The Keepers of the Rose

by DJ Dalasta

  Rock left his hotel and once again strolled towards the Old State House. He glanced about, wondering if he’d see the Coopers or any member of their organization sticking out like a sore thumb. So far, he had no luck identifying those that tracked him. But he knew they were there, lurking. It didn’t make sense for them not to be.

  He looked at his watch. It read 11:50am. Ten minutes. He picked up his pace, feeling a quick rush of energy as the appointed time drew near. He didn’t know what exactly he would be looking for, but at noon he’d be in place to find out. When he arrived, he edged along the West side of the building, looking at the old brick, restored at some point in the past as it still held to a true rust red in color. Eventually, he came to a stop at the corner. Here, Washington Street met State but more importantly it was the northwest part of the building. It was the first of the month and it was noon. Now what? His first instinct was to look for shadows but with the change in skyline and atmosphere, it would be difficult to tell whether a shadow was the same as it was a couple hundred years ago. Most likely they wouldn’t be.

  Rock stepped closer to the building itself, checking the bricks along the corner. He kicked the dirt around the edge a couple of times and thought about digging at the exact spot but that wouldn’t end well. Also, it was unlikely anything was in the ground, nothing pointed to that conclusion. His mind turned to one of his original thoughts, which he had dismissed early on. Perhaps he was to meet someone at this place, at this moment. But who? The amount of time that passed between the original set up and today was too great to have come through generations without being corrupted or lost along the way. That would be a foolish plan to set in motion. Something that was deemed this important wouldn’t have been left to individuals that were yet to be born. But then again, here he was, playing a part.

  He looked at his watch. It read 12:02pm. Noon had passed without incident. He decided to move inside and check the Northwest corner, interior of the building. He didn’t think it would have changed much over the last week but he was here and he might as well check everything or he’d always wonder.

  Inside, the building remained exactly the same. The same displays, the same dark lighting, the same stiff workers eyeing him as he made his way around the artifacts and plaques. He paused at the corner and looked around. There was nothing new here, again. He was wasting his time. Whatever was here, if anything, was lost or taken a very long time ago. He needed to do something worthwhile and the only thing he could think of was finding a way to contact Anna and Wallace.

  Rock decided his next move would be to lose his trackers. He’d check out of his hotel and begin a citywide tour using various public transportation stations. He’d start with the subway, then use the bus lines and taxis. He’d enter and exit malls filled with thousands of people, business centers and office buildings. He’d go in one way and then out another. He’d change outfits while inside and do it often enough there would be no way to keep eyes on him. Then he’d go somewhere isolated and watch to make sure he was alone. And after he was clear, he would contact Anna.

  Rock took one last look around him. Nothing came. He was out of ideas. He sighed at the thought of leaving empty handed but knew he had to move on.

  As he came out of the threshold and into the light he noticed a young man at the corner, harassing people. He would lean in as they passed by and say something. Most of the people sneered at him and kept walking. A few stopped only to continue on a few moments later looking confused. Rock stopped one of them.

  “Excuse me,” the woman looked up at him, she wore the look of impatience on her tight face. “What did he say to you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care to listen. He’s one of those lunatics. He’s here once every month or so, I don’t pay any attention to them much.” She didn’t wait for an answer and kept walking.

  Once a month.

  Rock quickly approached the young man. “Excuse me,” Rock said.

  “Hi,” he said back rather pleasantly. The young man couldn’t even be thirty years old. He was African American, with short-cropped hair and an athletic build. Rock could tell just by looking in his eyes he was intelligent.

  “What are you asking people?”

  “Just a couple of simple questions.”

  “Simple?”

  “Yeah, like if say I had one hundred and twenty men I called friends, how many of them could be considered honest?”

  Of twenty men the answer’s ten.

  “Sixty,” Rock said.

  The young man lost his smile and gently nodded his head. “Correct,” he responded.

  “And let’s say of those sixty honest friends, how many have the capability of heart to truly put another’s interest ahead of their own?”

  Of those ten hearts respond in parts. Part one to solve take three to sea.

  “Eighteen,” Rock responded after doing the elementary math.

  The young man swallowed hard. Rock could see the sweat gathering at his brow. “Correct.” He paused. “Final question.” They intently stared at one another, both wanting to say the same thing and ask the man across from them the questions screaming to come out. But they waited, intent on finishing the ritual set forth hundreds of years ago. The young man finally continued, “of those eighteen, how many could I trust with my life?”