Small Steps

The faint clatter of the letterbox roused us from a state of near sleep, leaning heavily against each other on an ancient sofa and staring blankly at a buzzing television set. We exchanged a nervous glance and Max shot to his feet, pulling back the curtains and peeking out of the window. He turned back into the room and shook his head.
         “Nobody there.” I leaned out of the room and down the small hallway that lead to the front door. On the battered red welcome mat was a thin, rectangular parcel, about the size and shape of a paperback book. I picked it up tentatively. It was a padded brown envelope, with no postage and no address, merely our names scrawled in messy black marker. I handed it to Max, who sat back down on the sofa and began to carefully peel open the envelope. I swallowed painfully, trying to ignore the chewing knot of nerves in my stomach.
         “Max it was hand delivered,” I said. He nodded slowly, pushing his glasses back up his nose with an expression of deepest concentration on his thin face.
         “I know.”
         “No one was supposed to know we were here,” I said and he shrugged tightly.
         “Someone found us.” He tipped the open envelope upside down and a black videotape fell out onto the worn cord cushions. We stared at each other. My hands were shaking as I picked it up and examined it for any kind of clue as to one might be contained on it but the clean plastic was blank.
         “How are we going to play it?” I asked, throwing a glance at the DVD player that sat underneath the old television. Max stood up.
         “There’s a video player in the attic,” he said. “I told you this house was old didn’t I?” he said, with a faint smile. He rarely smiled these days. Whatever this tape contained I was grateful for it, simply for the break in the tense but somehow monotonous existence we now led. He was gone for several minutes before reappearing in the living room with the video player, wires spilling messily from the back of it, iced thick with dust.
         “It doesn’t look like it’s been used in years,” I wrinkled my nose as he blew a cloud of dust into the air.
         “It’s worth a try,” he said, kneeling down by the television and fiddling around at the back of the machine. I picked up the tape again and stared down at it.
         “Do you think it’s Spike?” I asked softly. Max didn’t stop what he was doing, but he sighed slightly.
         “Spike’s dead Del, you know that.”
         “We don’t know that,” I said quietly, and this time he did stop, turning around to face me and curling his awkward, spider-like legs underneath himself like a child. He stared at me from behind thick rimmed glasses with pity in his eyes. I threw the tape at him, and it landed in his lap. He didn’t take his gaze off me and in that moment I hated him for the look in his eyes, the pity at my naivety and the desperation of my self delusion.
         “He’s dead Del, he wouldn’t just have disappeared. They got to him and if we hadn’t left America they’d have gotten to us too.” He let his gaze rest on my face for a while, before turning slightly and slotting the tape into the player. After arguing briefly over the remote control, we eventually managed to get the tape to flicker into life. The screen crackled and buzzed, the static overwhelming any picture that might be waiting for us to see. Underneath the beehive hum we could hear the vaguest snatches of conversation… "they will need to know”… “all a fake”…we stared at each other. Max got onto his knees again and determinedly cleaned out the ancient machine, desperately blowing dust from the inside until he was coughing. He slotted the tape in once again and this time the static cleared after several seconds to reveal a smooth, handsome male face, with slicked back hair and nervous eyes.
         “I’m recording this tape against the desires of the government officials involved here,” said the man, glancing at whoever was holding the camera, “because I believe one day they will need to know…the world will need to know what we did today. There are reasons, but I believe time will dissolve them until even if I explained them, they would become meaningless. Suffice to say, we are doing this because we have no other choice. But for future generations whom I hope will see this…it was all a fake.” Max and I watched in stunned silence as a scene that was as familiar to us as visions of our own childhood played out on the screen, a scene that had shaped the very essence of who we were, and everything we thought we had believed in. And it was all a fake. After what felt like a stretching, aching life time the tape finally flickered to a weary conclusion, and Max and I continued to stare at the black screen in stunned silence. I shook my head, but was too dumfounded to say anything; Max was the first to break the silence.
         “Do you think it’s legit?”
         “I think it’s Spike,” I replied, and he sighed impatiently.
         “Del you need to accept what happened, they kill-”
         “Who else would have access to footage like this? I know you have your sources Max and I know we’ve uncovered some major stuff over the years but only Spike ever got us as close as this.” He was staring at me closely, but whatever he was going to say he decided against it, for he shook his head sharply and dismissively.
         “Whatever. Whoever sent it to us we need to get this verified.”
         “How?” I said, “Max we’re two of the most wanted people in the country, what do you want to do? Go back to the lab in college? They’d have the Men in Black there in minutes.”
         “I know, I know,” he took off his glasses and rubbed his shadowed eyes heavily. He hadn’t slept much since we’d moved up to Canada; neither of us had. Sleep didn’t come easy when every sound that disrupted the night’s silence sounded like the crunch of tyres on gravel, the cocking of a gun, footsteps on the stairs. He looked up at me suddenly. “We’ll send it to Harley,” he said, a smile breaking on his face. I winced slightly.
         “I don’t want to get Harley into anymore trouble,” I said, “not after the whole UFO sighting thing.”
         “Are you kidding me?” Max pulled the tape from the player and held it in front of me, a familiar and manic gleam of enthusiasm in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in a long time. “This turns out to be real this’ll make her career. She’ll be remembered forever.”
         “While we get forgotten,” I said and he frowned at my bitterness.
         “That’s not why we do this Del, we do this for the truth,” he said, and his serious expression caused me to suddenly start to laugh.
         “I know Max, I know,” I said, staring down at him fondly. I nodded seriously. “Send it to Harley. But we’ll have to move again,” I said and he nodded tiredly.
         “I know. Even if it was Spike who sent that, the fact that he knows we’re here is enough.”
         “I don’t want to go back to America,” I said, “I can’t live like that again. I want to get away from here,” I said and he stood up, holding out his hands to me and pulling me to my feet.
         “We will Del, far away, where they’ll never find us. But we have to do this.” He handed me the tape. “If that was Spike, they’ll kill him for this, you know that. Nothing will stop them this time,” he said. I didn’t answer but leaned my head against his skinny torso. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed protectively.
         “We’re in this together Del, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, smiling at me crookedly. I laughed at his false promises, and pulled away from him, grabbing the large black bag which was already packed with necessities and provisions for a long journey. I gazed fondly around the small log cabin.
         “I liked this place,” I said softly. Max kissed me on the cheek.
         “Maybe we’ll find somewhere warmer next.”

“Harley? Harley, you got your tape back.” A young man, practically fizzing with enthusiasm, leaned across a desk and handed over a small, tightly wrapped package. A woman took it from him eagerly and tore it open. The man leaned over her shoulder and read the letter that accompanied the video tape. They exchanged a wide-eyed glance.
         “It was real?” the young man breathed, and Harley nodded faintly, running a hand over her cropped blonde hair.
         “We’re going live in three minutes Harley,” a voice called over to them, “you got your story?” Harley gave the man a grin.
         “You better believe it.” She straightened the papers on her desk and handed the tape back to the young man.
         “Get it played, I want the world to see this.” The man nodded and raced off. The woman took a steadying breath and smiled at the man behind the camera, as he began to silently count her in.
         “Good evening,” she said, smiling at the camera professionally, “and welcome to this breaking news report. Over forty years ago, this nation accomplished something that had been the dream of mankind for countless centuries, ever since ancient dreamers first looked up at the stars; we put a man on the moon. We have recently received startling new evidence surrounding this historic event, that we interrupt your evening to bring you.” Harley gave the camera man a meaningful glance and he exchanged a nervous look with her young assistant.
         “She’s not serious? She’ll disappear for this! Remember what happened to Spike?” The younger man said nothing and the camera man relented with a shrug. Harley’s face vanished from the screen, to be replaced with crackling static, which faded to reveal a man’s face.
         “I’m recording this tape…”