Guardians of War

Episode 4

Henry studied the photo, his brow furrowing. “No. I don’t. But this must have been from his time in the war.”

Maria nodded, taking the photo back and turning it over. There was something written on the back in faded ink, barely legible. She squinted at the words, trying to make them out.

“What does it say?” Henry asked.

Maria read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. “‘For the sake of what we fought for, this must remain buried.’”

Henry stiffened, the color draining from his face. “What the hell does that mean?”

Maria shook her head, her mind racing. “I don’t know. But it sounds like… like there was something they didn’t want anyone to find out.”

Henry took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Maria, maybe we shouldn’t dig any deeper. Whatever this is… maybe it’s better left alone.”

But Maria couldn’t let it go. She could feel it now, that there was something here, something that had been hidden for decades. She looked around the study, her eyes landing on the desk drawer that had always been locked, the key long since lost.

“What if there’s more?” she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “What if there’s something in there that could explain all of this?”

Henry followed her gaze to the drawer, his expression darkening. “Maria, don’t.”

But she was already moving towards the desk, her hand reaching out to touch the worn wood of the drawer. It felt cool under her fingers, smooth and polished from years of use. She pulled at the handle, but as expected, it didn’t budge.

“Damn it,” she muttered, stepping back.

“Maria, leave it,” Henry said, his voice tense. “Dad kept that locked for a reason. Whatever’s in there… it’s not for us to know.”

But Maria was determined now. She could feel it in her bones—there was something here, something her father had kept hidden, and she needed to know what it was.

“We have to find the key,” she said, turning to Henry. “There has to be a key somewhere.”

Henry shook his head, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “And if we do find it? What then? What if it’s something we wish we’d never uncovered?”

Maria hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. But the curiosity, the need to know, was too strong. “Then at least we’ll know. We can’t just leave it like this.”

Henry looked at her for a long moment, then sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Fine. We’ll look for the key. But if we find it, we open that drawer together. Agreed?”

Maria nodded, relief washing over her. “Agreed.”

They spent the next hour searching the study, checking every nook and cranny for the key. Maria combed through the bookshelves, the desk drawers, even the old globe that had a secret compartment. But there was no sign of the key.

Henry was kneeling by the fireplace, checking the bricks for any hidden compartments, when Maria found it. It was hidden in plain sight, in a small wooden box on top of the bookshelf, a place so obvious that it was easy to overlook. The box was small, almost decorative, with intricate carvings on the lid. Maria’s heart raced as she opened it, her breath catching when she saw the small, brass key nestled inside.

“Henry,” she called, her voice trembling slightly.

Henry stood up, dusting off his hands as he came over. When he saw the key, his expression was unreadable. “You found it.”

Maria nodded, holding the key tightly in her hand. “Are you ready?”

Henry didn’t answer right away. He looked at the drawer, then back at her, his jaw tight. “Let’s do it.”

Maria’s hand shook slightly as she inserted the key into the lock. It turned smoothly, the mechanism clicking softly as the lock disengaged. She hesitated for just a moment, then pulled the drawer open.

Inside, there was a single object: an old leather-bound journal, much like the one Henry had been flipping through earlier, but this one was different. It was thicker, the leather more worn, and there was an air of importance about it, as if it held the weight of years, of secrets.

Maria reached for the journal, her fingers trembling as she lifted it out of the drawer. She set it down on the desk, glancing at Henry before opening it.

The first page was blank, but the second page contained a date: September 14, 1943. Beneath it, in her father’s neat, measured handwriting, was the beginning of what appeared to be a diary entry.

Maria began to read, her eyes widening with each sentence. The entry spoke of places she had never heard of, of missions and orders that were shrouded in secrecy. And then, there was a name—one that sent a chill down her spine.

“Henry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “This is… this is about something big. Something Dad never told us.”

Henry leaned over, reading the words over her shoulder. His face paled as he took in the implications of what they were discovering.

“Maria,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We need to be careful. If this is what it looks like…”

Maria nodded, her mind racing. She knew now that they had only just begun to uncover the truth. Whatever her father had been involved in during the war, it was more than just a soldier’s duty. It was something darker, something that had haunted him for decades.

As she turned to the next page, something slipped out from between the pages and fell onto the desk with a soft thud. Maria picked it up—a small, folded piece of paper, yellowed with age. Carefully, she unfolded it, revealing a brief, handwritten note. The handwriting was different from her father's; it was slanted, hurried, and slightly shaky.

The note read: "There are things in this world that cannot be forgiven. If you find this, do not look further. Some doors are better left unopened. —R."

“Who’s ‘R’?” Henry asked, frowning.

“I don't know,” Maria replied, her voice barely audible. “But it sounds like someone was warning him… or us.”