Into This River I Drown

I wait on the roof as the sun rises. He doesn’t return.

I’m still there when I see Mary and Nina walk out the door of Big House and get into the car, going to open the store.

I’m still sitting there when Christie leaves a few moments later, going only God knows where.

I’m still sitting there when an old Honda rolls up the driveway. It rolls past Big House and a minute later brakes squeal as it pulls next to the Ford. I’ll have to remember to check the pads next time. Abe opens the door and gets out. He looks up at me. “Benji,” he says.

“Abe.”

“Where’s our friend?”

I shrug.

“Is he here?”

“No. He’s gone.”

Abe looks around. “He left?”

I nod.

“He coming back?”

“I don’t know.” I hope. Oh, how I hope. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please come back. I’ve been praying like this for hours. Nothing has happened.

“Boy,” Abe says, narrowing his eyes, “what did you do?”

“I told him that God didn’t give a shit about him,” I say honestly. “I told him he might as well have been the one that killed my father, since he didn’t protect him. I told him I didn’t need him here.” Those words hurt. I ignore the way my voice cracks.

“Did you mean it?”

I shake my head. “He’s my friend. I was mad. He was hurting and frustrated and I took that and made it my own. I lashed out. I drove him away. I drove him away and I don’t know if he’s going to come back.”

“You’re going to make me climb that ladder, aren’t you?” Abe asks, sounding resigned.

“Had to watch the sunrise,” I tell him, hoping he’ll understand even though I know he won’t. “It’s kind of a tradition now. Abe, what if he doesn’t come back?”

But Abe doesn’t answer, he’s already moving toward the side of the house, to the ladder. I try not to think as I wait, but I fail miserably. You’ve only known him nine days, I chide myself. Nine days is nothing in the scheme of things. Nine days is minuscule compared to how long you’ve gone without him. Grow a pair.

I almost believe my own lies. Almost.

Abe finally huffs his way to the top and comes to sit beside me, his knees cracking as he lowers himself. He doesn’t speak for a time, and we watch the morning take shape around us. It’s okay, this silence. It’s easier to drown when it’s quiet.

But I should have known it wouldn’t last long. “Wings, huh?” Abe finally says.

“Yeah. Angel, even.”

“That’s…. something new.”

“That’s what I said.”

Silence. Then, “Did you mean it?”

“No,” I say roughly. “I didn’t mean a word of it. It’s not his fault. He’s right. I’m the one who called him here. Even if he wanted to come, I still called him.”

“That light everyone was talking about. Last week? The meteor. Out by seventyseven where Big Eddie… oh my God, that was him?”

I manage a weak smile. “You should have been there. He made quite the entrance.”

The blood has drained from Abe’s face. “I just never thought… not here. Not in my lifetime.”

“He’s a guardian. Supposed to be our guardian angel. The whole town’s guardian angel. That’s what he says.”

“Guarding from what?”

“Everything, I think. I still don’t know quite how it works. He’s… different. I think he’s even different than any other guardian angel. I don’t know why I know that. But I do.”

“Big Eddie? Does Cal know….”

I shake my head. “He can’t remember. Something happened to him. Something that made him forget. He’s not supposed to be here. Something broke when he fell and he doesn’t know how to fix it. And I just made it worse.”

Abe’s quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “You know,” he says after a minute, “we both hurt, sometimes more than I think we’d care to admit. I lay awake all night last night, thinking I would know what I would ask when I drove over here. You know what I was going to ask him, Benji?” He looks out into the forest. “I was going to ask him about Estelle. If he was an angel like I thought he was, I was going to ask him about my wife. I was going to ask him why she had to leave when she did. Why she had to go before I did. Ten years, it’s been now. We weren’t young when she passed, but she was young enough that it shouldn’t have happened. I’m told an aneurysm is like that. It’s one of those things that shouldn’t happen, but it does anyway.”

I bow my head, fighting back against the tears that threaten.

“I was selfish, you know. A long time after she died. Years. I was angry at her for being the first one to die, leaving me behind all alone. I always figured I would go first. I was older. She was in better shape than I was. I smoked for thirty years. She never so much as had a sip of wine. She didn’t do anything to deserve….” He trails off, watching the rising sun.

Eventually, he sighs. “So I was furious that she went first. That she was at peace and I was left alone here. I was so mad at her and I stayed that way for a long time.

“I was going to come here and ask your angel if he knew of Estelle. It sounds ridiculous, right? I told myself that all night as I tossed and turned. But I got up this morning determined to ask him if he knew her. If he could see her, because, boy, there are times when I swear to God that I can feel her near me. I was going to ask if he was there when she left me. Do you remember what happened? You might be too young, but that’s okay. She was walking across Poplar Street. Just a normal, sunny day. She was going to get her hair done. That’s all. She was going to get her hair done and instead she died in the middle of the road, her face pressed against the asphalt. I was going to ask Cal to give her a message for me. Do you know what that message was, Benji?”

I’m unable to speak.

“I was going to have him tell her I’m sorry,” he says quietly, putting his arm on my shoulder. He doesn’t pull me toward him, just lets me feel the weight of him. “I was going to say I’m sorry for being so angry for so long. That I missed her and I’m sorry for acting like I didn’t. Grief is like that, Benji. It masks the anger until anger is all you know. Until you’re buried in it. You’re not the only one grieving here. I am too. I loved your dad. Loved him because he was mine too. Love him still, even after all this time. He’s not an easy person to forget. Your mother grieves. Your aunties grieve. And your angel sounds like he grieves as well. And maybe it’s worse for him, because maybe he should have done something. Maybe he did fail. But it sounds like he doesn’t know, and you can’t blame him for that. You can’t blame anyone until you know the truth. Big Eddie would have expected more from you, boy. I do too, for what it’s worth.”

A watery laugh escapes me. “He would have told me to stop acting like such an idiot,” I say, wiping my eyes.

Abe smiles. “And he would have loved you no matter what. This man. This… angel. Cal. Calliel. Is he… do you care for him?”

I know what he’s asking. I can’t lie to him. I won’t. “Yes.”

“And does he feel the same?”

Yes, Benji. God help me, yes. I don’t want anything more than you. I want nothing less than you.

“Yes,” I whisper. “More than I probably know. He’s… watched me. For a long time.”

Abe nods. “Things like these always have a way of working themselves out. You’ll see. It’ll be right as rain before you know it. You just have to have a little faith.”

He might be right. And before I can think otherwise, I’m spilling the details of the argument Cal and I had, details I didn’t think I’d share when Abe had arrived. But it’s out and when I finish, he squeezes my shoulder. Relaying it out loud makes me want to kick myself for how ridiculous I’d been. I never should have pushed him. I never should have let it come to this.

“He’s right, you know,” Abe says after a time.

I snort. “About which part?”

He turns to look at me, his face stern. “About messing around with Griggs. You saw the way he looked at you yesterday, Benji! He knew. He is not a man to cross, believe me. I’ve seen men like him before. No good can come from it. Let someone else handle it. You call that government man who came by last week. That FBI agent. What was his name?”

“Corwin.”

“You call Agent Corwin if you think it’s important. Or let me do it for you. You let them handle it. But you let it alone, you hear me? You don’t want to be in their sights, boy. Not a single one of them. I don’t know what they’ve got going on, but you need to separate yourself from it. Don’t let it become your problem. For all we know, that’s what happened—” He cuts himself off before he goes any further.

But I heard it, and the words I’ve never dared to speak aloud are given life.

For all we know, that’s what happened to your father. For all we know, he crossed them. The Sheriff. Walken. A man named Traynor. Whoever their boss is. For all we know, he found out what they were doing and it became his problem, which then became their problem. Griggs has certainly made enough veiled threats, hasn’t he?

“I can handle Griggs,” I say, feeling less sure than I sound.

Abe shakes his head sadly. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t think anyone can. I stopped at Rosie’s on my way over to get a cup of coffee. She had some interesting news.”

Dread washes over me. “What?”

Abe looks like he’d rather say anything than what he says. “Apparently our twitchy friend from yesterday, one Arthur Davis from Hillsboro, hung himself last night in the sheriff’s jail barracks, waiting for a bond hearing that was supposed to happen this afternoon. A deputy found him strung up from the edge of one of the bunk beds, a sheet wrapped around his neck. He’s dead, Benji. Our lone gunman is dead.”





the strange men

Apparently, dead drug addicts don’t warrant much attention. There is a

small blurb online, a ten-second mention on the news: A man under arrest for suspicion of armed robbery at a convenience store in Roseland hanged himself sometime between midnight and 6:00 a.m., when his body was discovered at the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office barracks during the morning shift change. He apparently was a known drug user with a history of petty offenses. Any further information pending notification of next of kin.

Griggs releases a statement, saying, “While the sheriff’s department does its job to keep the streets safe, it is always difficult to understand why an individual would feel the need to take his own life. Our thoughts are with the family of Arthur Davis.”

Apparently it was cut and dry. No further investigation required.

These are some strange days, Cal said.

I can’t sit at home and stare at the walls. Not while I can sit in the store and stare

at the walls there. People ask where Cal is. I tell them he went back to California for a bit.

I pray. I do. I really do. I pray even though I’m not very good at it. I pray because that is how Cal said he came down the first time. I feel foolish at this, now that I have knowledge of what I’m trying to do. When I called him originally, it had been out of horror and fear and the need for someone to hear my pleas.

Now, it’s just for him.

Cal. Please come back. I’ve only known you thirteen days and you’ve been gone for the last four of them. It’s been under two weeks since you fell but it might as well have been forever that I’ve known you. I need you to come back. Please. Please just come back. See my thread. Hear me now. Please.

But there’s no reply. Like any time I’ve ever prayed before, there is nothing. I come to the conclusion that no one is listening, that no one ever did. Angels exist; that’s been proven by the one who fell from the sky. But there is nothing else. I believe in the impossible. I believe in the improbable. I do not believe that my prayers matter. Not for the first time, I realize just how small I really am, just how petty I sound.

That fear doesn’t stop me from closing up the store every few hours to rush back to Little House, only to find it as empty as when I’d left it. It doesn’t stop me from sitting on the roof every morning, watching the sunrise, searching the long driveway for that familiar figure in the dawn, ambling up to say he’s hungry, to ask if we can go for a ride in the truck because it’s so cherry.

But there’s nothing.





Every time I close my eyes I see blue and hear the rustle of feathers. I hear his

warning about the river and I jerk awake, flailing around for someone that isn’t there. My bedroom door is left open, and every time I wake, I look to the floor there, to see if he’s made his nest.

It’s always empty.

I trudge up to Big House shortly after sunrise, exhausted but still unable to get any real sleep. My mother is in the kitchen with the Trio. They are quiet as I walk in, and I get the distinct feeling that it’s only because I’ve entered the room, that any conversation they’d been having ceased at my entrance. Nina watches me with big eyes, looking like she’s going to speak but then thinks better of it. Christie looks away. Mary attempts a smile. My mother hands me a cup of coffee, full of sugar and cream so it’s a light brown, the only way I can drink it. I take a sip. It’s hot.

I shouldn’t be like this. I went twenty-one years without knowing he existed. I’ve spent the last five focusing on one day at a time. I’ve relied on no one but myself. Yes, there is this little family that stands before me, watching, obviously waiting for me to say something, anything to explain away the bags under my eyes, the hangdog look on my face. But even with them, I’ve been alone. Granted, the lonely island I have become is by choice. So why am I acting like such a goddamn p-ssy? Why do I care so goddamn much?

Because he’s gotten under my skin. He wormed his way in and I can’t figure out how to get him out. I’m haunted. I’m haunted by memory. I’m haunted by the scent of his skin against mine, the scrape of his stubble against my cheek. The way his mouth moves, the way his heart beats in that impossible, improbable way. That feather in the bag on my back. The way it feels like silk under my fingers. The way it’s blue. I need—

No. No. I don’t need. I don’t want to need. F*ck this. F*ck him.

My mother is the first to break the silence. “You getting any sleep?” she asks, even though she knows the answer already.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice more rough than I’d like. “I’m fine,” I try again, clearing my throat. It doesn’t sound any more believable.

“Haven’t seen Cal around,” she says carefully.

“He’s back in California,” I mutter, taking another sip of coffee. “Went home for a bit.”

I don’t miss the shared glance between the sisters.

“When is he coming back?” Mary asks.

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“It looks like it matters to you,” Christie says. She sounds dubious. “Benji, what’s going on?” my mother asks.

I set the coffee mug down on the counter, ignoring the way it sloshes over. “It’s nothing,” I say, trying to keep from snapping at them. “He’s not here, he’s gone. So why don’t you just stop with the questions. I didn’t know you guys cared that much about him. I’ll be sure to send him up here should he decide to make an appearance again.” I glare at each of them before I spin on my heels and walk out of the kitchen, heading for the front door.

I’m being childish, I know. It’s rude. They’re just worried about me. But I can’t take it. I can’t take their pity, that look on their faces, the one that says poor Benji. Poor, poor Benji. It’s the same look I’ve gotten over the past few days, more and more people coming in to ask about Cal, more and more people getting turned away in my increasing frustration. For the short amount of time he’s been here, he’s certainly affected a lot of people, and I hate him for it. I hate him for leaving me alone to fend against them all myself. That f*cking ass—

A hand latches on to my arm as I am about to descend the porch steps to the Ford. The touch is familiar and I sigh. She’s the only one who hasn’t said a word. I don’t turn because I’m worried I’ll snarl at her too.

“Benji?” Nina asks carefully.

“What,” I say, defeated.

“He’ll come back, you know.”

It hurts to hear. “Oh?”

“Yes. And you should know that better than anyone.”

I shake my head. “It turns out I don’t know a whole lot, Nina. Not anywhere near what I should.”

“Do you care for him?” she asks. It’s the second time in only a few days I’ve been asked this question and my answer is the same. I nod. “Then you know enough,” she says, sounding far wiser than I ever could. “If you care enough for someone, then you give them the time to know what they need to do for themselves.”

“He won’t come back,” I say, suddenly sure. “I said things. I said some horrible things to him. He won’t come back. I wouldn’t if I’d heard those things said to me. I’d hate me. Every single part of me. I’d turn and walk away and never look back.”

“No,” she says, rubbing my arm. “I don’t think you would. You’re better than you know, and so is he. Promises were made.”

“Not to me,” I remind her.

“Not out loud,” she counters. She moves to stand in front of me. I try to look away, but she doesn’t let me. “Not here,” she says, touching my lips. “But here.” She touches my head. “And here.” She touches my chest. “Sometimes it’s the promises we don’t say that are the ones that are the loudest.”

I can’t help the small smile that forms. “How did you get so smart?” I ask her as I lean in to kiss her forehead.

She giggles and returns the kiss on my cheek. “One of us has to be. Lord only knows what goes on in that foolish head of yours.”

I watch her for a moment. “A promise, huh?”

She nods and looks out into the brightening morning. “Benji, you have to remember that even though you’ve been sad, he’s been the same. You think you’ve been alone, and so has he. But it may have been harder for him. You didn’t know he was there, not really. He knew you were there. And he did what he could, but it wasn’t enough for him. You might have called him, Benji, but he didn’t have to come. I felt what he felt. He showed me. There was despair. There was sorrow. And then there was you, so bright within him.”

My vision blurs and I don’t speak, knowing my voice would be broken.

She sees this and reaches up to wipe my cheeks. “So you keep your head up. You stand tall and proud like Big Eddie did. And you will see. You’ll see. Things will be okay, I promise.” She kisses me again and then heads back into the house, shutting the door behind her.





It’s just after three when Rosie comes into the store. It’s been quiet today, the

number of people asking after Cal reducing to a trickle. I’ve taken Nina’s words to heart, but it’s still rough to hear his name coming out of someone’s mouth. I’m thinking how I haven’t visited Big Eddie in a while and should probably go see him when the bell dings overhead. Rosie enters, looking grim.

What now? “Hey, Rosie.”

“Benji,” she says in greeting. She glances back over her shoulder, her shoulderlength ponytail flipping around. There are more streaks of gray in her brown hair than I remember seeing. Her normally youthful face is now lined with something I can’t quite place. She scans Poplar Street before turning back to me. “Anyone been in here you don’t recognize?” she asks me.

I shake my head. “Regulars today, no out-of-towners. Why? Everything okay?”

She gnaws on her bottom lip. “Maybe. I don’t know. I could just be overreacting. Two men came into the diner today. They seemed… strange. I don’t know how else to explain it. They looked normal. They were in black suits and black ties, but… I don’t know, Benji. Something just struck me as off. They almost reminded me of Cal, but he’s so much more… I don’t know. Cal’s warm. He’s peculiar, but he’s endearing. Does that make sense?”

I nod, only because that describes him perfectly. He is an oddity.

She looks relieved. “But these two, they just felt cold. That same oddity, but cold. I’ve been in this town a long time, Benji, and I’ve seen a lot of people come through here. But never something like them.”

A buzzing noise starts in my ears. “Did they say who they were?”

Rosie shakes her head. “I tried to get names, but they ignored me. I thought at first that maybe they were police or something, but the more I think about it, the less I’m sure.”

FBI? I think, remembering Corwin’s card in my pocket, and his earlier visit. With all that’s gone on lately, he’s been the furthest thing from my mind. Maybe he sent someone else to follow up here in town. I tell Rosie this, but she’s shaking her head again even before I finish.

“I don’t think that’s it, Benji. They weren’t asking about Big Eddie or Griggs.” She glances over her shoulder again out onto the street. It’s empty. She turns back to me. “They were asking about Cal.”

I can’t prevent the shock on my face. “Cal?”

She nods. “They called him Calliel. They described him perfectly, asking if anyone in the diner had seen him. I had a few of my regulars in there. The doc, Julie from the mayor’s office. Worley had come down off the mountain for a cup of coffee and a burger like he does every week.”

I’m horrified. “They all know him,” I whisper.

She snorts. “We do, yes. But you should know us better than that, Benji. They let me talk, and I didn’t say a thing. I told them I hadn’t seen the person they described. I asked them who they were and what they wanted, but they just said they were trying to find their old friend Calliel. They looked around the diner like they thought I was hiding the big guy somewhere. Then they left and started walking down Poplar Street, store to store. I got the doc and Worley to start calling the businesses to warn them, and I took the back alley from the diner down to here.”

Her loyalty is almost enough to cause me to crumble. “Rosie… I—”

She heads me off. “Oh, no. Don’t you even do that, now. You know we take care of our own here. Big Eddie always did right by us, by me, and you’ve done the same since you’ve stepped up in his place. And I don’t think I’ve seen you as happy in that whole time as you’ve been in the last two weeks.” I start to sputter, but she glares at me and I subside. “Do you trust that man?”

I don’t hesitate. “Yes.” The answer surprises even me.

“Then that’s good enough for me. I liked him the moment I saw him. I don’t need to know what he did, if he even did anything. I don’t know where he is right now, and for some reason I’ve got a feeling you don’t, either. But if you speak to him, you tell him old Rosie’s asking about him and that he’d better get his ass back here before I hunt him down.”

“I miss him,” I admit. “I don’t know….” I allow myself to trail off.

Rosie hears the bitter notes in my words. She reaches over the counter and grabs my hand. “He’ll be back,” she says, her gaze softening. “You should see the way his eyes light up when he’s talking about you. It’s always ‘Benji this’ or ‘Benji that’.” She grins at me. “Remember when you guys came in for dinner a few days ago?”

I nod. It had been the day before the gunman. The day before I called him to my bed.

“When you weren’t looking, he’d steal these little glances at you, out of the corner of his eye. I don’t think he knew anyone saw him, but we all did. Everyone except you. And that look? Oh, Benji. That look was everything.”

My heart hurts. My bones ache. “I—“

The bell rings overhead. The door opens.

Two men walk in, unfamiliar to me. The room immediately goes cold. Both are wearing matching black suits, white dress shirts, and skinny black ties. They are big men, almost the size of Cal. Both have cropped dark hair, and for a moment I think that they might be twins, but one has darker skin, almost bronzed, while the other is a pale white. The darker-skinned man appears younger than his counterpart, who has lines around his eyes and mouth. Their eyes are the same, though, and I can see why Rosie had said they were like Cal. Their eyes are like black pools of oil, almost without any white around them. They look like Cal’s eyes, but even from here, they seem darker. Older. Emptier. The strangers cause my stomach to twist.

The younger man, in the lead, looks around the store, jerking his head erratically, like a bird. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, narrowing his eyes. I follow his line of sight, seeing scratch marks against the ceiling tiles overhead. It takes me a moment to place them, only because I can’t imagine what could cause those marks ten feet overhead. Then it hits me and my blood runs cold.

Cal’s wings, wrapped around me, protecting me from gunfire.

I drop my gaze to find the pale-skinned man staring at me. “Help you?” I say, my voice somehow even.

He ignores me, averting his eyes to Rosie. “From the diner,” he says, his voice oddly flat. There’s no accent to it, no lilt to his words. Each word down to the very letter sounds exactly the same. Even in Oregon there’s a specific cadence to the speech. This voice sounds like it comes from nowhere.

Rosie grins cheerfully. “Came to say hello to my friend!” she says, her voice booming. For an old broad, she’s got some balls, that’s for sure. “Why am I not surprised to see you boys again. Say, I didn’t catch your names earlier.”

“We didn’t give them,” the darker man says, his voice just as strange. “What happened there?” He points to the ceiling with the scratch marks.

I glance up just for a moment, pretending to study what he’s showing me. “Don’t rightly know,” I finally say, slowly. “Can’t say I spend much time looking at the ceiling.”

Rosie frowns as she looks up. “Probably the electrician,” she says. “These old buildings are wired like you wouldn’t believe. Looks like tool marks to me.”

I shrugged. “Could be right.”

“Big Eddie,” the older one says, and I squeeze my hand into a fist. “That’s the name out there on the sign. Big Eddie.”

“Sorry, gentlemen. If you want to speak to my father, you’ll have to communicate with the dead. He’s bones in the ground.”

They glance at each other, and for a moment, I swear I see their eyes twitch back and forth rapidly. I blink, but it’s over and I can’t be positive it happened. They both turn back to me.

“You’re Benjamin Green,” the older man says. “Benji.”

I raise my hands. “You got me there. How’d you know that?” Sweat trickles down the back of my neck into my shirt.

“We’re looking for a… man,” he says, ignoring my question. I hear the hesitation on the last word and know they’re flat-out lying. They know what he is. They know who he is. “Goes by the name Calliel. Big. Red hair. Beard is red. Like fire. Like so much fire. Has he been here?”

I shake my head. “Guy like that’d stick out around here. Can’t say I’ve seen him. And a name like Calliel? Sounds Hispanic… or Greek.”

“It’s not Hispanic,” the dark man says.

“It’s not Greek,” the light man says.

I cock my head. “Could have fooled me.”

The dark man jerks his head again, and it almost looks like he’s seizing, the cords in his neck tightening. “Feathers,” he says as his head stops moving. “Have you seen any… feathers?”

Carefully, I push my backpack farther under the counter with my foot. “Like bird feathers?”

“There’s all kinds of feathers around here,” Rosie snaps, though even she sounds somewhat confused. “We live in a forest. Birds live in trees. There’s bound to be feathers all over the ground.”

The light man shakes his head once, from side to side. It’s not fluid, but staccato, as if the joints in his neck are partially frozen. “This is not… a bird feather. It’s big. It’s bigger. It’s—”

“Blue,” his counterpart finishes. “Everything about it is blue.”

“No blue feathers, no green feathers, no feathers the size of a house,” I say. “Fellas, I haven’t seen your man, and if you aren’t going to tell me your names and if you aren’t going to buy something, I suggest you say sayonara and walk through the door.”

They narrow their black eyes at the same time. I meet their gazes coolly, even though I’ve curled my hands into fists behind the counter and I’m digging my nails into my palms hard enough to draw blood. They glance at each other again, and this time I’m sure I see the strange eye twitch, and I wonder if they’re communicating. I wonder if they’re from On High. I wonder if they’re angels.

But they’re making my skin crawl, and all I want is for them to leave. I clear my throat and their eyes stop twitching. They look at me again. “I hope,” the dark man says, “that you are telling us the truth, Benjamin Green. About Calliel. About feathers.” He curls his lip, the closest thing to a human expression I’d seen since they’d walked in. It’s a monstrous thing. “And scratches.”

They turn as one and walk out of the station and continue out of sight down Poplar Street.

Rosie lets out a breath she’s been holding. She turns to look at me. “Benji, what the hell is going on?”

“These are some strange days,” I mutter, unsure of what else to say.





The Strange Men (which is how they were referred to throughout the town, like

you could hear the capitalization of each word) apparently stopped intruding on people after leaving the store. The doc and Worley were able to contact enough people to spread the word to others, and nobody answered any questions from the Strange Men. I consider the people they would have spoken to, knowing some are less skilled as actors than others. I worry that the Strange Men will run into Griggs or any of his deputies, but by the grace of God (a phrase that I can’t use anymore without basking in irony) they never come into contact. Griggs and the Strange Men are people I do not want meeting.

So members of the town rally behind us, and I wait for a snake in the grass to show his face and hiss little secrets, but it doesn’t happen. After leaving the station, the Strange Men disappear.

By five that afternoon, the phone lines began to buzz with more whispers that fan the gossip wildfire. Most are rational, or so I’m told. Most just wonder what Cal has done to attract the attention of the Strange Men. Most believe Cal to be some dashing bank robber, or an international jewel thief. Okay, most don’t actually believe that; that theory comes directly to me from one Matilda Bajko, a kooky old bat who sighs when she says Cal’s name as she explains breathlessly in my ear over the phone about how she believes he’s on the run from Interpol. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t think Cal even knows what Interpol is. Let alone how to steal anything.

But there are those who whisper different things. A strange light in the sky? they say. A meteor no one had seen? they conspire. Men in black suits coming out of nowhere and leaving just as mysteriously? Why, it’s obvious! How could they have not seen it before! Aliens have landed in Roseland! But why are they asking about Cal? This stumped the conspirators until Gerald Roche, a retired banker and admitted sci-fi enthusiast, decided Cal had seen something he wasn’t supposed to see and was on the run and the government was trying to hunt him down.

Regardless, everyone agrees, it’s exciting. It’s mysterious. It feels like secrets and if there is one thing a small town always has, it’s secrets.

Strange days, indeed.





I resist the urge to drive straight home after I close the shop to see if Cal is there

waiting for me. Ever since the Strange Men left the store, my phone has been ringing off the hook. It isn’t until dusk that Mom starts calling me, but I let it go to voice mail, which I ignore. Her questions are going to be harder to dodge. I know she’s going to be waiting up for me no matter how late I drive in, but there’s something gnawing at the edge of my brain, something that has been there ever since this morning when Nina mentioned my father by name.

I need to see him, to be near him even if he’s just mostly bones.

So instead of continuing straight toward home, and instead of turning right to mile marker seventy-seven and the river beyond, I turn left, heading toward a lost hill that never was. Autopilot takes over, like I’m being directed to this place by something that I can no longer find the strength to believe in.

It is here, now, that I fall back to my darkest hour.





this is the hour we collide

It rained the day my father died. The kind of rain that starts early, and the

clouds are so heavy you know the cloud cover is going to stick around all day. The kind of day you wake up only to want to pull the covers over your head and sink back into sleep.

The alarm went off early, predawn light entering the room. I looked out the window and saw through the rain that my dad’s truck was already gone. I was surprised at that. It seemed too early for him to go meet up with his friends already, but since I didn’t know what they were doing in Eugene, I guess I didn’t give it much thought. He would be back, he’d told me, at some point that afternoon.

I opened the store that morning, knowing it would be quiet unless the rain let up. That was okay with me—I still had history and algebra to catch up on. I started the coffee machine. I put the pastries in the display cases. I turned on the lights.

And it continued to rain.

Abe came in and shot the breeze with me for an hour. He showed me how to find the value of X when I only knew Y. He drank a cup of coffee and then headed out. The rain hurt his joints, he said. The cold too. Such an oddly cold day for May. He was going to go home and use a heating pad on his knees. I smiled and waved to him as he left.

Rosie brought me soup around eleven. Chicken noodle, freshly made. She smiled and then made the mad dash back to the diner.

Around one, I heard the wail of sirens in the far-off distance.

It was two when a deputy’s car pulled into the station. It sat outside in one of the three parking spaces for a moment. I could see the deputy moving around inside. Dominguez, I think it was, talking into the CB. Eventually, he backed out, his lights started to spin, and he took off.

It was raining harder at three that afternoon, like a wall of water.

Then it was four. And then 4:17 happened. I will remember that exact time for the rest of my life. It was 4:17 when my mom pulled into the station. The lights from her SUV filled the store. They switched off, and for a moment the afterimage danced along my vision. Then my eyes cleared, and I saw my mother through the rain, still sitting in the SUV. I couldn’t make out her face clearly through the rain sluicing down the windshield. I sat there and waited. Maybe she’s on the phone, I thought. She’d gotten a hands-free headset she seemed to be in love with. I couldn’t see clearly to know if her lips were moving or not. So I waited.

And waited. Five minutes. Then ten. I became worried at 4:27. At 4:29, the car door opened slowly. As if it wasn’t raining. As if it was a beautiful day and she had all the time in the world. As if nothing else mattered.

Her foot came out first and touched the pavement of the parking lot. She let it rest there for a moment, and I saw her press down on it, as if testing her leg to make sure it could hold her. Her other foot came down. She reached up to grab the top of the door and used it to pull herself up. I thought she was sick. I thought she was drunk. I thought I should go to her. I needed to help her. She was my mother and she was obviously not well. Something was wrong.

But I couldn’t move. Something stopped me. I don’t know what it was, but try as I might, I could not move.

She took another tentative step forward, and then closed the door behind her. Her head was bowed, her blonde hair hanging wet around her face, almost like a veil. She took another step and almost stumbled, her right leg seeming to buckle. She caught herself on the side of the car before she fell.

And still I could not move. Still it rained.

The florescent lights buzzed overhead. One began to flicker, snapping on and off rapidly. The tips of my fingers tingled at my sides. My head ached. My heart was sore. It hurt because I was watching my mother falter in the rain and I could do nothing to stop it. As she took another step toward me, I was sure something awful was coming. She took another step.

I could lock the door, I thought. I could beat her there and lock the door. Keep her out of here. Keep her from bringing in the rain and the clouds. I’m dry here. I’m warm. Sure, the light above looks like it’s dying, and the buzzing noise is driving me insane, but I’m dry in here. I’m safe. She’s my mother. I love her. I love her completely, but she’s going to bring the rain inside.

She reached the door, and for one moment, one single heartbeat, her eyes met mine and I took a step back. The skin around her eyes was swollen, her cheeks puffy. The whites of her eyes were bloodshot in vibrant red lines. Her lips trembled. I saw all of this in one second. A second, really. Just one moment for me to see it all.

She opened the door.

The bell rang overhead.

A blast of air, wet and moist and smelling like deep earth, rolled over me like a wave.

“Benji,” she said, her voice raw and cracked.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. Took in a great gasping breath.

Impossible, I heard my father whisper in my head. Improbable.

I couldn’t move. “What?” I said. “What? Oh, no. What? Oh, please just tell me what.”

Her eyes welled. “He’s…. Oh, my God.”

Choke your hands up on the bat, son. It’s the only way to get a good swing in. Not that high, a little lower. There you go. All right. Incoming, you ready?

Pain in my stomach, sharp and burning. I wrapped my arms around myself, clutching as I bent over and gagged. A low moan escaped me. “Ah,” I said. “Ah. Ah.”

“He’s gone, Benji.”

Heard another one today, Benji. It’s bad. You ready? Did you hear about the guy that went to a zoo that had no animals except for a dog? It was a Shiatzu!

“Oh my God, Big Eddie is gone,” my mother said.

Hand me the 5/8wrench, Benji. We’ll see if we can get this son of a bitch started. Motherf*cker ain’t gonna get away from us, no sir. This bastard is ours.

“I don’t know how it—oh, Christ,” she cried.

C’mon, son! You’re better than this. How could you get a C in English class? It is your first language, after all. I’m kidding! Ha, ha! Don’t give me that look, just do better, for Christ’s sake.

“This isn’t real. This isn’t real,” she said, taking another stumbling step.

I will always look you in the eye. I’ve raised you to be honest and kind. I’ve raised you to be brave and strong. If you can become the man I think you’ll be, then you and me will always be eye to eye. You get me?

“My heart—oh, how my heart hurts,” she moaned as she gripped the countertop.

And you know what my father told me? He told me I wouldn’t amount to anything. He told me I would come crawling back. That I wouldn’t be able to stand on my own two feet. He said it’s what I deserved for getting your mom pregnant when we were so young. But you know what? I never crawled back. I amounted to something, though it might not be much. I am standing tall. And you know what else? I’ve still got your mom. And you, my son. I’ve still got you. And damn if that isn’t the only thing I could ever want.

“You shut your mouth,” I said hoarsely.

My mother recoiled as if I’d slapped her, her eyes wide. She recovered and started to move toward me again. I knew I should have taken her in my arms then, held her close, protected her with all I had, but she’d brought the rain and I couldn’t seem to find the rationality in all my horror.

“Back off,” I hissed at her through gritted teeth. My eyes were burning, my stomach sick. “You’re lying. Why are you lying? Why would you say that to me?”

“No,” she moaned. “No, baby, I’m not. There was an accident, his truck went off the—”

I wanted to go to her, to hug her. Protect her. But she had brought in the rain and I couldn’t bring myself to console her. “You’re lying!” I shouted.

“Benji, you need to listen to me!” she cried. “You need to hear me! He’s—”

“No,” I snarled at her. “He’s not dead. He’s not dead! I would know if he was! I would know because I would feel it! He wouldn’t do that to me! He wouldn’t dare!” I stepped away from her so she couldn’t touch me, so I wouldn’t feel her skin against mine. It burned. It hurt. It felt like betrayal, heavy and real. This isn’t truth! I screamed in my head. This isn’t truth! She lies. She lies with her f*cking mouth!

“There was an accident,” she said tearfully, moving around the counter. “The truck rolled down an embankment. Out near seventy-seven.”

“No. You lie. Stop it. Please, oh please, just stop.” He can’t be dead because I would feel it. I would know. There would be a light extinguished within me and it would be dark, it would all be dark and I would know. He’s my f*cking father. He’s not supposed to leave me. Not now. Not yet. Not ever. We had a deal. We had a deal that he was going to stay alive forever because he’s my dad. He’s Big Eddie. Nothing happens to Big Eddie. Nothing.

She came around the side, her face wet. “The truck went into the river,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “They don’t know yet how long he was in there. In the river.”

She was cornering me, and I growled at her, teeth bared, panic bubbling to the surface. She was trapping me, trapping me with her lies, her stupid f*cking lies.

“Don’t come any closer,” I warned her in a low voice. “Dad’s in Eugene with his friends. He’s with his friends and hanging out.” Then something hit me. It was afternoon. Dad had told me he’d be back by the afternoon. He’d be at the house. Mom just got confused. She got confused with her lies. He’d be at the house. He was at home.

“He’s at home,” I said brightly, even as my heart shattered and my mind broke. “It’s afternoon and he’s at home.” I ignored the tears falling on my face, the way my nose ran. I ignored the way I sounded hysterical, the way hiccups interrupted my words. “He went home because he told me he’d come home in the afternoon.”

She stood a couple of feet away from me and reached out a hand before thinking better of it and pulling it back. “No,” she croaked. “No, baby. No. Big Eddie’s gone. Sweetheart, oh. Oh my God. How… I don’t know….” She started crying again and slumped against the counter. She’d be okay, I knew as I pulled my keys from a pocket. Even if she was a liar, she’d be okay because Dad was at home and I’d go get him. I’d go get him and bring him back to the store and she’d see. She’d see him standing so f*cking big and so f*cking tall he’d block out the darkened sky, and as she stood in his shadow, her tears would dry and she’d smile such a beautiful smile and she’d tell me she’s sorry. She’d be so damn sorry for all the lies she’d just told. She’d see. I’d show her if it was the last thing I did.

“I’ll show you,” I told her. “I’ll show you.”

She cried out after me as I hopped over the counter and ran out into the rain. I tore around back to where the Ford—

she’ll purr, benji, and you’ll know love because she’s so cherry

—was parked. I threw open the door and my cherry baby roared to life. “We need to find Dad,” I told the Ford. “Take me home so we can find Dad.” The tires squealed as I slammed on the gas, quickly righting the truck as the rear began to fishtail onto Poplar Street.

Even as I gunned the engine, I was pulling my cell phone from the console on the dash. Don’t you dare be talking and driving at the same time, Big Eddie whispered in my head. If I catch you, you’ll lose the phone. We clear?

I hesitated for a moment, but then realized he would forgive me. He would see the fear in my eyes and he would forgive me. And it was just a phone. So what if it was taken away. That’d be fine. I’d give up the phone. Right then, I would have given up anything.

I fumbled through the contacts list, barely keeping my eyes on the road. Then BIG EDDIE was highlighted. I put the phone to my ear. His voice immediately came on the line, and I cried out such a call of relief that I almost didn’t hear his words. And it took me a moment to process them.

“You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone. Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

“Dad?” I choked out, even as I heard a beep in my ear. “Is that you? Hello?”

Nothing.

I hung up. And called again.

Immediate. “You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone. Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

And again. And again. And again. Immediate message each time. The phone never rang.

I almost missed the turn to Big House. It was raining even harder by the time the Ford’s tires left asphalt for the gravel driveway. Mud slung up in arcs behind me. Rocks flew. I slammed on the brakes in front of Big House, almost skidding into the porch. I couldn’t see his truck, but that didn’t mean anything. It was afternoon. He said he’d be back. Maybe the truck broke down on the way home and he had to have it towed to a shop. Maybe he’d had a few too many beers hanging out with his friends and he’d had to hitch a ride home. Mom would be pissed that he’d left the truck all the way in Eugene, but that was okay. I could drive him there to get it tomorrow. I smiled, thinking that we could make it a mini road trip. Maybe take a couple of fishing poles with us and stop off near the bridge on the way back. It would be just the two of us. Just the two of us and nothing else would matter.

I stepped out into the rain, leaving the Ford’s door open behind me. Days later, I’d have to reupholster the door since it would sit open for another six hours, and the material became bloated and reeked of mold. I’d do it with a grim expression on my face, cursing myself when it wasn’t looking right, berating myself that Big Eddie would have done it right the first time. Big Eddie would have made it look spectacular right away. But that was still days away.

I bounded up the steps and threw open the door. The house was almost quiet, the only sound water falling on the roof. “Dad,” I tried to call out, but it came out as a croak. I cleared my throat and took another step into Big House.

And with that second step, with that small movement that meant nothing, came the first cold realization that my mother had not been lying. She had not been making it up. It was a tiny part, a tiny voice screaming from the depths. I pushed it away, but it had done enough damage, even in a split second. “Dad?” I said again. It was a little louder.

Another step into Big House, and I wanted to scream. “Dad?” I said, raising my voice. “You here?”

Upstairs. He can’t hear me because he’s upstairs in the shower or in his bedroom or he’s just playing a game and trying to trick me. He and Mom came up with this stupid trick, this awful trick, and pretty soon, he’s going to jump out and yell surprise! Surprise and weren’t you just so scared? Weren’t you just freaked out over nothing? Just a joke, son. It was just a joke. It was just a joke and I’ll never leave you. I’ll never leave you, I promise.

I ran up the stairs, ignoring how the rain falling on the roof sounded like the roar of a river.

He wasn’t in the bedroom or the bathroom. He wasn’t in my room or the spare room. He wasn’t in the closets. He wasn’t in the attic. I went room to room, whispering his name, saying his name, finally bellowing his name, demanding that he come out from wherever he was hiding, that he show himself and end this joke, end this whole f*cking thing. I was tired, I screamed at him. I was so tired of this game and I wanted it to be over.

No reply came.

I slumped against the wall near the stairs and slid down, wrapping my arms around my knees. I sat there, shivering, for I don’t know how long. Finally, I pulled out my phone again and called my father for the last time.

“You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone. Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

The howl that tore from me then echoed throughout the house.





“You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone,” I say now, sitting in the Ford at the gates

of Lost Hill Memorial Cemetery. “Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

I open the door to the Ford and step out into the dark. There’s a chill in the air, but I’ve forgotten my coat at home or back at the store. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

I hop over the security chain stretched out across the road. The cemetery closes at nightfall, but I’ve been here after dark many times over the past five years. It’s better for me to be able to come here without anyone else around. There’s nothing more awkward than standing above a loved one’s remains and having someone mourning two headstones down. Do you acknowledge them? Do you ignore the tears on their face? Or do you just exchange a knowing look that says, “I know. I know what you’re going through.”

But you don’t. Not really. Everyone grieves differently. No one handles the loss of a loved one the same. Some put on a brave face for others, keeping everything internal. Others let it all out at once and shatter, only to pick up the pieces just as quickly as they came apart. Still others don’t grieve at all, implying they are incapable of emotion.

Then there are the ones like me, where grief is a badge we wear, where it’s hard to let go because we don’t want to. We probably wouldn’t know how even if we wanted to. There’s unanswered questions, unresolved feelings. There is anger that this person could even conceive of leaving us behind. We are the furious ones, the ones that scream at the injustice and the pain. We are the ones who obsess and slowly lose rational thought, knowing it is happening but unable to find a way to care. We are the ones who drown.

I pass the Old Yard, those graves time is erasing, the names on the stones all but illegible. These people are forgotten. These people don’t have fresh flowers on the grass, no one who actively mourns them. Their mourners are likely dead themselves by now, on their way to being disremembered. How would it feel to live a full life and have no one remember it, to have no one remember the extraordinary things you accomplished, even if it was just waking up every day and finding the courage to get out of bed?

I see her, then. Even in the dark, even in the distance. She means something different to me now, with her stone wings and outstretched hands. She means so much more. She beckons me without moving, she calls for me without making a sound, even though in my head I can hear the flutter of wings and I see the color blue. I push it away before it can become something more, focusing on the stone angel getting closer. Her face is kind, but also sad, as if she knows what has happened to me, and what she must do. She hasn’t moved since I first laid eyes on her, always watching. Always guarding.

This last thought causes an ache in my chest.

And now, for the first time in weeks, I stand before my father.

Fifteen words:

EDWARD BENJAMIN GREEN

“BIG EDDIE”

BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER

MAY 27 1960—MAY 31 2007

“Hey, Dad,” I say softly. “Sorry it’s been awhile.”

When I first started visiting him, I felt foolish talking to him out loud. He can’t

hear you , I had chided myself. He’s not really there and you’re just sounding like a nut job. But I pushed on, and eventually it became easier, and I could even hear what I thought would be his replies, said in that gruff voice of his, buried deep in my mind. These days, there are times that I have to struggle to remember his voice just right. It seems to take longer and longer to find the cadence, to get the timbre just right. But eventually it comes to me and it’s like he never left, and he’s standing next to me, saying all the things I want to hear.

But it feels different tonight. Something feels… closer. Just out of reach. I scan the rest of the boneyard, but it’s empty, the nearly full moon chasing away

some of the shadows attempting to creep in. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I tell myself I’m just imagining things, there’s nothing here with me. I turn back to my father, the guardian angel still reaching for me, her palms up. Not able to stop myself, I reach out and touch her palm, the stone cool against my fingers. I raise my eyes to her face, and she’s watching me with gray eyes, her lips slightly parted. For a moment, I think she’ll speak. But, of course, she’s made of stone. She’s not real.

I let out a deep breath. “It’s been kind of crazy these last few weeks. I don’t… I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing here, Dad. I thought I was. I thought… God, I don’t know what I thought. Did you send him here? Calliel? I don’t know why I think that, but there’s a part of me that thinks you did. If you did, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry for messing things up. I’m sorry for making him go away. I’m sorry I couldn’t figure it out in my head. Dad… I’m drowning here, okay?” My voice cracks, but I can’t seem to stop. I have to get this out. “I can’t seem to keep my head above water anymore. Things are just snowballing and I don’t know how to stop it. Five years. Five years I waited for something to happen, and now that it’s all at once, I… I need help, Dad. Please. I need help so bad, and I promise, oh how I promise you, that if you send him back, I’ll do everything I can to make it right. I’ll do everything I can to help him like you asked me to. I’ll do it for you. And I’ll do it for him.”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “F*ck, do I miss you. There’s times that I find myself thinking something and I’ll turn around to tell you, and it hits me that you’re gone. It hits me all over again, because I could’ve sworn you were just here. Like you were standing right next to me just a second ago. Why can’t you be? Why did you have to go? Where were you going that day? You lied to me. I know you did. You weren’t going to see any friends. What did you do? What did you see?”

A sob rips my chest and I try to choke it back down. “I’m so angry at you. I’m so f*cking mad. You bastard. You f*cking a*shole. Why’d you have to go? Why did you have to leave me behind? You promised me. You promised me that you’d always be there. I’m your f*cking son, and you promised me! You f*cking promised!”

My eyes are bleary and my knees feel weak. I reach out to steady myself and grab onto the stone angel’s hands. She holds me up as my body trembles. It hurts to stand here. It hurts to be here. Even after all the time that has passed, it still hurts. Everything about this place is—

blue

—pain and I just want it to stop. I just want it to be over. I just want to raise my head up and wake from this nightmare that I can no longer tell is real or not. There has to be an ending. This has to finish before it’s too late.

Footsteps, from behind me.

I whirl around, the angel Calliel’s name dying unspoken on my lips.

Standing ten feet away are the Strange Men.

I take an inadvertent step away, and the angel’s stone hands jab my back. The Strange Men cock their heads at me at the same time, mirror images of each other, light and dark. I don’t know if I should be frightened yet, but I’m well on my way. I try to keep it from my face.

“Hello,” I say evenly.

“Benjamin,” the dark man says. “Benji. Benjamin Green.”

“Out here?” the light man asks, quirking his head at the other. “It seems… unwise.”

“Why are you here?” the dark man asks. “What is it you hope to find?”

My heart is jumping in my chest, and my palms feel clammy. “I was just coming to see my father,” I say.

“Father?” the dark man asks. “Father.”

“Ah, the father,” the light man breathes reverently. “His… name?”

“Green. Edward,” the dark man says, his eyes twitching back and forth rapidly. “Edward Benjamin Green.”

“Transposed,” the light man responds. “One is the other and the other is one. Big Eddie? From the sign?”

“Yes,” the dark man agrees. “The sign.”

“Crossed?”

The dark man’s eyes twitch again. “No,” he says, sounding confused. “He… hasn’t. He’s…. paradox. Contradiction. How…?”

The light-skinned man reaches out a white hand and touches the dark man on his shoulder, a caressing slide of his fingers. “It doesn’t matter. Not now. Later. Now is blue. Now is Calliel.”

The dark man shakes his head quickly, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Yes. Calliel.”

They look at me again. The angel’s hands are still pressed against my back.

The dark man says. “The angel Calliel. Where is he?”

“I told you,” I say, my voice high-pitched. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying,” the light man says. And then he smiles at me, and it’s such a terrible thing that my stomach twists and my skin crawls. There’s no humanity in it, just a wide grin under the dead, black eyes of a shark. “The scratches? Wings, we should think.”

“What… scratches?” I say faintly.

“The angel?” the dark man asks. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know any angel!”

“Lies,” the light man says.

“Deceit,” the dark man says almost regretfully.

They take a step toward me at the same time, and then another. And then another. “We can make you,” the dark man promises. “We can make you tell us things. So many little things.”

I take a step back and glance down as something falls. A vase. Flowers spilled.

The light man continues to grin at me. “Things… you wouldn’t normally share. Things your heart keeps hidden. It will hurt. The angel. Where is he? The angel Calliel.”

“He has broken law,” the dark man says as they take another step. “He has disrupted order. The design. He is not belief. He has fallen from faith. His job was one single thing, and he broke. He broke from what he was.”

“Make him call out?” the light skin man asks. “I think he will scream and the angel will come. Make him scream? He can… scream.”

I feel like screaming. But I can’t.

They are five feet away. The light man stretches out his arms in front of him, his bone-white fingers waggling at me, like he’s saying mine, give me mine, mine.

“He’ll come,” the dark man says. “Scratches. On the ceiling. This boy is protected.”

“How—”

I bring my foot up and stomp on the vase. It shatters. The noise causes the Strange Men to take a step back. I reach down quickly and grab a large shard, the end wicked sharp. I point it at the Strange Men. “Come on, then, you a*sholes,” I snap at them. “You want to f*ck with me? You want to f*ck with my town? Come on, then!” By the end, I’m shouting.

A flutter of wings from overhead.

“He’s here,” the dark man says as he looks skyward.

“Expected,” the light man says. “Make Benjamin scream? Maybe no time after. He should scream for his lies. He lies.”

A snarl turning into a roar. Then, as if he had fallen again from the sky, Calliel appears in front of me, his dark-blue wings spread wide, thirty feet from tip to tip. The ground around us shakes as he lands between the Strange Men and me, crouching down, his head bowed. He’s still wearing the jeans I’d seen him in last, but they are dirty and torn, revealing swatches of white skin that are almost luminous.

For the first time, a flicker of fear crosses the Strange Men’s faces as they take a step back. Whatever hold they had on me is released, and I fall to my knees behind Cal, almost unable to believe he is here.

“Benji,” he growls without rising, his head still bowed. Nothing in the world has ever sounded better than my name on his lips. “Are you okay?”

I want to tell him yes, I am okay. Now that he is here, I’ll always be okay. And as long as he stays, everything will be wonderful and he’ll never have to ask me that question again. But all I say is, “I think so.”

He nods, the red stubble across his head almost glowing in the moonlight. His wings quiver and I smell earth. The smell is a palpable thing and it catches in my throat. “Stay behind me. Whatever happens, you stay behind me.”

“Cal, I….”

“I know,” his voice is still deep and rough. “There is much I have to tell you. But first….” He rises to his feet, towering far above me. He’s magnificent, stretched so high he looks like he could reach up and touch the sky. His skin appears to be twitching, and he glances back at me just once. His eyes are almost completely black, his jaw set, and I realize he’s furious, so much so that he’s shaking with it. But even as those eyes fall on me, I understand it’s not at me, none of his fury is directed toward me. His rage is meant for the Strange Men, and it takes my breath away. They’ve come to this place. They’ve threatened his town and threatened me. He’s so far in his anger that it’s making him quake. I nod at him, letting him know I understand. I move behind the stone angel, peering out around her wings.

He turns back to the Strange Men.

“Leave,” he says coldly. “You are not welcome here. This is my town. I have not called for your assistance.”

“It appears you misunderstand our intentions,” the dark man says, cocking his head to the right.

“We are not here to assist you,” the light man says, cocking his head to the left.

“Angels do not belong on the earthly plane,” the dark man says, taking a step toward us.

“You have broken angelic law,” the light man says. “You have defied God.”

“Do not presume to know the words of my Father,” Calliel says, his wings shuddering. “Michael does not speak for God, no matter what he says.”

Michael?

“Michael sees all,” the dark man snaps, anger showing on his smooth face for the first time. “He is a vessel, put in place to speak the wisdom of God. He is one of the Firsts. You know this, Calliel. And you know the consequences for disobeying him.”

“Guardians such as yourself are not meant to become corporeal,” the light man says, a sneer on his lips. “You are to assist your charges when the threads dictate.”

“And a thread has arisen,” Cal growls. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the fury in his voice. “A thread has arisen for one of my charges. I followed that thread and it led me here. To see you threatening one of my own. So again, I find myself in a position of knowing what my Father has asked of me. You may leave now. Go back to Michael and tell him I still perform my duties as a Guardian. Tell him to come down himself instead of sending his minions.”

The Strange Men look stunned. “You know that that is not possible,” the dark man hisses.

“You know what could happen to him,” the light man barks. “You know what is happening to you even as you stand here.”

“Why you have chosen to take this risk is beyond comprehension,” the dark man says, taking another step forward.

“How you have survived this long is a quandary.” The light man takes a matching step. “Michael will want answers.”

Cal forms his hands into fists at his side. “Last warning, men of nothing. Leave now. Threaten not my charges. I will not ask again.”

“He’s weaker now,” the dark man says, a cold smile on his face. “Even he knows it.”

“Yes,” the light man says. “He is. This will end now as we were instructed. We cannot go back to Michael empty-handed.”

“So be it,” Cal says, bowing his head. “Father, forgive me for what I must do. I pray for you to have faith in me as I do in you. The thread is bright. Benjamin Edward Green is mine, and I will do what I must to protect him.”

I am allowed a moment, an infinitesimal space in time where his words reach me and burn through me like fire. My mind is slowly catching up with my eyes, his sudden appearance after the absence of days that felt like years melting away like a bad memory. He came for me, I think, in this moment.

But that is all I am allowed. As soon as the echoes of his words die out, the faces of the Strange Men twist into something clearly not human. They retain their shapes, their colors of light and dark, but it’s the way their mouths open wide, into gaping snarls that confirm they are no more human than Cal is. The roars that pour from their mouths are like a low screech, and they cause my eyes to water. I clap my hands over my ears to try and block the horrible noise. They hurl themselves at Calliel, hands outstretched, their fingers looking impossibly long, stretched out into points, like claws.

Cal moves before I can cry out a warning. Almost faster than my eyes can follow, he spreads his wings again, raising them up and then slamming them down toward the ground. He’s launched into the air, even as the concussive blast of air from the downswing of his wings strikes me in the face, smelling of grass and earth. Blue lights flash and trail behind him, like a comet’s tail.

The Strange Men land where he stood only moments before, screeching louder, glaring upward. I follow their gazes and see Cal thirty feet above them, the blue lights arcing their way around him, the stars a halo behind his head, his wings moving up and down lazily. The moon peeks out from behind the clouds like it wants to light up this creature in its sky and show the world something it has never seen before. I cannot make out his face, but I can see the anger emanating from him. He is breathtaking.

And then he crosses his arms over his chest as his wings fold to his sides. He falls backward. Above the angry calls of the Strange Men, I can hear the wind rustling over his wings as he plummets toward the earth. I only have a moment to be alarmed, to think maybe he is falling again, that something is wrong, that he’s going to crash into the ground, and the Strange Men will fall on him with their terrible claws, their stretched faces.

But that is not what happens at all.

He’s ten feet above the ground, falling headfirst, the Strange Men’s arms outstretched as if they will catch him, when his wings snap open. Air immediately pushes against the feathers, slowing his descent. He folds them again as he twists his body. The Strange Men shout incoherently as he rockets between them, reaching, but grabbing only empty air, the blue lights flowing around them. The rush of air left in his wake knocks them off balance, and they stumble as they attempt to stay upright.

Even as he passes between them, he’s spinning again, until he faces the Strange Men, his wings unfurling, causing him to come to an immediate stop in midair, his wings pumping around him. He catches both of the Strange Men by their necks as they fall into him. He raises them both off the ground, digging his fingers into their flesh. The Strange Men kick their legs, flailing and trying to scratch at his arms.

The expression on Cal’s face is pure fury. A low growl rumbles out of him, his chest heaving. The Strange Men start to choke and gasp for air. I wonder what will happen if he continues to squeeze, if his hands will tear into their skin. Do they have blood? Will it pour over his fingers? He’s called them men of nothing, but surely they live if they are struggling to breathe.

“I gave you warning,” Calliel says coldly. “I gave you an opportunity to leave Roseland, to leave him alone. You ignored my warnings. You chose to attack what is mine. I will now rid this place of you.”

“You know… what Michael… will do,” the dark man gasps.

“You have… broken law,” the light man gurgles. “You cannot believe… that you can stay here.”

“You have forsaken your Father,” the dark man spits out.

“You have only made this worse,” the light man warns. “They will come for you in greater numbers.”

Something crosses Calliel’s face, and his expression falters. I want to call out to him, to say his name, to tell him to set them down, that he is not the judge and jury, not the executioner. But my words barely break a whisper; my throat closes in disbelief. Cal’s eyes harden again and the snarl returns.

“This is my town. These are my people. Benji is mine. Let them come. You won’t be here to witness it.”

“The black,” the Strange Men choke out as one.

“Sin,” the dark man says.

“Vile,” the light man says.

“Be gone,” Cal says.

“No,” I whisper.

The Strange Men begin to shriek again, their cries loud, echoing over the cemetery. Cal’s blue lights begin to gather and swirl behind him, slowly at first, but then in an ever-widening vortex. There’s no sound, but it’s not silent. It’s as if there’s an absence of sound, as if it’s being sucked toward the maelstrom. I can see through the center of the spinning blue halo, the headstones behind it flashing in the light. But then the center of the halo explodes outward, and a black void fills the circle. It looks like a large dark eye: a spinning blue cornea, a great black pupil.

Cal spins on his heels, his wings flaring out behind him, bringing the Strange Men around with him. As he whirls, he releases them, first the light man, then the dark man. The light man is the first to reach the dark eye, and he hits the black center… and disappears, his entire suit falling to the ground. The dark man follows, his suit fluttering down to the ground as he enters the black. As soon as they’re gone, the swirling black hole explodes in a soundless flash that burns my eyes.

And then it’s over.

He stands facing away from me, as if watching the empty space where the hole had been. His wings fold back against him again, and I can see he’s trembling, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“Cal?” I manage to croak out.

He turns. The anger has left his face, replaced by despair. Horror. Anguish. “Benji?” he whispers, sounding broken. He falls to his knees, his wings shaking behind him.

I should run to him, I know. I should run and comfort him and make him okay. Make everything okay. But it’s hard to move my feet. I’m weighed down by the last words I said to him, how I forced him away. How I made him leave. This isn’t on him. None of this is on him. It’s me. Everything about this is me. And again, he’s come when I’ve called for him. He’s come when I didn’t deserve it. He’s come to bring light to my world, to save my life and keep me from drowning. Dear God, how could I deserve this? How could he even be here with me?

I take a step toward him, hearing his ragged breath. It seems like I take days to reach him, hours stretched out where I’m sure I’ll be struck down by the might of his Father, sure I’ve failed whatever test has been put before me.

But it doesn’t happen.

I stand before Calliel. His head is bowed.

“Benji,” he breathes. He doesn’t look at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I choke out. I reach out and cup his face.

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. Even in the dark, I can see the glitter of his eyes. “Your thread. I saw your thread, and I was scared. It was so bright.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I d-didn’t mean….”

“I know,” he says, and I almost believe he does. I feel his breath on my lips. “I know. I thought… no. I was scared. I didn’t know what else to do. Benji. I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were gone,” I say weakly. “I thought you’d left me too.”

He widens his eyes and pulls back, bringing his hand to the back of my head, pushing me into him as he kisses my forehead. “No,” he says in obvious distress. “I will not leave you again. I will always be with you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please believe me.”

“You can’t say that! You don’t know what will happen! This is on me. This is all my fault, and I—”

“Never,” he says. He brushes my tears away with his thumbs. “Never again. You are my—”

“Benji?” a voice calls out, cracking.

“No,” I whisper.

Cal spreads his wings quickly as he rears back, the blue bright against the night sky.

I turn my head.

Standing next to the stone angel who guards the small patch where my father sleeps is my mother. And she has seen the angel Calliel for what he really is.