the spoon with his thumb to
see if any of the tarnish would come off. “She kept them because they reminded her of how precious and fragile life could be. The bowl and spoon reminded her not to take for granted even one day or a single meal.”

Jasper ran his fingers along a series of small nicks on the bowl’s side. “Looks like it’s been through a war.”

“In a way, it has,” Mr. Perrot said. “Cassandra put those marks there purposefully. Each one represented a day without food.”

“Sir,” Jasper said then, looking at Mr. Perrot respectfully, “you need to write down all these stories. They’re a lot more interesting than the bland history lessons they give us in school. Maybe more young people would be inspired by history if they heard the more human side of it.”

Mr. Perrot smiled. “Let’s see what else is in this satchel.”

“I’m serious,” Jasper said, setting the bowl and the spoon on the floor. He reached back in and took out a rectangular silver device, which easily fit into his hand. He also removed a handful of small tube-like objects. “These look interesting,” he said, holding them out to show Mr. Perrot.

“I can’t believe she kept it,” Mr. Perrot said, astonished, taking the silver device from Jasper. “This is Cassandra’s voice recorder. While Logan’s father kept a written journal, his mother kept an oral one.”

Jasper held up a fistful of the small copper and black tubes. “What are these things?”

“Those are the batteries for this recorder,” Mr. Perrot said.

“I wonder if it still works.” Jasper inspected it. He pressed the Play button, but nothing happened.

“After all this time, the batteries must be dead,” Mr. Perrot said. Jasper opened a small slot on the side of the recorder and pulled out a thin piece of black plastic about two centimeters wide and a little longer. “That’s the old-style memory card where the recordings were stored. Are there any more in Cassandra’s satchel?” Mr. Perrot was pensive for a moment. Jasper turned the bag upside down and shook it. Two more batteries fell to the ground. “With all the recordings I saw Cassandra make, she must have had a whole slew of these memory chips. I wonder
if they stole them when they—” Mr. Perrot caught himself before saying any more.

“Who stole what?” Jasper asked.

Mr. Perrot didn’t have time to answer the question. “We need to find a way to listen to the contents of this chip,” he said. “If we can get it working, this is sure to provide an important historical account of life right after the Great Disruption.”

Jasper thought for a moment, then rose to his feet and walked over to a shelf. “We could try the Uni-P,” Jasper said, connecting the leads of the Universal Power Device, known as a Uni-P, to the recorder’s battery compartment. Jasper took the memory chip back from Mr. Perrot and inserted it into the recorder. “Here goes nothing,” he said, as he pressed the power button. Mr. Perrot waited in anticipation. Suddenly, the recorder activated. “
Magnifico
!” Jasper said, looking at the recorder’s LCD display. “Looks like there are two entries. One from December 2037 and the other recorded much later, in February 2064.” He selected the first entry and hit the Play button.

“It is December 1, 2037,” a woman’s voice said, faint and raspy, mixed with static. Still, Mr. Perrot smiled. He knew that voice—it was one he had not heard in almost three years. Jasper turned up the volume, and Mr. Perrot listened to Cassandra speak across the years.

. . . and this is going to be my last recording. We’ve made it to New Chicago to start our new lives. Logan is too young to understand what is happening. As we feared, the Council of Satraya has splintered. Camden tried to reason with Fendral, and Robert pleaded with Andrea, but to no avail. Robert has joined us here with his beautiful little girl. I’m so sad that she won’t have a mother in her life. But it had to be done. Andrea is as cruelly ambitious as Fendral. I feel so sorry for Simon—he is such an intelligent boy. If his mother were here, I would have a thing or two to say to her. Camden has left the leadership of the Council in the hands of Cynthia Brown. I hope she is able to accomplish what we couldn’t. One thing is clear: there is no telling what Fendral and Andrea will do to advance their agendas.

Jasper paused the playback. “Is that the same Cynthia Brown who was murdered last year along with those other Council members?” he asked.

“The one and the same,” Mr. Perrot answered.

Jasper considered asking Mr. Perrot about Valerie’s mother but thought better of it. Instead, he resumed the playback with a more serious expression on his face. He was beginning to grasp just how much history he had never been taught.

We all agree that for our own safety, our past must be forgotten. We are all changing our names. Even Robert’s daughter’s name will change, just to be safe. I like Valerie much better than Tabatha, which I think was more Andrea’s idea than Robert’s, anyway. Tomorrow will be my first day as Alexandra Cutler.

For our new identities to work, we need to let go of everything—family, friends, loved ones. It’s so hard not being able to tell anyone where we are going.

As a precaution to safeguard our identities, I’ve decided to stop using my recorder. It’s going to be so difficult to discard all these old memory chips. So much of my life is on them. But I need to let the past go.

This is my final entry as Cassandra Toliver Ford.

Mr. Perrot and Jasper heard a soft gasp and stifled sobbing before the recording ended.

“It must have been so hard for all of you,” Jasper said reflectively. “Giving up your lives and all that you worked so hard to accomplish . . .”

Mr. Perrot nodded, moved. “You mentioned that there was one more recording.”

“Yes.” Jasper looked at the recorder’s display and pressed the Play button. “It’s from February 2064, twenty-seven years after the one we just heard.”

I’m breaking my long-standing promise about making my last recording. Camden . . . I mean, Henry—after all these years, I still can’t get used to our new names. Henry came across an article in the January 15th edition of the
Swiss Times
reporting that Alfred Benson was found dead in his home, cause unknown. Accompanying the report was a photo of Andrea. Henry and I debated if we should tell Alain, and we decided not to. Why stir up the past when he and Valerie are so happy now? Simon Hitchlords was also in the photograph, standing next to Andrea. Looks like Andrea had another child. Her son, Lucius Benson, is also shown and identified. Simon has grown up to look just like his father, Fendral. A slight man in a wheelchair was in the background. He’s the same man we used to see from time to time in Washington visiting Fendral and Andrea.

Mr. Perrot gestured for Jasper to pause the recording. “Would it be possible for you to find that article?”

Jasper whipped out his PCD. “Searching for
Swiss Times
, January 15, 2064 . . . What was the man’s name?”

“Alfred Benson,” Mr. Perrot said.

After another moment, Jasper projected the article and the photo from his PCD.

Mr. Perrot studied the photo. “This is Simon, Andrea, and Lucius,” he said, pointing them out to Jasper. “And this man in the wheelchair, I do remember seeing him, but I never spoke to him or caught his name.” Mr. Perrot took one last look, and Jasper pressed the Play button again.

I didn’t think much of the photo at first, but then Camden noticed the black roses. Andrea is carrying one in her hand, and Simon, Lucius, and the man in the wheelchair have them in their lapels. I can’t help but remember the black roses that were found in Deya’s car and Madu’s home after their lives were threatened when the Council was splintering. Camden and I had the same thought. Was Andrea’s husband, Alfred Benson, murdered? Are Simon and Andrea up to something? And is that man in the wheelchair somehow involved?

Camden wants to investigate, but I won’t let him risk his life and the life of our son by getting involved again, even covertly, with these dangerous people. After all, we only have suspicions, no proof of wrongdoing or any clue to their motives. It would be foolish to stir the hornet’s nest.

We have been anonymously writing to Cynthia Brown over the past year, offering advice. The Council seems to be faltering. Camden wants to send Cynthia this article, but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.

I also saw a photo of RJ in the paper today. Camden doesn’t think it is him. But I know it is. His eyes had that same cold expression I’ll never forget. I can’t believe what he’s become.

There was an extended pause in the recording. Mr. Perrot and Jasper could hear some shuffling and the sound of book pages being turned. A few moments later, Cassandra spoke again.

When it unfurled, it was filled with golden acorns. Hundreds and hundreds of them. A bright and intoxicating gold light glistened from each as the acorns seemed to be gently nestled among leaf-filled branches. The man understood in that moment that what is given in unconditional love is never truly lost.

That was the end of the recording. Jasper looked at Mr. Perrot. “Interesting last entry.”

“Interesting indeed,” Mr. Perrot agreed. “Why would she read from the Golden Acorn story in the
Chronicles
? While it’s a wonderful tale, with many lessons for us all, why make it your last entry? It doesn’t make sense. We must find out what she did with the other memory chips. I certainly hope she didn’t destroy them.”

Jasper set the recorder down, pointing to the mosaic with the trees. “Isn’t the Golden Acorn the same story that inspired Cassandra to create that?”

Mr. Perrot turned and looked at it. Then he walked over and examined the back of it. “I wonder if Cassandra might have hidden something behind the matting.”

“Mr. Perrot, I like the way you think.” Jasper went to take hold of one end of the mosaic as Mr. Perrot grabbed the other, and together they lifted it from the easel and attempted to set it facedown on a nearby table. As they did so, the frame slipped from Mr. Perrot’s hand,
and his end of the mosaic hit the table. He cringed at his clumsiness. Jasper set his end down more cautiously.

Mr. Perrot ran his hand over the matting. He grabbed a pair of scissors off the table and pierced the black cardboard. He proceeded to cut the backing along all four sides.

With great anticipation, Jasper removed the black cardboard. The two of them inspected the mosaic for anything that looked like recording chips. Mr. Perrot set the scissors down in disappointment. “I thought we had it.”

“So did I,” Jasper said.

After replacing the backing, Jasper helped Mr. Perrot move the mosaic back to the easel. When they returned to the table to clean up the scraps of cardboard that had been cut away, Mr. Perrot was alarmed to see that two tiles had been dislodged when he’d dropped the mosaic. “I’ll get some glue,” Jasper said, and walked over to the supply shelf.

Mr. Perrot carefully picked up the two small tiles. One was green and rounded at the corners, the other square-shaped and painted gold. He walked back over to the mosaic and easily found where they needed to be glued.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Jasper said. “We’ll get them reset in no time.” Jasper placed a dab of glue on the green tile and put it back into position. He held it in place for a moment. He was ready for the second tile, but Mr. Perrot was still examining the back of it. “What are you looking at?” Jasper asked.

Mr. Perrot scratched the tile with his fingernail, and tiny flakes of gold paint floated off of it. “It seems I may be vindicated for my blunder.” After scratching the rest of the paint off, he held up the title. “Now, doesn’t that look exactly like one of Cassandra’s recording chips?”

Jasper looked at the mosaic and counted about twenty similar gold tiles in it. “I think you may have found Cassandra’s missing memories.”

9

Do you really believe that it takes a lifetime to know what a master knows?

Everyone who has reached the pinnacle of his enlightenment will say to you, it took a lifetime to realize that it didn’t need to take a lifetime.