🕯️ Salt in the Wind Episode 4: The Keeper of Secrets
The town's historical society was tucked behind the old church, a squat brick building with ivy creeping up its sides. Ren and Aleksy stood outside, the tin box wrapped in cloth between them.
"You sure about this?" Ren asked.
Aleksy nodded. "If anyone knows what happened to Aleksander, it's her."
Inside, the air smelled of paper and polish. Shelves lined the walls, filled with binders, maps, and yellowing photographs. At the far end sat a woman in her seventies, silver hair pulled into a tight bun, glasses perched low on her nose.
"Mrs. Zawadzka?" Aleksy said.
She looked up, eyes sharp. "Aleksy. I haven't seen you since your grandmother's funeral."
"I need your help," he said. "It's about Aleksander."
Her expression didn't change. "That name is buried."
Ren stepped forward. "We found letters. In the cave."
She blinked. "The cave?"
Aleksy placed the box on the table, unwrapping it slowly. Mrs. Zawadzka leaned in, her fingers trembling as she lifted the photograph.
"I remember this," she whispered. "They were inseparable."
Ren opened the journal. "Masaru wrote about him. Said he was taken. Not killed."
Mrs. Zawadzka sat back. "He was arrested. Accused of aiding the enemy. They said he helped a Japanese boy escape."
Aleksy's jaw tightened. "He didn't betray anyone."
"I know," she said. "But the regime needed scapegoats. Aleksander was young, idealistic. He believed in loyalty. That made him dangerous."
Ren asked, "Where was he taken?"
She hesitated. "There was a camp. Not far from here. Most records were destroyed. But I have something."
She rose slowly, unlocking a cabinet. From it, she pulled a folder marked 1945. Inside were documents—typed reports, faded photos, a list of names.
Aleksy scanned it. "He's here. Aleksander Zieliński."
Mrs. Zawadzka nodded. "He was released in 1947. But he never came home."
Ren's heart pounded. "Where did he go?"
"No one knows," she said. "Some say he fled. Others say he died in the woods."
Aleksy looked at Ren. "We need to find out."
Mrs. Zawadzka handed them the folder. "Be careful. Some truths don't want to be found."
Outside, the wind had picked up. Ren clutched the folder tightly, his mind racing.
Aleksy was quiet.
"What are you thinking?" Ren asked.
"That he survived," Aleksy said. "And that someone knew."
They returned to the lighthouse, spreading the documents across the table. One photo caught Ren's eye—a man, older, bearded, standing near a cabin.
Aleksy pointed. "That's him. I'm sure of it."
Ren flipped the photo over. A date: 1952. A location: Las Wrzosowy.
"A forest," Aleksy said. "North of here."
Ren looked at him. "We have to go."
The next morning, they packed supplies and drove north. The forest was dense, quiet, the air thick with pine and memory. They parked near an old trailhead and began walking.
Hours passed. The sun dipped low. Just as Ren was about to suggest turning back, Aleksy stopped.
"There," he said.
A cabin, half-collapsed, stood in a clearing. Moss covered the roof. The door hung crooked.
Inside, it was dark. Ren clicked on his flashlight. Dust danced in the beam. A table, a chair, a rusted stove. On the wall, a photograph—Aleksander, older, smiling faintly.
Aleksy touched it. "He lived here."
Ren found a box beneath the floorboards. Inside were sketches, letters, and a journal.
Aleksy opened it. The handwriting was shaky but familiar.
"I waited. I watched the sea from memory. I saw him once, in a dream. He forgave me."
Aleksy's voice broke. "He never stopped loving."
Ren placed a hand on his shoulder. "Neither did you."
They sat in silence, reading the final entries. Aleksander had lived alone, painting, writing, remembering. He died in 1955. No one found him.
Ren took photos of everything. "We'll tell his story."
Aleksy nodded. "We'll finish it."
That night, back at the lighthouse, they laid the journal beside Masaru's. Two lives, two voices, finally reunited.
Aleksy turned to Ren. "You did this."
Ren shook his head. "We did."
Aleksy stepped closer. "You saw me. Before I saw myself."
Ren whispered, "I always will."
Aleksy kissed him.
It was quiet, soft, like the wind finally resting.