Into This River I Drown

It happens sixteen minutes later.

Only a couple of people come into the store after Cal and Rosie leave, grabbing a few last-minute necessities. Soda. Ice. Potato chips. It’s twenty past eleven, and I think I’ll close up the store. Abe is bent over the counter, trying to figure out what twenty-six down is with a clue for an eight-letter word that means a certain angel. He has the first letter G and the last letter N. No wonder he’s been working on this book for six years, I think with a shake of my head as I walk toward the front door, getting ready to switch over the sign to “Closed.” “Hey,” I call over my shoulder. “Let’s head down and—”

A Strange Man stands across Poplar Street, watching me.

He’s different than Dark Man and Light Man were. He’s completely bald and his white skin is luminous in the weak sunlight that appears from behind a drifting cloud. His face is smooth, and for a moment he reminds me of Nina with her sweetly cherubic face. But the Strange Man is nothing sweet. Although I can’t quite place if he actually looks menacing or if it’s just the memory of his counterparts that comes roaring to the forefront of my mind. He’s dressed in the same dark suit and skinny tie over a white shirt. He looks to be a bit taller than I am, and even with the distance between us I can see his eyes look flat and black, like they’re dead.

He’s flickering in and out of view, like he’s a malfunctioning projection. For a split second he disappears, and then he’s there again, on and off, on and off, just like the lights were in the freezer that stored my father’s body so long ago. I don’t know why my mind makes this connection, but it does and my skin feels instantly clammy. For a moment, I wonder if the Strange Man will suddenly flicker out of existence, only to reappear right next to me, his fingers turning to claws, his face stretching into a horrible shape.

But he doesn’t. He continues to flicker in and out and cocks his head, watching me.

Once you catch sight of the Strange Men, Michael whispers in my head, his voice a memory, you will know I have assisted you and that you should follow.

Michael’s sign.

“Abe,” I say, not turning around. “I have to run home for a minute. Do you mind closing the store?”

Silence from behind me. Then he says, “Why do you have to go home?”

The Strange Man holds his hand out in my direction as if silently asking me to take it in mine. “Need to get some plywood to board up the windows just in case.” It’s easy, this lie.

Footsteps approach from behind me. “What are you looking at?” Abe’s voice is hard, as if he doesn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him follow my gaze across the street to where the Strange Man stands, having not yet moved from the same spot. His eyes do not widen. He doesn’t gasp; he does not start to tremble. He looks confused and darts his gaze up and down Poplar Street. He can’t see the Strange Man.

“Why are you so pale?” he asks me quietly.

“Worried about the storm,” I say. “Don’t want anything to happen to the store.”

“And that’s all?”

“Yes.”

He grabs me by the shoulders and forces me to turn and face him. “You’re lying,” he snaps at me. “What is it? What do you see, boy?”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Nothing,” I say. “I told you, I just need to go get some plywood.”

“There’s some in the back,” he says, giving me a little shake.

“Not enough.”

“It’s Michael, isn’t it? It’s that bastard Michael. What did he say to you? What did he ask you to do? What did he promise you?”

He told me he would help me find the truth. And I can’t tell you because I need to keep you safe. This is not your fight. This is not Cal’s fight. This is mine. Stay away, Cal. Stay away.

I open my eyes. “This has nothing to do with Michael, Abe. I’m asking you to trust me on this. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“At least tell Cal! Have him go with you!”

“ No,” I say, startled at the anger in my voice. Abe flinches. “Leave him out of this.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“Abe….”

He shakes his head angrily. “You can’t lie for shit, boy. You aren’t going back to your house. You see something out there, and by God you aren’t going wherever you think you’re going without me attached to your ass.”

“Abe, just listen to me for a second.”

“No, you listen. The day your daddy died, I got down on my knees and I prayed. I prayed for his soul to rest in peace. I prayed for you and your mom to receive strength. And I made a promise. Do you know what I promised, Benji?”

I don’t know, but my heart already hurts.

“I promised him,” he says roughly, “that I would do my damnedest to watch out for you, to make sure that nothing happened to you. I’ve let you grieve and I’ve grieved along with you. I like to think that you are my own because you are my own. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you walk out that door without me, you can bet your ass on that.” He stops, glaring at me defiantly.

“I can’t risk you getting hurt,” I say weakly.

He nods. “And I can’t risk you going off on your own. Not when I can go with you. No arguments.”

Shit. “Strange Man, across the street.”

Now his eyes widen. Now he gasps. He looks over again, out the windows. “There’s nothing there,” he says, sounding confused.

“Oh, he’s there. You can trust me on that. Michael told me he would send him.”

“To do what?”

I look back at the Strange Man, who cocks his head again, so like a bird. He’s flickering even more now, as if my indecision is causing his existence to wane. Michael said he would send me a sign, but he didn’t say for how long.

“To do what?” Abe asks again, giving me another shake.

“To show me the truth,” I whisper as the bald man frowns.

Abe sighs. “And Cal? He needs to know, Benji. He needs to know, because if he doesn’t and something happens to you, it’s going to destroy him.”

“No. I can’t risk him. I can’t take the chance. He’s becoming human, and I can’t take the chance.” Stay away, Cal. Stay away. Calm. Hush.

“Human?” he says as he bows his head. “Oh, Benji… he’s becoming human?”

“I can’t risk him,” I say again. Because I can’t. I won’t. Once this is done, I will find a way for him to survive and stay with me forever. I will find a way to keep him with me at Little House and the world—be it Griggs or be it angels from On High— will never bother us again. We’ll live out the rest of our days as everything passes us by.

“He’ll find you. The threads. He’ll see.”

“Abe.”

“What?”

“The Colt .38 Super. In the office lockbox. Get it and the ammo. Quickly. If you’re going, we need to move. I don’t know how much longer Michael will allow the Strange Man to stay.”

He doesn’t move.

“Abe. Now.”

He hurries to the back office.

Stay away, Cal, I think. I can’t let you get hurt. Stay away.

The Strange Man begins to smile.





a thousand needles in your eye

We drive down Poplar Street in the Ford, away from the festival. As we pass

the diner, Dougie opens the front door, having finished boarding up the windows. He sees us and waves as we drive past him, a questioning look on his face. He’s obviously headed toward the festival, and I hope he gets distracted and doesn’t run into Cal to ask where Abe and I are going.

I don’t know where we’re going. As soon as we hopped into the Ford, the Strange Man disappeared, only to reappear farther down Poplar Street, headed toward home. Or Lost Hill Memorial. Or the Old Forest Highway, which would lead to mile marker seventy-seven. I follow him, and when we get within twenty yards, he vanishes and then returns, farther down the roadway again. Every time he reappears, it looks as if his smile gets a little bit bigger.

“Don’t know how much time we’ll have now,” Abe says as he waves at Dougie. “Cal’s going to find out one way or another. You sure about this, Benji?”

Stay away, Cal. “Yes.”

We reach the intersection as the Strange Man disappears again. I stop at the stop sign, waiting to see what direction he’ll lead us, though I know in my heart where it will be. The cloudy sky has taken on the peculiar orangish-reddish hue of an approaching summer storm. I can see rain falling far off in the distance, probably over in the next county. The rearview mirror shows rain falling on the mountains behind us as well.

“Odd storm,” Abe mutters, as if he can hear my thoughts. “Falling all around Roseland but it doesn’t look like it’s getting any closer.”

“Maybe we prayed the rain away.”

We look at each other and chuckle quietly, trying not to let our laughter turn into full-blown hysterics. The world has taken on an impossible (improbable) hue, and I barely recognize it anymore. I try to catch my breath, and Abe continues to huff out his laughter next to me, a high-pitched sound like he’s almost crying.

I wipe my eyes and pretend the tears are from laughing too hard as I look all three directions we can take. Nothing. Should I go left and head to the stone angel where my father rests? I don’t know what going there would solve. There’s nothing there I haven’t already seen. I don’t think there are any clues or mysteries buried with my father.

What about straight ahead? Big House and the house my father built await me there. Could my father have put something inside? Secreted away some journal or evidence that would explain everything completely? My father could have written out a final note to me, telling me he was sorry, he never meant for any of this to happen.

But, of course, that’s not how life works. Life is not a series of hopes and dreams cobbled together to make the shapes fit into the pattern, into a design. No, it doesn’t work like that at all. The Strange Man appears off to our right, heading toward the Old Forest Highway, toward mile marker seventy-seven, where so many things came to an end and so many things had their beginning.

I’m not surprised.

I turn right and follow the bald Strange Man, who disappears and then flickers back farther down the highway. I almost choke when I see him raise a single hand and waggle his fingers at me like he’s waving before he vanishes again.

Abe is staring at me out of the corner of his eyes, a determined look on his face, as if he expects me to stop the Ford and tell him to get out. I consider it, to a point, wondering how I can justify needing to protect Cal but be perfectly willing to put Abe, an old man, right in the middle of harm’s way.

“Don’t you even think about it,” he growls at me. “I have the gun.” He shakes it in my direction, his finger near the trigger.

“You wouldn’t shoot me,” I say, hoping that’s true.

“If it meant saving your sorry ass, boy, I wouldn’t bet against it.”





I expect the Strange Man to stop or even disappear completely as we approach

mile marker seventy-seven, so I’m surprised when he continues to disappear and reappear farther down the road, past the mile-marker sign. I slow and think about stopping completely (to do what, I don’t know), but the Strange Man beckons me again, this time almost frantically. He glances over his shoulder as if looking for something and then turns and waves to me again. A visible tremor goes through him, and he grimaces as if in pain. His movements become more staccato, his flickering more rapid. With a sideways glance at the river below where my father drowned, I press down on the gas and continue up the road, which rises up a hill into the Cascades.

“Where’s he taking us?” Abe asks. “Do you know?”

“No,” I say, watching as the Strange Man appears again, this time with his mouth wide open like he’s screaming as he bends over, holding his stomach. “Something’s wrong with him, though. It’s like he’s in pain.”

“Didn’t Cal say they didn’t have souls?” Abe asks, squinting ahead as if that’ll bring the Strange Man into view. “I didn’t think they could feel anything.”

I shudder at the memory of fear in their eyes and voices when Cal had opened the black hole back at Lone Hill Memorial. “They can feel things,” I say quietly as the Strange Man’s mouth stretches wide again before he disappears.

We round an almost blind corner. The Strange Man stands just before the Oakwood Bridge, a steel monstrosity that crosses over the Umpqua River churning angrily some fifty feet below in the gorge. The bridge itself is one lane each way, and a hundred feet long. Cement walkways line either side of the bridge for tourists to stop and take photos, blocked off by metal girders. The roadway is blacktopped, a dotted yellow line running down the center.

The Strange Man is now in the center of the bridge, jerking his arms at his sides. He looks as if he’s having a seizure, still upright but shaking violently, snapping his head back and forth. His white skin has started to redden, as if he’s heating from the inside. He rocks his head back, opens his mouth wide, and a little tendril of smoke rises from his throat into the air.

Any remnants of the sun have disappeared behind the approaching clouds. Even inside the cab of the truck, the air from outside feels electric, like the storm is ready to break open at any moment and plummet toward the ground. It feels more like dusk than midafternoon. I flip on the headlights and the Strange Man is illuminated briefly before he disappears in an intense flash.

And reappears, stock still, on the other side of the bridge.

He waves. And smiles.

Headlights are coming down the mountain road behind him. They hit him briefly and he is cast in shadow before he disappears. We approach the bridge at the same time. It’s another truck.

“Someone coming in for the festival?” Abe asks.

“Maybe.” I frown. The truck approaching seems to be a newer model, its headlights a bright blue LED. I can see a bar of the same LED lights across the top of the cab. A metal grill guard wraps around the front. The truck looks black. The windows are tinted, and given that, and the distance between us, and the lights in my eyes, I’m unable to see anyone in the cab.

Suddenly, everything feels wrong as we drive onto the bridge

I look down at the speedometer in the Ford. Thirty-five miles an hour. I glance in the rearview mirror. No one behind us. The Strange Man has not reappeared. It’s all wrong. Cal, it’s all wrong.

Everything goes to hell when the light bar across the top of the approaching truck abruptly flashes on and the truck shoots forward. We’re already a quarter of the way across the bridge and I can’t go left or right. I have a moment to decide whether to hit the brakes and try to reverse or to plow forward. I press down on the gas. The Ford gives a loud roar and I think about my dad, how he was so proud to find that V8 engine, how he hadn’t let the guy screw him over with the price, because that’s not how we do it around here. The Ford sounds like it’s alive, and it is angry. Big Eddie would have loved that sound.

“Oh my Jesus,” Abe breathes, beginning to brace himself for impact as the black truck crosses halfway over the center line, barreling down the road.

“Trust me,” I say through gritted teeth as I move over to meet it head-on.

As the trucks race toward each other, an eerie calm befalls me, belying the sweat that drips down my back. I can’t hear the wind outside or the scream of the engines. I can’t even hear Abe shouting next to me anymore. All I can see is the light, and it is so blue, everything is blue, and I think of Cal and everything I should have said. I think of everything I should have confessed to him. I open my mind as widely as possible and think Cal. I say Cal. I scream Cal.

I jerk the wheel to the right at the last possible second. It’s almost a good plan. It almost works. Everything tells me it should work. But physics is an impossible thing.

The Ford whines as we swerve to the right, the tires squealing along the roadway. The front corners of the vehicles miss colliding by inches. There’s a brief moment when everything around me slows down and I look into the driver’s window of the black truck and see the vague outline of a person. They seem to be looking at me as we flash by each other, and then they are gone.

Even as I look ahead to correct our path, there’s a jarring impact on the driver’s side truck bed. The steering wheel jerks in my hands, causing my palms to burn as I struggle to hold on. The bed of the Ford begins to fishtail to the right, toward the cement divider that separates the road from the walkway. This all only takes a second or two, but it goes on forever in my head. The black truck, I think. Must have hit the back. Won’t be able to buff that ou—

The right side of the Ford smashes against the divider, and Abe cries out as he is slammed into the door. There’s a moment when all motion seems to stop, but then the world tilts as the truck flips up and over the divider with a metallic shriek. The windshield shatters. I’m upside down in a haze of sparkling glass before I even know what’s happening. The world tries to right itself as the truck barrel-rolls into the metal girder. The seat belt snaps harshly against my hips, but all I can see is stars and all I can feel is heat and all I can see is blue because sparks have showered in through the broken windshield, pouring onto my face, like a—

cross your heart hope to die stick a

—thousand needles in my eye.

There’s a sickening sense of vertigo as the metal girder splits at the weight and impact of the Ford. The truck starts to slide to the right and catches on something. There’s another pause before I hear another metallic moan and the truck slides again, and the back window implodes in on us as the truck begins to tip at a precarious angle.

Then it’s almost quiet aside from the ticking of the engine. A tinkling of glass.

I’m confused. I don’t know what has happened. I think of angels and wings and rivers. There’s a cross too, a cross I hate because it’s always covered in feathers and I can’t make it stop. I want to sleep. It would be so easy to just sleep. Maybe I should. This is probably just a dream. I dream big. I dream in color. Like my father. Big Eddie is my father. He sleeps under a stone angel in a place with no hills. Sleep, the stone angel whispers. It’s okay just to sleep. You’ll feel so much better if you do. I’ll hold your hand and protect you from everything while you sleep. It is what I was made for. It won’t just be for fifteen words that mean nothing. Those fifteen words don’t mean a thing. Just sleep.

I do. I want to. I do. I will. I am falling—

My face feels wet but the moisture is dripping up my face. The sensation makes my skin crawl. I open my eyes. I’m upside down, my back resting against the bench seat, held in place by the lap belt. The view out the front of the truck doesn’t make sense. It’s all broken glass and crumbled cement. The sky where it shouldn’t be. Everything opposite. There’s a roaring noise in my head and my left eye begins to burn as a bit of blood drips into it. I open my mouth to say, “Hello?” but no sound comes out, just a weak rush of air. Nothing hurts yet, and I wonder at it. I’m bleeding, but there’s no pain. Maybe I’m not hurt that bad. Maybe it’s not my blood.

My hands are pressed against the roof of the cab. I try to ease myself down, but the seat belt is still latched and it holds me at the waist. I lift my hands from the roof and swing gently in the truck, upside down. The effect is instant. The truck begins to groan and starts rocking slowly, seesawing up and down. Up and down. I quickly reach up and press my hands against the roof again and hold my breath for as long as I can. Eventually the truck stops moving, but not before I feel the truck slide just a little bit farther down.

I lick my lips, trying to get them wet. I taste copper. I work my salivary glands, trying to get enough spit in my mouth to swallow. My throat is too dry. It burns. I’m parched. I would do anything for a drink of water. Anything.

There’s movement to my left. Or maybe it’s my right. I don’t know which way is up, so I am pretty sure left and right don’t matter anymore. There’s a man lying against the roof of the truck, almost against the back, where the window used to be. Two black bands hang down around him. Seat belt. Seat belt is broken. There’s cement where the back windshield used to be, jutting into the cab. Maybe it’s…

“Abe?” I croak out. Is that Abe? He was in the Ford with me. Before….

He groans and shifts. The truck shifts with him, beginning to rock again.

I don’t—

Oh Jesus.

It makes sense. It all makes sense, and it’s enough to cause bile to rise. The back of my throat tastes acidic, and I have to fight to keep from vomiting as my stomach clenches and spasms against the clinch of the lap belt. It’s so crystal clear, and I wish it wasn’t because now all I can hear is the shift of the truck and the distant call of the river below.

The truck has flipped. We’re upside down. The bed of the truck has fallen off the side of the bridge and hangs over the river. The rear of the cab has caught on the edge of the bridge, stuck against the cement. It’s the only reason we haven’t slid off and plummeted to the river below.

Abe groans again and starts to push himself up. He collapses with a gasp of pain, and it’s only then can I see a shiny knob of bone sticking out of his arm.

The truck rocks further. Up and down. Up and down.

“Abe,” I whisper. “You gotta stay still. Don’t move. Please. Just stay there.” “Benji?” He stares at me with bleary eyes. “What… where? My arm hurts, boy.” “I know,” I say, my voice cracking. “Just don’t move.”

CAL! THREAD! SEE MY F*ckING THREAD!

“Where are we? What happened?”

“Truck flipped,” I grind out. “I’m stuck.”

“Oh. God, it hurts. Let me help you—”

“No!” I shout as he sits up. There’s a groan of metal against stone and the truck moves a couple of inches, the back of the cab sliding along the pavement. “Stay there! Bridge! We’re on the bridge!”

He freezes, his eyes wide. His vision seems to clear and he looks at our surroundings, and I can see the moment it hits him how precarious our situation is. His face goes even whiter. “Shit,” he breathes. “Boy, we’ve got to get you down from there.”

“No. No, the whole thing is going to go over. You gotta climb out, Abe. Get help. I can’t… I can’t move.”

He’s incredulous. “I’m not going to leave you in here!”

“Go,” I snap at him hoarsely. “Don’t you be f*cking stupid. Don’t you dare!”

He looks up at me miserably. “Phone,” he groans. “Where’s your phone?”

“I dunno. It was on the seat before we got hit.” My hands are starting to hurt, pressing up against the ceiling. My strength is slowly ebbing. I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself here.

The wind begins to howl. The truck slips farther.

It won’t be much longer now.

He raises his head carefully, looking around. “Don’t see it.”

Oh God, hear me now. Please. Please send him. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I’m sorry I’ve kept secrets from him. I need him. If not for me, then at least for my friend. Abe needs your help. He needs it more than I do. Please, oh please, help him.

There’s no response, but isn’t that the way of things? The decision gnaws at my insides, but I don’t care. I can’t. This man is my friend. He is my family. I won’t let him fall.

“F*ck it!” I snarl at him. “You listen to me. You listening, old man?” He nods, not meeting my eyes. “When you move, you gotta move fast, okay? It’s going to hurt like hell, but you gotta roll out. Roll over until you feel the cement on your back. Once you do, you keep f*cking rolling, you hear me?”

“But the truck,” he whispers. “You….”

Blood drips from my face to the roof. I know where it’s coming from now. It feels like my shoulder has been sliced open. The blood is steady, not gushing.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “It’s either one or both of us, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you go down with me. You listen to me, okay? You have to go get help. You can’t let them get away with this. It’s Griggs. It’s Walken. It’s Traynor. And whoever their boss is. They have killed, Abe. They’ve killed so many people, and you have to stop them. I can’t. Not anymore. You have to—”

Footsteps, crunching glass.

“Hello in the truck!” a voice calls out. Not Cal, but familiar.

“Oh, thank God!” Abe cries out. “Help! Benji’s stuck! The whole damn thing’s about to go over!”

“Is that so?” a voice drawls, the footsteps getting closer.

“No,” I whisper. “No. Not like this.”

Jack Traynor crouches under the hood of the Ford, cocking his head to peer in at us. The smile he gives is one of such terrible beauty that I want to scream and fight and rip him to shreds. He reaches up and presses against the truck, and it rocks even further, and he laughs quietly. “You bastard,” I whisper. “Oh, you f*cking bastard. You did it, didn’t you?”

He misunderstands me. “Yeah, thought you guys would go over a lot more quickly. Still a pretty crazy flip you did. Kind of exciting to watch.”

“My father,” I snarl at him. “You did it!”

He’s taken aback a moment, the surprise on his face almost comical. He glances down at Abe, who is glaring up at him. “Ah, son,” he says, as he rocks the truck again. “That was before my time, though I do admit to copying the move a little bit. Works better than you’d think. By the time this old beater falls, there won’t be many people left for anyone to figure out a single thing. I wonder if it’ll explode? Like in the movies.” He looks wistful. “But no. No, it wasn’t me who done in your dad. Had I been around, I would have done it gladly, but I can’t take credit. Seems to me that you just couldn’t keep to your own business, could you? Like father, so much like son.”

“I’ll f*cking kill you!”

He smiles again. “No. No, I don’t think you will. Should have just left the grown-ups alone, Benji. This whole thing could have been avoided had you just minded your own business. If it’s any consolation, it will be quick. I’m sure of it.” He says this last as if he’s being kind, and a shudder tears through me.

Abe moves then, quicker than I could ever imagine, given his age and injuries. I see a flash of silver in Abe’s hand before the gunfire erupts inside the cab, the noise deafening in the enclosed space. A spray of blood erupts from Traynor’s right side and he howls as he falls backward, out of sight. Abe’s hand is shaking as he raises the gun again, but it’s too much for him and it falls to the floor, bouncing out of his reach. He tries to move, but the truck has started to sway again alarmingly.

Traynor curses loudly, and there’s a reverberating bang that shakes the truck. “You a*sholes!” he shouts, and the bang happens again. “You faggots! Oh, f*ck, I’m going to kill you!” His foot flashes up in my vision, and he gives a vicious kick to the hood of the truck. It rocks up… up… up… and then I’m sure it’s going to fall with one more kick that doesn’t come.

“What the f*ck is that?” I hear Traynor say hoarsely over the groan of metal. Then, above all else, I hear it—the beating of wings.

Cal.

An answering roar comes from above. It is filled with such extraordinary fury that it shreds my heart. I try to call out to him, but I can’t find any words, less and less making sense in the garbled mess in my mind. Instead, I scream out to him and let all my anger and fear pour out of me. Only one thought repeats over and over: He came. He came.

He came.

He answers my cry with another furious shout and the beat of wings grows louder even as the truck creaks and tips dangerously. The blood continues to drip down my side and face and another wave of nausea rolls over me. My vision narrows and shadows start to dance across my eyes, unconsciousness trying to pull me under, clawing at me, dragging me down. Not thinking, I snap my head back and forth, trying to keep myself awake. Blood sprays in tiny droplets over the ceiling of the cab, which rocks even further. Traynor cries out again, but there is terror in his voice now, not just pain. Abe clutches his arm and gasps as the truck tips up again, causing him to roll further into the cab. The truck tips up again, and it reaches an apex, so much farther up than it was before. I know this is it, this is the moment when the truck will slip off the edge and I will fall into the river, and I will drown just like my father did.

Some part of me recognizes that your life is supposed to flash before your eyes at the moment of your death. Time is supposed to be slow so you remember every little detail about your life in a series of memories—still photos that burst across your mind like a comet in the dark. You see the good. You see the bad. You see the people you’ve hurt, the people you’ve loved. Memory explodes like a star and it rushes over you in an overwhelming wave that blocks out all other senses.

This does not happen to me. I do not see my past.

I see my future.

The wings beat again, and a whistling sound cracks through the air, signifying a heavy descent. Traynor screams and kicks his leg up into the air again, but whether a reflex of fear or to kick the truck again, I don’t know. Before his foot can make contact with the truck, there’s a flash of brilliant blue and the cab shakes as the ground rolls beneath it when the angel Calliel lands on the bridge. He snaps his hand out and grabs Traynor by the ankle before he can connect with the truck again. Traynor’s scream is choked off. Cal snarls at him and pulls on his leg, whipping him around and hurtling him in the other direction. I can see Traynor’s face for a split second, and his eyes are blown out, his mouth twisted open so wide that he reminds me of the Strange Men. He makes no sound as he flies out of my line of sight, only leaving a brief arc of blood from the wound on his side. I hear him crash down on the other side of the bridge, and I feel a brief moment of remorse that he didn’t go over the edge.

But the thought disappears as the truck starts to slide off the edge of the bridge. The grating of metal against the cement behind me is so loud I have no choice but to bring my hands to my ears in an attempt to block it out. The seat belt pulls against my hips as I swing back and forth. I close my eyes. This is it. So close. This is it.

But it’s not.

The truck shakes as something slams into the top of it. It’s jarring, the shockwaves cause my teeth to chatter, and then the truck stops moving. I open my eyes and see Cal standing at the front of the truck, his lower body straining, his wings starting to flicker in and out around him like the bald Strange Man.

“You have to get out!” he yells. “I can’t hold it.”

“Abe, go!”

He looks scared. “What about—”

“Go!”

He does, with one last glance at me. Even though he must be in astonishing pain, his face hardens and he pulls his broken arm up to his chest and moves carefully but quickly through the broken glass, banging his head on the dash and muttering to himself. He makes a play for the gun and snags it around the barrel before he gets clear and rolls out onto the pavement. He turns and holds out his hand.

F*ck, this is going to hurt. But I hear Cal grunting, see him getting pulled closer to the edge as the truck slides. I look back behind me and enough of the rear of the cab has cleared the cement that I can see the river below, rushing so far underneath me it seems a frightening distance. I turn back to Cal in time to see his wings disappear completely.

“Benji!” Abe cries as the truck slides further over the edge.

Knowing there’s not much time left, I curl myself up toward the floor of the cab so when the seat belt comes undone, I’ll land on my back instead of my neck. The muscles in my stomach howl and burn, and my fingers fumble with the latch. More blood gets in my eye. I can’t see. My fingers feel numb as they skitter off on the belt. I’m going to die here. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Please just let me—

I find the latch. I pull the metal tab up and the seat belt releases instantly. Before I can even brace myself, I crash down onto the roof of the cab, the air knocked out of me, slamming my head against the roof. There are stars everywhere for a moment, and they are so f*cking blue that I just want to follow them into the dark. I almost do, but then I hear him say, “Benji, don’t go,” and I can’t. I can’t leave him here alone. Not after all he’s done for me. Not after all he’s done to get to me. I can’t. I won’t.

Forcing the stars away, I roll over, glass cutting into my arms as I crawl forward. The truck shifts again, and Cal and Abe both cry out. Abe leans in closer, reaching out his hand for mine. I raise my hand toward his and his fingers graze against mine and—

The truck slips even farther. I glance back and see the cab is caught on the very lip of the bridge. Only another few inches and it will fall. It starts to slide again. “Benji!” Cal shouts, the terror in his voice rocking me to my core. I turn back to Abe and push up with my hands and feet, launching myself toward his outstretched hand. We snap wrist to wrist, our skin slick with blood, but his grip is strong and he pulls as my feet scrabble for purchase, slipping against glass and debris. Cal cries out again as the Ford tilts upward and begins to fall off the bridge. The edge of the windowsill clips my left ankle, causing searing pain to shoot through my leg, and then the truck is gone and I’m partially on top of Abe, both of us gasping for air. Only a few seconds later, there’s a crash, a splash of water, and even though it’s distant and muffled by the wind, it still grates against my ears.

Then I’m lifted up off the ground and cradled against a broad chest. Cal has fallen to his knees near the edge of the bridge, pulling me tightly against him. He brushes a big, calloused hand against my face, wiping away the dirt and blood and tears. “Are you okay?” he asks me roughly. I can feel him shaking against me. “Oh, please tell me you’re okay. Please, Benji.”

I reach up to touch his face. “You came,” I whisper.

He turns his head to kiss my palm, his stubble scraping against my flesh. “Saw your thread,” he says. “Saw Abe’s too, but your thread was like the sky exploded. So bright. So blue. I was scared.” His voice cracks, but he pushes on. “Didn’t think I’d get to you in time.” He kisses my hand again, an action so tender I start to shake right along with him.

“I called for you,” I breathe. “And you heard me.”

“Yes,” he says simply.

I tear my eyes away from his. “Abe?”

“I’ll be fine, boy,” he says. “Takes more than a car crash, a broken arm, and nearly falling off a five-story bridge to keep me down.”

I allow myself to chuckle.

Then:

A groan, from the other side of the bridge. Cal begins to growl, his eyes going completely dark, tightening his grip on me. Jack Traynor groans again, unaware of the man holding me in his arms, the man who is still not quite yet a man. A man who has blue lights starting to flash around him, weak but there nonetheless. Cal’s jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth. His nostrils are flaring. A vein sticks out on his forehead. He’s staring at me, but I don’t know if he’s really seeing me. I see the faint outlines of his wings as he lowers me back to the ground next to Abe.

“No,” I tell him weakly. “You can’t.” I try to lift myself up to stop him, to grab on to his arm and pull him back to me, to stop him from leaving, but I am so damned tired, and I can’t find the strength to move. He touches my face again. “You can’t do this,” I repeat.

“I will do what I must,” he says, his voice a horrifying thing, deep and so unlike the Cal I’ve known. Gone is the warmth. Gone is the sweetness. This is an angel, vengeful and powerful.

He stands above me, the blue swirling lights growing brighter. His wings begin to flicker in and out. Feathers brush my face. They smell of earth. He takes a step away from me and starts crossing the road. I know Traynor is awake when he starts to scream. The wind picks up, carrying his cries. Each footstep Cal takes makes a resounding boom in the air.

I roll to my side. No, I think. Can’t let him do this. Can’t let him kill. He’ll be damned. He’s not meant to harm. He’s meant to protect. Oh God, I hurt. I hurt so bad. “Cal,” I call out in a croak. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.” I push myself up to my hands and knees.

Calliel doesn’t look at me. He’s advancing on Traynor, who is trying to scramble away from him, pressing himself up against the concrete divider. He tries to push himself up with his legs to get on the other side of the divider, but he cries out and grabs his side. His shirt is soaked with blood, his eyes wide in fear. He’s able to prop himself partway up, leaving a bloody smear on the concrete behind him.

“Abe, we have to….” I glance down at my old friend, but his eyes are unfocused, in shock. Dazed. Confused. I need to get him help. I need help. Cal needs help. Oh God, Michael, whoever, please hear my prayer. Please let Cal hear me. Let him listen.

“You,” Cal says, his voice like thunder, “tried to take from me what is rightfully mine. You dared to touch my wards. My Abraham Dufree. My Benjamin Green.” My name from his lips sounds like an earthquake. “Your heart is filled with malice and hate. You are a blight on the skin of this world, and I will do it a favor by removing you from it. I am the judge. I am the jury. And on this day, I will be your executioner.”

“No,” I moan. “Cal. You can’t do this.” Get up, Benji. Get up. Get up.

Traynor cries out again when Calliel reaches him. Cal bends over and wraps his right hand around Traynor’s neck and lifts him into the air. Traynor starts to choke, kicking out his legs, battering them against Cal’s sides and thighs, trying to break Cal’s grip on him, beating against his arm. The blue lights blaze again brightly, Cal’s wings appearing, disappearing, reappearing in rapid succession.

I sit back on my knees. I’m still dazed. I force my mind to clear. I zero in on the hand around Traynor’s throat, drops of my blood dripping down his hand and onto Traynor’s skin. I force myself to my feet, trying to keep weight off my ankle. “Cal!” I scream. “Don’t! Don’t do this. You’re more than this!”

But he doesn’t hear me. The lights are starting to swirl in a circle off to his right, little blue flashes breaking off from his body and wings and starting to spin in a vortex. Cal takes a giant step over the divider, dragging Traynor along with him. Traynor kicks and punches Cal viciously, but the angel does not lessen his grip. Traynor only stops when the black hole takes shape next to him, and then he freezes, a strangled cry coming from his lips.

Cal lifts Traynor up and over the railing until he is hanging in empty space, the river below him flowing wildly. Traynor starts to flail again, his legs kicking nothing but air as he tries to get back onto the railing.

“No!” I shout. Stronger, louder. I’ve hobbled halfway across the road, trying to keep off my sore ankle. “Cal! Look at me. You turn and look at me, goddammit!”

“You have a choice,” Cal snarls, “which is better than you ever tried to give mine. You may die now in this river and suffer the wrath of hell, or you may go into the black. Make your choice, human, before I make it for you.”

Traynor’s eyes are bulging from their sockets. I don’t know if he can even answer, given the stranglehold Cal has on him.

“Calliel!” I shout. “Look at me!”

“No answer?” Cal roars, shaking Traynor violently. “Then I will decide for you! You have been tried and found guilty of your sins. The punishment is the black. You are not worthy of the soul you carry, and within the darkness you will have it ripped from you and you will be nothing.”

Forgetting my ankle, I run the last few steps as Cal begins to twist, bringing Traynor up and over the railing again to send him into the black hole that is swiftly spinning, the blue lights surrounding it almost too bright to look at. I vault over the divider, standing between Traynor and the black just as Cal begins to thrust him toward it. Traynor smashes into me, knocking me backward, and I’m falling. I’m falling, and I can feel blackness against my skin. I can feel its caress. It tells me it’s okay, I can follow it into the dark and it will care for me. It will touch me. It will love me. I’ll float forever, just like I was on a river. Doesn’t that sound nice? Doesn’t that sound lovely? No more worries, the black croons. No more cares. No more—

wake up, benji

—wondering about what could have been or what would be. It will give me truth, it promises. I will have all I desire, all that I’ve ever asked for, here in the dark. I just have to say yes. I open my mouth and I think maybe I will say yes, because I’m tired, and it’s so much easier to—

wake up, son

—close my eyes because the blue is fading, it’s going away, it’s become nothing, and how can I be sure it was even really there to begin with? How do I know this isn’t all just some dream? Angels can’t be real. I don’t love him because he doesn’t exist. And even if he is real, he would never love one such as me. I’ve never known love because I’ve never—

it’s time for you to stand

—had family to care for me. Everything is black, all I have is black, all I know is black and black is despair and anguish and grief and I’ve let it bury me. I’ve let it bury me until it’s all I can feel, it’s all I can breathe. It’s—

time for you to stand and be true wake wake wake

—too much, it’s too late, it’s not going to matter. I’ve lost. I’m here in the dark and nothing else will matter because it’s—

Blue. There is so much blue.

And then the black is gone, and I take a deep gasping breath and my body hurts again. My face feels tacky with blood. I open my eyes. Traynor is on the ground, trying to crawl away. Cal stands before me, looking horrified, holding onto my arm with one strong hand. The blue lights are gone. His wings are gone. The black hole is gone.

“You almost went through,” he says hoarsely. “You almost went into the black.”

“You are not the executioner,” I tell him harshly, my skin prickling at the thoughts the black put in my mind. “Do you hear me?”

“But he—”

“I don’t give a f*ck!” I shout at him. “You do not kill!”

“I must protect,” he whispers, looking down at his hand on my arm. “I am a guardian.”

“And you did that,” I say, trying to keep the memory of his black eyes at bay. Regardless of what he’s becoming, there was nothing human about them.

He gives me an uncertain smile and takes a step toward me.

Jack Traynor rises behind him. It’s a swift movement for a man shot in the side. He pulls a wicked knife from a sheath in his right boot. His face is twisted into an angry snarl, sweat and blood drenching his skin. I have no time to shout as he raises the knife above his head. I have no time to move as he brings it down toward the back of Cal’s neck, the blade gleaming dully. I can do nothing as I look on.

Except there’s a loud bang, and the side of Traynor’s skull seems to part, his furious expression melting. He jerks to the right and flips over the railing, disappearing from sight. The knife clatters to the ground. The sound of the gunshot echoes down the valley before it too is gone. Then there’s only the sound of the wind and the river below.

“Bastard,” Abe says, lowering the gun. “You guys okay?” He looks so tired.

I nod, unable to speak. Cal is looking down at the knife on the ground, the knife that should be buried in his spine. He touches it with his boot and then kicks it off the edge of the bridge.

“Think maybe we need to see Doc Heward,” Abe mutters. “Maybe even head on in to the hospital.” He points down the road toward town. Traynor’s truck is parked on the road. “Think he left the keys in there?”

“Maybe,” I say, almost disbelieving what has just happened. “You shot him!” “Yeah.”

“In the head!”

“Yeah.”

“Holy f*ck!”

Abe rolls his eyes. “Wasn’t going to let him get the drop on Cal, all right?” “But….”

“You’re welcome, Benji.”

I nod, unsure how to ask when my best friend learned to shoot like a gunslinger. Then, a sound above the river.

A car is coming up the road, from town. Headlights shine through the trees that

shake in the wind. “Cal, who is it?”

He shakes his head as he frowns. “Can’t tell. Can’t see a thread. Benji, it’s… different now. I don’t feel the same. Something has… changed.”

He’s almost human.

I touch his hand. “Can you see mine?”

The frown disappears. “So blue,” he sighs. “Like it was made for me. Yes. It’s still there. I think it will always be.”

Oh God.

He helps me over the divider, and we stand next to Abe. He’s starting to turn a little gray, and I’m worried. Hopefully whoever is in the car has a phone, because I don’t know where mine is. Probably with the Ford in the river. The car winds up the road, goes around that last corner, and slows when the driver sees the black truck on the side of the road. Not a car, though. An SUV that looks familiar….

“Oh thank Christ,” I breathe.

“Who is it?” Abe asks.

“My Aunt Christie.” I raise my hand and wave at her, and she speeds up, heading

toward us, flashing her lights. “She’ll have her phone. We can call Doc Heward and see if he can get a helicopter to take Abe to the hospital.”

“No need to make that big of a fuss,” Abe sniffs, though he sways when he says it. I put my arm around my friend, and he sags slightly against me, putting his head on my shoulder. I kiss his wrinkled forehead, and he huffs quietly to himself. I can tell he’s pleased.

Christie screeches to a halt in front of us and flies out of the front seat, leaving the door open. “What the hell is going on?” she asks, her face white. “Oh my Jesus, are you okay?” She rushes over to us and cups my face. “What happened?”

“There was an accident,” I say.

Abe snorts from his place on my shoulder. “That’s one way to look at it.” Christie looks confused. “What happened?” she repeats.

“A man named Jack Traynor tried to kill us,” Abe says. “Would have, too, if it hadn’t been for Cal, here.”

She glances up at Cal then looks around. “Where is this Traynor?”

“Dead,” I say with contempt. “Bottom of the river. That’s his truck right over there. How’d you know we were up here?”

“Dougie,” she says, distracted. “He saw you guys tearing off down the street, wanted to know where you were headed in such a hurry.”

I nod. “We gotta get some help for Abe. He’s got a broken arm.”

“And Benji’s cut up pretty bad,” Abe says. “Don’t let him tell you otherwise.” He shakes against me. “Take this,” he mutters, shoving the gun at Christie. “I don’t want to see it again.” She widens her eyes, but wraps her hands around the grip and holds it at her side.

“What about you?” she asks Cal. “Why aren’t you hurt?”

“Just got lucky, I guess,” he says with a shrug.

She frowns. “You came up with Benji and Abe? Dougie said he didn’t see you in the Ford.”

“He was there,” I say, sounding snappish. “Christie, we need to get going. Can you call Doc Heward? We need a Life Flight waiting for us when we get back into town. If he can’t get one because of the storm, then you’ll need to drive us over to Glide to the hospital.” She nods and goes back to her SUV.

My gaze follows Cal as he walks back over to the space where the Ford fell through. He stands near the edge of the bridge, looking down into the water. His shoulders slump, and it’s odd that I already know what he’s thinking. Abe turns with me as I move to face him.

“It’s not your fault,” I say, that twinge in my chest so f*cking loud and strong I think my heart is going to burst. Holy f*ck. I really do love him. Shit.

He shakes his head miserably. “If only I’d gotten here sooner….”

“You got here in plenty of time,” I say with a snort. “We’re okay.”

“But the truck!” he says as he turns back to us. “It was so cherry.” He sounds so forlorn I almost laugh at the absurdity of it.

“The truck?” I say, trying to scowl. “That’s what you’re worried about? You sure know how to make a guy feel appreciated.”

A small smile forms on his face.

Love, I think again in unfathomable wonder as it starts to rain.

The first bullet strikes him high in the chest, near his right shoulder. A look of confusion dawns on his face as he takes a step back. The red blossoms quickly against his white T-shirt, and I think of roses.

I hear the unmistakable cock of a hunting rifle expelling a shell.

The second bullet clips the side of his head, really no more than a graze, but the blood that arcs from it is plentiful as his head rocks back. He takes another step back, his heels skittering along the edge of the bridge.

The rifle is cocked again.

The third and final bullet is a gut punch, and I can hear him exhale heavily, his hands going to his stomach, blood spilling out over his fingers. He looks at me, and I can see the surprise on his face underneath all that pain. He’s never looked more human. No blue lights. No wings.

It feels like he teeters on the edge of the bridge forever. The blood from his head wound drips down his face and into his stubble, and it looks like he’s wearing a mask of smeared red. It feels like forever we stand there.

But forever does not occur, no matter how hard I wish it so.

His gaze meets mine, and under the pain, under the shock and anguish, I see something just for me, something Michael first mentioned what seems like years ago. Out of everything I see and feel—my brain scrambling to process the horror before me, my feet finally starting to move, the hoarse scream that tears from my throat— what I see in him shatters everything I’ve known.

Love. He loves me back.

But I’m not quick enough.

He closes his eyes and turns his face to the sky. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

He trembles once. Takes a breath.

And slips off the edge of the bridge.

There’s no sound as he falls. No shout. No cry. No groan. Nothing. One moment he’s there, and the next he’s not. I trip over the rubble from the crumbled divider and fall forward, sliding on rock and dust. I almost sail right over the edge. I catch myself on a rebar, the steel tearing the flesh of my palm. My head hangs over the edge of the bridge. I force my eyes open.

There’s nothing but the river below, moving as it always has.

“No,” I say. “That’s not….”

I will always be with you, he’d said to me once.

“No.” Something begins to rise within me, a terrible anger. “No.” It rolls over me in waves, and I can’t stay afloat. “No.” Rage and fury, amassing as one.

Nothing comes up from the river below. It’s raining harder now.

I lift myself up from the ground. There’s a roaring in my ears.

I turn.

Sheriff George Griggs stands beside an open rear door on Christie’s SUV, a rifle in his hands, pointed at me. He must have been hiding in the back. He moves carefully around the door, then closes it behind him with a gentle thunk. He sees me watching him and winks. He cocks the rifle again.

“No,” Christie says. “Not him. Not yet.”

“You sure about that, boss?” Griggs asks her, smiling at me. “One shot and he’s down. Wanted the big guy to feel his.”

Boss?

“Not until we find out who else he’s told. What else he knows. No more loose ends. Not now. We can’t take the risk. I already had to get rid of Dougie.” Griggs snorts. “Dougie was a f*cking dumbass, anyways.”

Christie frowns. “He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Boss. No. No.

“You bitch,” I mutter. “Oh, you f*cking bitch.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, Benji,” she says almost regretfully. “Some things happen just because they have to.”

I charge at her. A crack of gunfire and a divot appears in the pavement two feet in front of me. I stop.

“Not so fast, Benji,” Griggs says. “She might be the boss, but if you take one more f*cking step, the next bullet is going into Abe’s head. His old brains will be all over the ground before you can even think your next thought.”

I gag, clutching at my stomach. My vision narrows as my blood boils. My eyes feel lazy as they shift out of focus.

And it is here, in this moment, in this impossible (improbable, my father whispers, it’s all so improbable) moment, that I fall to my knees. The ground beneath me is solid, but that roaring in my ears is like swiftly moving water, and I lay my hands against the pavement. They get wet and the ground rolls beneath me. The rain splashes fat drops onto my skin. I try to clear my head, but it’s a losing battle and I can’t breathe, I can’t move. And as darkness clouds my vision, I am overtaken by a river.

And it is into this river I drown.





look away

I am at the river. It’s raining. I stand on the road. It’s the same. It’s all the same.

Except it’s not. The rain is falling harder than it ever has before. Lightning flashes overhead. Thunder cracks like—

gunfire oh my god shot he’s shot he’s shot and

—God is angry, rolling through the hills, causing the trees to shudder down to their roots. This is different. Things are not the same.

I slide down the embankment. I can feel the mud on my clothes. On my skin. Could I feel that before? I’m drenched. Did I get this wet before? I don’t know. I can’t remember. This may be the first time. It may be the last time. I don’t—

The world lights up an electric blue as lightning touches down on the other side of the river. Then there is a cross, a white cross, bigger than any I’ve seen before. It stretches to the sky and screams HERE LIES BIG EDDIE! BIG MOTHERF*ckING EDDIE LIES HERE BECAUSE HE’S DEAD, HE’S NOTHING BUT BONES AND DUST AND HE WILL NEVER BE ANYTHING MORE EVER AGAIN!

“Help me,” I tell the rain, the river. I turn my face toward the sky and water falls on my tongue. It tastes like earth. “Help me. I’m haunted.”

Another flash of blue (Blue?) light and the cross is gone, but the ground, the river, the earth, the entire world, is covered in large feathers. They’re a deep blue, almost black, but they are all covered with splashes of blood and the red is so bright it stings my eyes and I cry out because I know—

he’s gone dead shot dead fell bitch whore

—what it means, I know the red is truth and the blue feathers will be nothing more than memory. Even as I think this, the feathers begin to melt, leaving behind droplets of blood that mix with the rain and reflect the menacing sky above.

Things change further. There’s a whine of an engine up on the road. I turn, but I can’t see the road from my position. There’s a crash of metal against metal, a breaking of glass, and it sounds so familiar that mile marker seventy-seven disappears around me and I’m—

stuck upside down in the Ford and am I still in there? Is this all just a dream? I hit my head, maybe. Maybe nothing that followed is real and we’re still in the truck and that’s why I can hear the crashing in the dream because it just happened to me and Cal is still okay. He’s still fine and I can stop him from dying. I can stop him from getting shot and leaving me. I can end this now. I

—look up as there is an even greater collision, and a red truck flies over the embankment, almost all the way to the river. It smashes into the ground and clips a boulder. The truck flips and lands in the middle of the river, its back end angled up toward the sky. Lightning arcs again, and the rain falls. Brakes squeal from up on the road and a shadowy figure appears, staring down at the truck in the water. I can’t make out who it is. I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. They stand in the rain, barely moving until they reach into their coat and pull out a small object. It lights up and is put to the figure’s ear. The voice is garbled, as if coming from underwater, and I still can’t tell the sex of the voice. It says, “It’s done. He never made it out of the county.”

I’m in the river. The water is cold. I’m drenched. My teeth chatter uncontrollably. The truck groans against the current. I look back. The dark figure is gone. Time has passed, though I don’t know how much. I don’t know if it matters. I take another step, and the river mud sticks to my feet, sucking them down. A thought runs through my head—

cal’s gone he won’t be able to pull me out of the river

—but it hurts too much to think, so I push it away as I submerge myself under the water.

The silt and grit feel harsh against my open eyes. The truck is vaguely outlined in the river. I push up from the riverbed and kick harshly. I’m propelled toward the truck. I expect to see my father’s—

dead

—arm hanging out the blown-out window, but the window is empty. There is no blue feather. I swim closer. The current is strong.

Just float, the river whispers. You could stay here and float forever.

But I can’t. Not yet. I have to see my father’s face.

I get closer. I touch the truck. Do I need to go up for air? My lungs don’t hurt. My chest doesn’t burn. I’m not choking. I’m okay.

You don’t need to go up for air, the river says. Just open your mouth and inhale down here. It’s easy to breathe underwater. All it takes is that one… first… breath.

It’s trying to trick me. It’s trying to mess with my head. I can’t let it.

I pull myself along the edge of the truck. I swim as close to the riverbed as I can to look inside through the busted window on the door. I reach the door and grab it, anchoring myself to the truck. I’m pressed against the river bottom and the weeds tickle my stomach, the rocks scrape against my skin. I look inside the truck.

It’s pitch black. Like darkness has fallen inside the cab and nowhere else.

But don’t I hear voices? Yes. Yes, I do. They are muffled. I can’t make them out. I need to hear them, because the cadence, the timbre, to the voices sounds familiar. It causes me to ache because I know who they are now.

I close my eyes, and pull myself into the truck underneath the river.

Into the black.

This is what I hear in the dark:

“Am I already dead?” my father asks.

A response, strong and kind. “Almost. You’re almost there.” Cal. The angel Calliel.

“Dad!” I try to scream.

He doesn’t hear me. “Will it hurt?” There’s fear in his voice.

Calliel doesn’t hesitate. “No, Edward, Big Eddie that was. It will be like going to sleep.”

“What if I don’t want to sleep?”

“There is an order to things. A design. A pattern.”

“F*ck your design!” Big Eddie cries. “I don’t want to go!”

“I know,” Calliel says, his voice shaking. Something’s wrong. “And I wish it wasn’t this way. But I was given a test. I had no choice. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because my Father wants me to prove my faith in him.” His voice cracks.

“I’m a father too,” Big Eddie whispers. “Do you know my son?”

“I know. Benji. He’s… wonderful.” Cal sighs.

“He’s the greatest thing to happen to me. You can’t take me from him. You just can’t. He is my son. There’s so much more I have to teach him!”

“It is not up to me. I can’t….”

“You could,” my father argues. “If you really wanted to. You could.”

“It’s not the way of things, Big Eddie.”

“Why?” my father asks, his voice getting weaker. “Why must we suffer? Why must we hurt?” His words are like an echo, and I think Michael.

There’s a pause. Then, “How else can you truly have faith?” Cal doesn’t sound like he believes his own words. They sound like recitation. “How else could we know how to love unless it’s gone?”

“Can you save me?”

“No. Not in the way you’re thinking.”

“He’ll ask questions. He’s my son. He’s smart. He won’t let this go. He could get hurt. He could die.”

“I know,” Cal says roughly. “I don’t want that to happen, either.”

“You have to protect him. If you are who you say you are, if you’re a guardian angel, if you’ve been watching us all this time, then I’m asking you. No, I’m begging you. Do your duty. Guard him. Protect him with everything you can. Never take your eyes off him and let no harm come to him. Do you promise me?”

Hesitation. “Big Eddie, I—”

“Promise me!” Big Eddie roars in the dark. “You f*cking promise me! This is my son! You f*cking promise me!”

A beat of time. I float in the black water. Then a whisper: “I promise.”

“I won’t cross,” Big Eddie swears. “Not yet. Not while there’s still a chance he could get hurt. He’ll need me.”

“You can’t wait,” Calliel says, sounding horrified. “You have to cross, Edward! If you don’t, you might be stuck in limbo forever.”

“I don’t care. As long as my son is safe, my family is safe, I don’t care.”

I hear the defeat in Cal’s voice. “There may come a time when you will care, Big Eddie, and I don’t know if there will be time to save you.”

My father’s quiet as he says, “It doesn’t matter, angel. I still have a job to do, and so do you, now. You promised me.”

“Yes,” Calliel whispers. “I know. I….”

“What?”

“I’ve watched you. For a long time. You, while you were young. You and your son. Benji. You know he believes the sun sets and rises with you, right? That you hung the moon and the stars for all the world to see?”

My father sobs quietly. “I know. I know. Don’t you think I know that? Ah, God. I can’t leave him. I just can’t. How can God want this? How could he think this was ever right?”

“I promise,” Cal says, his voice stronger, “that I will do everything I can for Benji. I promise you he will know peace again. It will take time, but one day, he’ll look to the sky and the sun will rise above the horizon and warm his face. He will know peace. I promise you.”

“Why? Why would you do this? Why did you promise me?”

“Because I love him,” the angel Calliel says. “As I love you. You are all mine to cherish. And I have cherished you for so long. All of you.”

“Angel?”

“Yes, Big Eddie?”

“I’m tired.” And he is. I can hear it. It’s like knives embedded in my skin.

“It’s time to sleep, Edward Benjamin Green. If you will not cross, you will need your strength. I can’t say what will happen to you, but if you stand, if you can stand and be true, then there may be hope for us all.”

“I’m….” He sighs.

“What?”

“I’m scared. Will you… will you stay with me? Until the end?”

“Until the very end. You’ve led a beautiful life filled with love and honor. Remember that, as it will warm you like fire and help keep the river away.”

“Will you tell him? Will you tell Benji I love him?”

A shuddering breath. “He knows. Oh, Edward, how he knows. But yes. Of course, yes. I will remind him every day. It may just be a touch, but he’ll know.”

Silence. Then:

“Your feathers. They’re….”

“Yes.”

“They are so… blue… and….” His voice trails off and doesn’t return.

“Good night, Big Eddie,” Cal says with a catch in his voice. “I will not forget my promise. Sleep and go with the grace of my Father. May you find peace, old friend.”

And in this dark, in this river, I open my mouth to scream. Water floods in and down my throat and I can’t breathe, I can’t take a breath, and I’m drowning, drowning, and I—





I open my eyes.

And groan as pain washes over me in rolling waves. My entire body aches like I’m covered in bruises from head to toe. My face is sticky and my ankle is on fire. My limbs are screaming at me. I try to stretch them out, but I can’t move very far, and my shoulder feels like it’s been sliced open. And a smell. Holy shit, that smell, like cat piss and ammonia all mixed into one. It stings my nostrils, burns my eyes. I cough as I try to take a breath around the gag in my mouth. The cough burns my chest. Sprung rib? What the hell? What the f*ck is going—

Something wet drips on my forehead. I open my eyes again.

It’s dark, though there must be a light somewhere because it’s not pitch black. I’m lying on my side on a floor. It feels like rough carpet beneath me. My clothes are soaked to the skin, my hair wet and plastered against my forehead. I try to push myself up, but my arms are restrained behind my back. My legs are tied together. I wiggle my fingers and feel hard, thick plastic. It takes me a moment to realize what it is.

Zip ties. The sheriff’s department made a big deal about them when they arrived, saying they were less chafing than metal handcuffs and easier to put on whoever was being arrested. The backs of my hands are pressed together, fingers pointed out. My hands feel like they’re going numb.

Griggs.

Boss, he called her.

Christie.

Everything hits at once. I cry out against the gag in my mouth, banging my head on the floor, trying to make myself sleep again, trying to knock the thoughts out of my head. Cal’s eyes on mine, the surprise, the horror. The pain. The love. Oh, God, so much love there, and how could I have never seen it before? How could I not have realized?

And then he fell….

Griggs. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to rip his bones from his body, and once it’s done, I’ll go to the river and float away. I ache with the thought of it.

A muffled voice growls at my right.

My eyes are adjusting to the weak light emanating from somewhere. It’s not so much a room I’m in as it’s a shack. The walls and ceiling are dilapidated and leaking water. Rain thunders down on the roof, and a peel of thunder rumbles through the air, causing the shack to quiver on its foundations.

There’s a small camping lantern set on a card table pressed up against the far corner of the room. Two dark light bulbs swing overhead. Piled against the wall near the table are a dozen black trash bags, stuffed full, straining the plastic. One has split open and lies on the floor, spilling out its contents. Empty antifreeze bottles. Empty brake fluid containers. Plastic bottles with holes cut through the top.

If what your father told me is correct, Corwin whispers in my head, then they could be supplying methamphetamines up and down the West Coast.

But this looks small-time. Dirty bathtub bullshit in this dirty f*cking shack. It smells awful in here, the stench almost making me gag, a mixture of fumes from the discarded bottles. If they are making meth in here, it couldn’t have been a lot, not the size Corwin was talking about. What the f*ck did my dad know?

Another muffled growl.

I crane my head to the left.

Abe has his back against the wall, his arms tied behind him, a sharp jut of bone sticking out of his forearm, tearing his flesh. He’s completely gray, sweat pouring off his skin. The cloth wrapped around his mouth and neck looks soaked. Our gazes lock, and his eyes are filled with such relief I can see him trying to smile around the gag. The smile falters as a tremor rolls through him, and he tilts his head back against the wall, his face twisting into a grimace against the pain.

I cry out around the gag, my anger almost overwhelming. How could they want to hurt him? All he wants to do is live out the remainder of his days in this goddamned f*cked-up little town. All he wants is to make up problems with his car so he can come and sit and chat with me all day. All he wants is to one day close his eyes, only to open them and see his beloved Estelle looking back at him. He never wanted this. He never asked for this. It’s my fault as much as it is theirs.

The archangel Michael warned me—you may get the answers you desire. But remember this: sometimes the past is better left alone.

But I didn’t leave it alone. I couldn’t.

I kick my feet and hop/roll over to Abe. By the time I reach him, my wrists are rubbed raw from the cuffs and my whole body is a bundle of exposed nerves, but it doesn’t matter. If we’re going to die in this f*cking pit, then we’ll face them together.

I rest my head on his outstretched legs for a moment to gather my strength and he makes a soothing sound at the back of his throat, as if he’s trying to calm me. A sob bursts from my throat, and it’s all I can do to keep from curling up in a ball and waiting for the end. Abe makes the noise again and twitches his leg a little bit. I know he’s trying to let me know he’s here with me, I’m not alone. He doesn’t know that makes it worse. This is my fault.

I lift myself off his lap, jerking myself up despite the sharp flare of pain. I rest my back against the shack wall, brushing my shoulder against Abe’s. I turn my head to look at him. He tries to smile again. I almost break, but not quite. Not yet.

I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall. Abe lays his head on my shoulder and we sit there, in the squalid dark, water dripping down on us, the storm raging outside. I try to turn my mind off, but I can’t. I think of my mother and wonder if she knows of her sister’s betrayal. What about the rest of the Trio? Nina, surely not, but what about Mary?

I think of Joshua Corwin, special agent with the FBI, now resting in the ground, a hole in the back of his head, his body ravaged to hide his identity.

I think of Estelle, a woman I barely remember but know I love, if only because she loved Abe with her whole heart.

I think of Rosie, sitting in her diner, a mischievous smile on her face.

Doc Heward in his office, squeezing a stress ball with the name of an antiinflammatory medication on the side.

Jimmy Lotem, from the hardware store, and his poor mother with cancer.

Eloise Watkins and her long Friday cigarettes.

Pastor Thomas Landeros, his hand on my back as a coffin is lowered to the ground.

A stone angel, silent but always watching.

The archangel Michael, his secretive smile, his Strange Men.

Big Eddie. Big Motherf*cking Eddie. My father. The man I will worship for the rest of my life, no matter how short that might be.

Abraham Dufree, my best friend. The way the skin around his eyes crinkles deeply when he smiles and laughs.

And Calliel. I think of the guardian angel Calliel. His dark eyes. His bright smile. His red hair. The freckles on his nose and shoulders. The way he held me. The way he kissed me. The way he loved me. The sunrises. The dreams he saved me from, even if he was just trying to save me from the truth. The way he protected me. The way he guarded me. The blue lights. His massive wings.

I take in a deep breath and wonder, like my father, if the end will hurt. It’s almost comforting to know even my father had fears, that he wasn’t perfect. He might have been the tallest, he might have been the fastest, and he might have been the greatest man alive, but he was still a man.

The door to the shack suddenly bangs open, letting in a cool blast of air that knocks back the stink of the room. There’s another flash of lightning, followed by a quick rolling blast of thunder. The storm has to be on top of us now.

Griggs is first into the room, his sheriff’s uniform soaked, even with the heavy coat he wears. He sees us staring at him, and he smiles, opening his coat to reveal the hunting rifle. He walks farther into the shack.

And then she follows him in. My aunt. Christie, one-third of the Trio. My mother’s sister. The boss. Her eyes are flat, her mouth a thin line, water dripping down her face, smearing her makeup, making her appear ghoulish. She catches me looking at her and reaches up to wipe her eyes. Her mascara smears, and it looks like she’s now wearing a black mask that trails down her cheeks. “Both awake, I see,” she says.

“We need to do this now and get it done and over with,” Griggs snaps. “Teddy and Horatio will be back with the truck in a couple hours. We need to finish packing up the rest of the site before they return.”

“We have some time, George,” my aunt says. “I doubt they’ll be able to return in this storm as it is. I told them to call when they were heading back, but I also told them to stay and start setting up the new site if it looks to be too much to travel in this storm. Of all the days for it to rain.” She sighs, showing just how inconvenient this weather is for her.

Griggs snorts. “F*cking rain. You’d think God was out to get us.”

I’m cold, and it has nothing to do with how wet I am.

Christie walks over to the table and turns the lantern up to its highest setting, chasing away some shadows and creating new ones. The light illuminates a switch on the wall. She flips it, and the two light bulbs overhead burst into life. The light is almost blinding. Stark. “You need to call in the bridge,” she tells Griggs. “Let them know that a concerned citizen called you, saying that it looks like an accident has occurred. Your deputies will be too busy with the town to do anything about it now, but at least it’ll look like the accident happened when the storm hit. It’ll make things easier later, when they find the Ford.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was already going to do it,” the sheriff grumbles. “Don’t need you f*cking harping on my back. Christ.”

“George,” Christie snaps. “Shut your f*cking mouth and do what I tell you without complaint. I’m getting sick of your attitude. I’d hate for you to be a situation that needed to be rectified.”

I’m shocked when Griggs looks contrite—cowed, even. He mutters something under his breath, but then he nods and moves toward the door again, squeezing the radio on his shoulder. “Dispatch, come in.” He lowers his voice, and I can’t hear the rest of the conversation aside from an occasional screech of static.

Christie pulls out her cell phone and flips it open, presses the call button, and puts it to her ear. “Walken,” she says after a moment. “They’re here. No. No. Traynor’s dead.” She glances over at Abe and me. “I’m surprised, too, but he always was a little sociopath. We’re better off in the long run without him. No. Yes. Cal Blue is dead. No one could survive that fall.”

My anger rises again, as does my heartache. It’s like poison traveling through my body, and I allow myself to settle in it. It feels like fire.

Christie turns and continues to talk on the phone. As soon as her back is turned, Abe raises his head off my shoulder and nudges me sharply. I look at him and his eyes are narrowed. He nods down at the space between us. I widen my eyes slightly and shrug. I don’t know what he wants. He makes sure my gaze is on his, then very pointedly looks down between us. I glance back at Christie, who is arguing softly into the phone. Griggs is still preoccupied with the radio. I look down between us.

Clutched in his left hand is a pocketknife, the blade closed. Estelle’s gift from so very, very long ago, somehow missed by Griggs and Christie.

I love you, my husband. Forever, Este.

I nod. Not much time.

I move as close to him as I can get, keeping my eyes on Griggs and Christie. They’re still distracted. Abe grips one side of the knife, pointing the closed blade at me. I move my arms behind me toward him, ignoring the pain that snarls in my shoulder. My fingers brush against the metal. I extend my thumb and forefinger and—

Christie turns to look at us, frowning. I glare at her, staying still. She turns back to the phone, saying, “I don’t care what you think—” and I grasp the blade between my fingers. My fingers are wet and the blade slips before I can get a good grip on it. I grab it again. Slip. My hands are starting to sweat, and we don’t have f*cking time for this and—

“She’s what?” Christie snarls. “F*cking Lola! Dougie didn’t talk to her before I got to him, did he? Shit. Fine, put her on the phone.”

I stare at her, the knife all but forgotten. Perversely, she turns to me and brings her finger to her lips, winking at me as she shushes me.

“Lola!” she says into the phone. “I’m fine, love. Don’t worry. No. No, I forgot something up at Big House and drove back to get it, and by the time I got here, it started raining cats and dogs!”

I shout against the gag, the sound muffled but still carrying in the small room. My aunt narrows her eyes and pulls my gun out of her coat pocket. She says, “Hold on a moment,” into the phone and puts it against her shoulder as she takes five large steps over to where we sit against the wall. I only have a moment to brace myself, but it’s not enough, and galaxies of stars explode across my vision as she smashes the gun against the side of my head. The pain is so overwhelming and bright I’m unable to make a sound. Through the haze, I hear Abe spitting around his own gag, trying to put himself in front of me. My vision clears momentarily, and she pushes Abe back against the wall, pressing the barrel of the Colt against his forehead. Her words, however, are for me.

“Make another sound,” she hisses, “and I’ll put a bullet in his head right now. We clear?”

I nod, feeling fresh blood trickle down my neck.

She puts the phone back to her ear. “Sorry, sister. No, it was just the TV, the volume got loud suddenly. Must have been from the storm. What?” She frowns down at me as she lowers the gun, taking a step back. “Benji? I haven’t seen him. The station’s closed? No, he’s not here. Are you sure he’s just not over in the Shriner’s Grange? I can’t see Little House clearly through the rain, but I don’t think his truck is there. No. Abe and Cal too? I’m sure they’re fine, honey. I’m sure of it. If they are all gone, then that must mean they’re all together. They’ll be okay.” She smiles at me as she says, “Anyway, Cal is such a big guy. He won’t let anything happen to them, I just know it.”

Bitch, I say with my eyes. I’ll kill you. I’ll f*cking rip your head off.

“Just stay in the church with the town until the storm passes, okay? I’ll stay here at Big House where it’s nice and dry. Call me when the rain lets up and I’ll meet you. If they’re not back by then, we can go looking together, but I promise you they’re fine. Don’t worry so much. Okay. Okay. Love you too.” She sighs and disconnects the call. She stares down at her phone for a moment. She shakes her head and slips it back in her pocket.

She looks over at us and brushes her hands over her face. I’m pressed tightly against Abe and hope she can’t see between us. Abe has pressed the edge of the pocketknife into my hand again, and I’m pulling at the blade with my fingers after having stretched them to the point of pain to dry them on my shirt. My head is pounding but I’m trying to push through it to focus on the knife.

Griggs comes back. “Done,” he says. “Called it in. They’ll check it when the storm lets up. According to the weather report, the front slowed and now it’s just sitting over Roseland. They don’t expect it to clear up for hours. We have time before anyone finds the truck.”

Christie looks moderately relieved. “All that remain are a few loose ends,” she says. “This day can’t be over soon enough.”

He shrugs at her, and I see something in his eyes that turns my stomach. It’s almost like adoration. It’s cemented when he leans over and kisses her on the lips. She starts at this, as if it’s unexpected. She pulls away, but not before I see the small smile on her face. She steps away from him and the smile melts away into a sharp look. Griggs doesn’t look contrite in the slightest.

I pull on the blade of the knife, but the handle slips partially from Abe’s grip. I look over at him, and his eyes are drooping, his head bobbing. I elbow him sharply and he snaps his head up, his pallor graying further. I don’t know how much blood he’s lost, or how much pain he’s in, but given the fact that a bone is sticking out of his arm, I’m surprised he’s stayed conscious this long. He turns to me, eyes slightly out of focus, but he nods and I feel him tighten his grip on the knife handle. I start to pull on the blade again, pinching it as tightly as I can, and it starts to open and this will work, this will work and—

Christie turns and walks over to us. We both freeze. She has a determined look on her face, a cold calculation in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. I think she’s seen the knife and she’s going to take it from us, but she reaches down instead and pulls the gag from my mouth, letting it rest around my neck. My jaw aches as I open and close it. I glare up at her as I run my tongue over the back of my teeth, trying to get the taste of dirt out of my mouth. Griggs pulls up a chair from the table and sets it behind her. She sits, crossing her legs, her shins only inches away from my face.

“Now,” she says carefully, “we’re going to have a talk, you and I. I will ask you questions, you will answer the specific questions, and that will be that. Are we clear?”

“F*ck you,” I snarl at her, trying to grab the blade of the knife again.

She sighs as if she’s dealing with a petulant child. “Benji, this can go very easy for the both of you. Or it can be very difficult. The choice is yours.”

“Did you do it? Did you kill him?”

She looks taken aback. “You were there, Benji. Did it look like I had a rifle in my hand?” She frowns. “How hard did you hit your head?”

“My father!” I shout at her. “Did you kill my father!”

Something crosses her face then—a shadow, a stutter. Her eyes go wide and she purses her lips like she’s trying to think up something to say, anything to say. Finally, “It was an accident, Benji. You know that. He lost control and went into the river.”

I’m quaking. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. I know you had something to do with it. You knew he was going to meet with Corwin. You knew he’d found you out, or at least about the drugs. You knew he was going to turn you in. Did he know? Did he know about you specifically?” The knife begins to open again.

She suddenly leans forward, grabbing my face in a single hand, squeezing my jaw harshly. She brings her face close to mine. I don’t look away. “This,” she says, a sneer on her lips, “is why you’re here now, Benji. You don’t know when to stop.”

“And I won’t stop. Not now. Not now, you f*cking bitch.”

“George,” she snaps, not taking her eyes off of mine.

He steps forward without hesitation, and I have no time to brace myself against the butt of the rifle smashing into my stomach. The world grays around me and all the air is expelled from my body. My throat feels constricted, and I can’t catch my breath. Vaguely, on the outskirts of my consciousness, I hear Abe yelling against his gag, but his protestations seem unimportant. I think I’m about to pass out, but then I’m finally able to suck in a thin breath that burns my lungs. My face is wet with rain water and sweat, and tears threaten to follow, but I won’t allow them. I won’t allow myself to show weakness. Not here. Not in front of them. I take in another breath, gasping in the air.

“This could be quite simple, Benji,” my aunt says again. “I will ask the questions, you answer them. Then we see what happens from there.”

“F*ck you.”

She shakes her head. “So like Big Eddie. Stubborn until the very end. Who besides Special Agent Corwin did you talk to? You’re not wearing a wire, I already checked. But that doesn’t mean you haven’t spoken to anyone else. Who else is there?”

Going from my father to Corwin to wires confuses me. “What?”

She speaks slowly as if I’m dumb. “Who besides Special Agent Corwin did you talk to?”

I think about lying. I think about telling her I spoke with the whole goddamned FBI and that they’re about to bust in this place and take her down, but I don’t want to take the risk. If they’ll hit me, they’ll hit Abe. I can’t see him hurt any more than he already is. So I answer her truthfully. “No one,” I mutter.

She stares at me for a moment. Then, “You’re lying.”

I’m insistent. “No, I’m not!”

“Who else have you told?”

“Nobody. Corwin was the only one I talked to!”

“George,” she says.

The rifle slams into my stomach. I lean over and gag, a thin stream of spit hanging from my mouth. It feels like my eyes are bulging out of my head, and my body feels like a bundle of exposed nerves. I put my forehead against the ground and through the fireworks in my head, I think, Please. I pray, please. Please God, Michael, whoever. Please. If not me, then please help Abe get out of here. Just make them stop. Please. Cal. Cal, please don’t be dead, please see my thread. God, please. Dad. Oh, Dad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but it hurts. Oh my God, I hurt. Please let it be quick. If not for me, then for Abe. If we go, let it be quick for him.

The fireworks go off in my head again, all exploding in shades of such blue I almost cry out. The rain drips through the walls and down from the ceiling onto the burning skin of my neck and it’s one drop, then two, then three, and I count all the way to seven before I stop. There’s no answer. No one hears my prayer. No one is coming. We are alone. We’ve always been alone.

I sit back up with a groan.

“You know,” my aunt says, “I’m rather upset that it’s come to this, Benji.” There is something akin to sadness in her voice, and for an impossible moment, I almost believe it. “When we started this little… endeavor, I never thought it would come to this. But I guess like all things, choices had to be made. To take on something such as this, you have to be prepared to make sacrifices.”

“Why?” I gasp out, trying to buy more time, my aching hands scrabbling against the knife in Abe’s grip.

“Why?” she repeats.

“Why this? Why all of this?”

She laughs. “Benji, this isn’t going to be like some movie, where the villain gives a whole speech at the end about the hows and the whys. There’s no extraordinary meaning behind any of this. It’s simple really; I grew up poor. I didn’t want to be poor anymore. Meth is cheap to manufacture, easy to distribute, easy to collect on.”

I turn my head pointedly to look around the shack. “This? How can you make any money making it in here? It’s not big enough!”

She glances around, almost fondly. “This is where we started,” she says. “When we didn’t know what we were doing. We had some junkie chemist in here who we’d promised all the crystal he could smoke if he showed us how to make it. He was a strange man, but good at what he did. Money was tight at first, but the more we made, the more we sold. We watched his process as closely as we could, figured out we didn’t need the junkie anymore.” She smiled sadly. “He overdosed in a shitty apartment outside of Bandon. All the crystal he could smoke and he smoked it all at once. Such a terrible tragedy.”

The blade catches in my fingers again, but it slips. It isn’t working. My hands are covered in sweat and blood and water. I can’t get a good enough grip on it to pull it out. I don’t think there’s enough strength in my numb fingers to pull it out anyway. The zip ties are cutting into my flesh, cutting off the blood flow. I’m about to give up when I get another idea. F*ck, it’s going to hurt, but it’s the only option left.

“It still doesn’t explain how you could make meth in this little space,” I point out.

“Jesus, boy,” Griggs snaps. “What the f*ck is it to you?”

“Curiosity,” I say, pinching the blade once more with two fingers. As soon as I feel it start to pull up, I slide, I curl my hand and fingers up toward my wrist, and slide the tip of the knife down through my knuckles to the webbing between the two fingers. It doesn’t cut, not yet. I grit my teeth, gathering my resolve.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” the sheriff singsongs.

“And satisfaction brought him back,” I growl.

“Caves,” my aunt says.

“What?”

“The cave system is quite extensive,” she says. “Back up in the hills right behind this little shack. It’s almost shocking how far they go into the mountains. How wide they get. How underground they are, perfect for hiding from any normal satellite imaging used by law enforcement. Little shafts that open up from the ground, perfect for ventilation. And since they’re a part of the incorporated township, it means this area is not regulated by the Bureau of Land Management, and the caves have never been recognized as part of a national park. Which means the local government has control of the caves. It also helps when there’s a certain member of the forestry service capable of being bought and told to look the other way. Especially when there are funds to do so, seeing as how a certain mayor likes to skim off the top and got caught by our illustrious sheriff here. Blackmail is a wonderful thing when used correctly, Benji. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

My head is spinning. But still my resolve is growing as the knife begins to cut into my flesh. One quick jerk upward, one solid movement. Yes, it’s going to hurt as it slices into my hand, but it’ll catch on the bone and the knife will snap open. I can do this. I can do this. Pain is nothing in the face of death. Cal felt pain. My father felt pain. I can feel pain. I can do this. It’s not over. It’s not over yet.

“So you blackmailed the mayor to be involved in this?” I say, gritting my teeth against the sting.

Christie rolls her eyes as the sheriff snorts. “He became a willing participant once he saw the financial aspect of it,” she says. “That man has dollar signs for eyes.”

“And you and Griggs? Why did you do this with him? When did you start all of this?”

She looks amused. “Benji, life doesn’t provide all the little answers just because you ask for them. I would have thought you’d have learned that by now.” “What about—”

“Enough,” she interrupts. “No more wasting time. Who else is there?”

Almost ready. I can do this. I can do this. Have to keep my face schooled. I cannot show anything, not even a grimace. Can’t give myself away. “No one,” I say. “You’ve killed everyone else.”

“What did you tell Corwin?”

I look her in the eye. “That I knew Big Eddie had been murdered. That I knew he wasn’t going to Eugene to meet with friends.” Do it. Just do it. The pain will only be for a second. It’ll cut deep but you’ll have a chance. Hit the bone and pull up.

I steal a glance at Abe. He must see something in my eyes because he gives me an almost imperceptible nod. He tightens his grip on the knife.

“Who else?” she asks again.

“No one.”

“Benji, I’m getting tired of this. Who else?”

I start to panic. “No one!” I say again. “What’d Corwin tell you?”

She looks at me coldly. “By the end? Everything. Traynor probably went a bit overboard with his fingers.” She grimaces at the memory. “But he was pretty convincing that he hadn’t told his superiors yet.”

“And no one else has come to Roseland asking after him,” I snap at her. “So there is no one else.”

“George?”

“He’s lying,” Griggs snarls. “If he didn’t say anything, that big f*cker did.”

Now. Now. Now. I brace myself for the pain and am about to jerk my arms up to open the knife when Christie says, “Maybe we need to go about this a different way. Get the old man.” She stands and pushes her chair back

Abe starts to tremble. His hand slips and he drops the knife, the blade closing on the soft flesh between my fingers, cutting through and closing. It falls to the floor. I make a grab for it and close my hand around it just as Griggs grabs Abe by the collar and pulls him up. Abe cries out at the movement, the pain in his arm no doubt excruciating.

“You leave him alone,” I cry, my voice cracking. “Don’t you touch him!”

“Then tell us what we want to know.”

“I told you! There’s no one else!”

Griggs rips off Abe’s gag and drops him on the ground on his stomach in front of me, his hands bound behind his back. Abe grunts at the impact and turns his cheek so he’s facing me. There’s a moment, as we watch each other, when a myriad of emotions flicker across his face. There is fear and anger. Pain and trepidation. But then they are all swept away as his eyes harden and his jaw sets. The Abe I see now is the Abe I know. The strong one, the one who has stood by my side and by my father’s before me. He’s….

No.

“Leave him alone!”

Christie hands Griggs my Colt. He sets down his rifle on the chair and pulls out the clip before pushing it back home. He then drops to his knees and presses the barrel against Abe’s left temple.

The knife. I have to open the knife. The back of my hands are pressed together. I grip the knife between two fingers on my left hand and attempt to grab the blade by pinching it with the knuckles on my right hand.

“Who else?” Christie demands.

“No one,” I grind out, the knife slipping again.

Griggs digs the gun into the side of Abe’s head. “Who did you talk to?” he snaps.

“There’s no one else!” I shout, holding the knife steady again.

“Look away,” Abe says, his voice calm. “Look away, Benji.”

“You hush,” I say hoarsely. “Please. Please just let him go. There’s no one else. I swear. I would tell you if there was. I swear.” My knuckles catch the blade, and I pull. It doesn’t open.

“You’re lying,” Christie says, taking a step back. “You want to watch him die in front of you?”

“Benji,” Abe says. “Look away.”

“Please. Oh, God, please. Please believe me. I wouldn’t lie. I can’t lie. Christie, you know me. Please. You don’t want to do this. I’ll do anything you want.” I pull on the knife again, and it opens.

“Who else knows?” Griggs snarls. “The ATF? The DEA? Your mom? Nina? Mary?”

Christie’s eyes grow dark at the mention of her sisters, but she doesn’t stop him.

“No,” I croak. “How could I tell them what I don’t know? Take me instead. Please.”

“Benji,” Abe says softly. “Listen to me.”

I look at him as my eyes start to burn.

“They won’t believe you, no matter what you say,” he says steadily. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. They’re too far gone to pull back now.”

Michael! God! You f*ckers! Help me!

“Don’t hurt him,” I whisper. “You just can’t.” I pull the knife all the way open and hold the handle between my fingers. I curl my hand up until I feel the blade poke against my wrist. I twist it until it touches the plastic of the zip tie.

“Benji, look away,” Abe says. “Don’t watch. Look away.”

“Tell us what we want to know!” Griggs shouts, digging the gun into Abe’s head again. “I’ll kill him right now if you don’t f*cking tell us!”

“Please,” I try again. “I didn’t. I swear it. Please.”

Christie sighs. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

“The f*ck he is,” Griggs snaps. “He’s just like his f*cking father.” “Benji,” Abe says. “It’ll be okay. You know why?”

I shake my head, tears falling on my cheeks. I turn the knife until the blade is flat against my wrist and slide it up between my skin and the plastic. I cut myself, and blood trickles down my wrist.

“It’ll be okay, because I’ll see her again. My life. My love. My Estelle. I love you, boy, but I’m tired. I think I have been for a while. I’m ready to go home. I know I promised you, but it’ll be okay.”

“No,” I moan. “You can’t leave. You can’t leave me here alone.”

“Last chance,” Griggs says.

“You are never alone,” Abe says. “Your father has always been with you. And you know Cal has always been with you. Always. When I see that boy of yours, I’ll tell him you’ll see him soon. And when you’re ready, we’ll be waiting with open arms.”

“Who. Did. You. Tell,” Griggs says quietly.

Nothing I can say to Griggs matters, so I say the only thing that does matter. “I love you, old man.”

“I know,” Abe says with a strong smile. “Look away, Benji. For me. Please. Close your eyes and look away.”

The knife falls to the ground behind me. I look away as my chest heaves.

“George, wait,” my aunt says, sounding unsure.

“No,” Griggs says. “This ends now.”

“I’m coming, Este,” Abraham Dufree says with relief in his voice. “I’m coming home. I’ve missed you, Lord knows I have. Our Father, who art in heaven—”

“George, don’t—”

“—hallowed be thy name—”

“I’m done f*cking around!”

“—thy kingdom come—”

I squeeze my eyes shut and scream.

“—THY WILL BE DONE—”

The gunshot is flat in the shack. It does not echo above the rain.





memories like knives

On the third day after my father’s death, I awoke from a difficult sleep. I felt

groggy, my eyes gummy and stuck together. I groaned out loud. I was thirsty. My stomach rumbled. My mouth was sour. And then everything hit me at once. He’s gone.

The thought was like an explosion in the dark, and I gagged, just once, only then remembering being sedated three times in the last three days—each time I’d awoken, screaming. Ranting. Raving. I had tried to hurt my mother. She’d sat next to my bed the first day, and I’d opened my eyes and tried to launch myself at her, convinced everything that had happened was her fault. It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t rational. I was lost under a wave of black, and I didn’t know what I was doing. All I knew was that she had been the one to tell me; therefore she had been the one to make it so.

So when I opened my eyes on that third day, I tried to keep all my emotions in check. I didn’t want to sleep again. I didn’t want to float in the black. I wanted to feel the pain, I wanted it to burn. I wanted to feel grief squeezing tightly around my heart, because that was the only way I would know it was real. Being in the black was confusing. It was deceptive. It was easy. If I stayed there for too long, I’d never want to come back.

“Easy there,” a voice said. That voice I knew.

I turned my head to the right. I was in my room at Big House. In my bed. My back was sore. I was sweaty. I needed a shower. I needed to stretch my arms and legs. I needed get out from under the comforter.

“You need to just breathe,” Abe said, as if he could read my thoughts. He sat in a chair next to the bed, watching me with sad eyes. There was no one else in the room.

“Water,” I croaked out. “Thirsty. Please.”

He nodded and lifted himself up from the chair and moved out of sight. I heard the faucet in the bathroom a moment later. Only then did I allow a tear to fall from my eye. It tracked its way over the bridge of my nose and fell to the pillow. I thought, for a moment, about asking to be put back to sleep, for Doc Heward to come back and give me another injection so I could go back into the dark and float. I pushed this thought away as the fog from the drugs began to clear from my head. Too easy, I thought. It’d be too easy.

I saw a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye, bright and warm. I looked, but there was nothing there. I thought it an aftereffect of the sedative.

Abe came back and helped me sit up in my bed. He handed me the cup of water and then sat back in the chair with a sigh.

“Where is she?” I asked finally, the silence too loud.

He didn’t have to ask who. “With the Trio,” he said quietly. “Christie told me they’re thinking about staying here. For a while, at least. To help with Lola. And you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” I snapped. “Neither does she. Not by them. I can do it. We don’t need help.”

His words were pointed, but kind. “Benji, you haven’t been in a position to help anyone these last few days.”

I said nothing. He was right, of course. I looked away. I hurt all over, a pain that seemed to be buried deep into my bones.

“Has the funeral happened yet?” I asked gruffly.

“Of course not. Lola would never do that without you. You have to be there.”

“He’s still….” I couldn’t finish.

Abe knew what I was asking. “Yes. He’s still at the morgue. They had… they had to make sure there was nothing wrong with Big Eddie. Do you understand?”

Yes. Yes, I did. They had to make sure there was nothing wrong with him so they cut him open and dug around on his insides. They desecrated the body of my father in search of the truth. Had it been Doc Heward? No, I thought not. It would have been the medical examiner, the one who’d been out of town on the day I saw my father in that freezer. I nodded at Abe and asked him what they found, because they would have found something. There would be something there, because the only way my father would leave me would be if he was forced to. This was not going to be something as cosmically simple as an accident. He didn’t slide off the road because the pavement was wet. He didn’t swerve to miss a deer. No. To rid this earth of my father would take something darker than that. A conspiracy to take him away. They would find something, because Big Eddie was too big to go out because of something as mundane as a car accident. He could not die because of something so artless.

“What did they find?” I asked Abe.

He shook his head. “They haven’t said yet. It takes some time for the tests to be done. Tox screens, blood work. They’ll want to make sure there were no drugs or alcohol in his system at the time of the accident.”

Stop saying accident, you old bastard. It wasn’t an accident. “Big Eddie wasn’t like that,” I said sharply. “He would never have been so stupid.”

“I know, Benji. It’s routine. They have to check. To make sure.”

I have to go to Eugene. Meet up with some friends. I’ll be back in the afternoon.

“He told me he’d come back,” I mumbled as I started to shrink back in on myself. “He said he’d come back.”

“I know he did, boy. Big Eddie was a man of his word too. I’m sure he would have come back just as soon as he could have.”

We were silent, for a time. Then, “Did I hurt her?” I asked in a small voice.

Abe sighed and grabbed my hand. His old skin felt soft against mine. “No. Scared her, yes. But hurt her? No. You didn’t touch her, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Doc Heward is a lot quicker than he looks, I’ll give him that.”

There was no recrimination in his voice, but I still needed him to understand. “I wasn’t… I didn’t want to hurt her,” I said. “She… she was the one… I just can’t stop thinking that she took him from me.”

“But she didn’t,” he said. “Lola had nothing to do with it. She’s in just as much pain as you are, Benji, and she’s going to need you as much as you need her.”

He was right, of course, but still I was stubborn. “She has the Trio,” I said bitterly.

“As do you, but it’s not going to be the same. The Trio will love you and will hold you, but they can’t ever understand completely what you and your mom are going through.”

It hit me then, the grief, and I felt awful. “But you can, can’t you. You know. You know as much as we do.”

He looked down at his hands. “This is such a shitstorm,” he said quietly.

I snorted. Truer words had never been spoken.

He didn’t look up at me when he spoke. “I know it’s going to be hard, boy. Lord knows I do. People will tell you pretty words about how Big Eddie is at peace now. That he’s with God and all the glory of heaven is shining down on him. They’ll say you should remember the good things about his life because it will help you find some measure of solace. Maybe they’re right. Maybe that’s the right way to go about it. Maybe that’s exactly what you need to do. Think about how wonderful your father was, how much he loved you. How much you loved him. Maybe that can carry you through the darkest hour. Maybe it will be enough.”

My breath hitched in my chest.

“But you know what? It may not be enough. You will be angry. You will be sad. You will think the world is crashing down around your ears and there is nothing you can do to stop it. After… after my wife died, I was lost. I was lost for such a long time. Estelle was everything to me, and I didn’t know what to do without her. There were times I would forget she was dead and I would turn to tell her something, only to have to remember it all over again. And each time I had to remember, it was just as crushing as when she first died. People told me their pretty words, gave me their sympathy, but I didn’t want to hear it. They didn’t understand that she was mine and she was gone.”

I began to weep.

“And then one day, Big Eddie came by and told me he just wanted to sit with me on the porch, and that if I wanted to talk, he’d be there. Otherwise, we could just sit. And that’s what he did. Day after day. Always on his break from the store. Forty minutes. Every. Day. And we didn’t talk, most of the time. We just sat and let the world go by, and I was okay with that.

“But eventually, I couldn’t take the silence anymore and began to talk, and I told him everything I was scared of. I told him everything I missed about her. I told him she was the most wonderful woman to have ever existed and how every day in the time I knew her, I still couldn’t believe she’d chosen me above everyone else. I didn’t have money. I wasn’t the most handsome. I wasn’t the funniest, or the classiest. But she still chose me, and I didn’t know why. And do you know what Big Eddie said, Benji? Do you know what he told me?”

I covered my face with my hands as I cried.

“He told me memories are like ghosts, that they will haunt you if you let them. He said it’s okay to be haunted for a time, because it’s the only way a person can grieve properly. ‘But you can’t let yourself drown in them, Abe,’ he said. ‘There is going to come a time when ghosts are all you’re going to know, and it may be too difficult to find your way back.’”

Abe got up from the chair and put his hands on my shoulders. “So you grieve, Benji. Lord knows you’re entitled to. How could you not? Big Eddie was the greatest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I have no qualms in saying that he was like a son to me. Hell, he was my son. And I hurt because of that. I hurt because he was my son. And your mother hurts because she was his wife. This whole town hurts. But you? Benji, you hurt because you lost your father. Big Eddie might have meant much to all of us, but it’s going to be hardest for you. He was more than just a father to you, I know. He was your friend. I don’t think I’ve seen a boy love his daddy as much as you loved him, and the same was true in reverse. So if there is ever a doubt in your heart, you remember this: Big Eddie loved you. He loved you, boy, because you were his. So you grieve. You grieve and let the poison out, and you remember him. But you cannot forget that memories are like ghosts, and they will drown you if you let them. That’s not what Big Eddie would have wanted from you. For you.”

I grabbed at him blindly, feeling the bones under his thin frame. “You’ll help me?” I gasped at him. “Please say you’ll help me. I can’t do this on my own.”

He put his chin on my forehead and held me close. “You have my word,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you, boy. I’ve got you.”





They leave after he’s shot Abe in the head, Christie almost looking horrified,

Griggs snapping at her and waving the gun in my direction. The sound of the gun cut off my voice, and I find I can no longer speak, or even make a single noise. My breath whistles in my throat as Griggs snarls at Christie to let him go, that he was just doing what she was no longer capable of. Did she want them to go to jail? Did she want this whole operation to get completely f*cked over? She doesn’t have time to answer—her phone rings, a sharp sound completely out of place in the horror that is this shack.

“Hello? You’re on your way back? How close are you? Shit. You should have

just waited until after the goddamn storm had passed! It’s too late now. Just get here as quickly as you can.” She hangs up the phone and tells Griggs they need to finish in the caves. “Leave him here,” she says without looking at me. “We’ll deal with him later.”

Griggs glances back at me and then follows her out into the storm, switching off the light as he goes. The naked bulbs overhead go out, and the only light that remains is from the lantern on the table near the door.

I slide from the wall and lie on the ground, as much on my back as my bound hands will allow.

I don’t think I can process what has just happened. My old friend lies on the ground, mere feet from me. He’s on his stomach, his head still turned, facing me. Eyes closed, mouth slack enough to show slightly yellowed teeth. Were it not for the circular wound on his temple dribbling a small amount of blood and the fact that his arms are still secured behind his back and his legs tied together, it’d look like he is just sleeping. An awkward position, to be sure, but he could just be sleeping.

Sleep sounds good right now. I wonder what would happen if I closed my eyes. I’m tired. I think I might be done. Cal’s gone. Abe’s gone. Big Eddie’s long gone. Everything I touch gets taken from me. Everyone I love dies. It’s only a matter of time for my mother. Mary. Nina. Christie, though she’s not the same in my mind anymore. Everyone I love will be gone, and I’ll still be here, in this shack in the middle of the forest during a black storm that will cause the river below to rage. Michael said we’re all tested, that this is how we find our faith. How else could we know love unless it was taken from us? I know love. I don’t need it to be taken from me to know it. I know faith. I don’t need it to be tested in order to understand it. God and his games are beyond me now. I can’t even find the desire to pray, not that it would be heard.

Memories like ghosts. Memories like knives.

But I’m tired. So very tired. I feel my strength leaving me, and I wonder if I’m going into shock. It wouldn’t be surprising. Things have happened that are very shocking. I laugh quietly at this, my punch-drunk mind finding humor in the wordplay. The ceiling above me looks like it’ll give way any minute. Maybe the river will rise all the way up past the banks until I’m submerged in its murky waters. It’d be so easy to drown. I don’t want to see the ceiling anymore. I don’t want to see Abe’s sleeping face anymore. I just want to close my eyes.

So I do. It’s dark. I tilt my face toward the ceiling.

My father sings: “Sometimes I float along the river—”

I sing: “For to its surface I am bound.”

My father sings: “And there are times stones done fill my pockets, oh Lord—”

I sing: “And it’s into this river I drown.”

And as soon as I sing the last word, a drop of water falls from the ceiling and lands directly on my tongue. It slides to the back of my throat, leaving a trail of water in its—

wake up

—wake. It doesn’t taste like rain. It doesn’t taste like rust from sliding along the roof of the shack. It tastes like—

wake up wake up

—the river, like the river from my dreams, the river where my father drowned, the river where Cal’s body lies. It tastes like sorrow and skin. Anger and bones. It tastes like everything I’ve ever wanted to say to those who are gone. It tastes like I love you. It tastes like I miss you. It tastes like I am so angry you’re gone. It tastes like—

up benji wake up cal wake wake

—regret. It tastes like knowing you can never go home again.

But most of all, it tastes like strength.

“Wake up!” a voice shouts in the shack. It’s deep, that voice. It’s familiar. It’s loud. It’s angry. It’s here with me, but I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to open my eyes. “Wake up!” my father roars, right next to my ear. It’s unexpected, and I jerk awake, my eyes flashing open, sure I will see—

my dad father big motherf*cking eddie

—someone standing above me, sure I am no longer alone and that memories, like ghosts, have risen, have become corporeal.

But he’s not.

There’s no one there.

I shift on the floor, frantically looking around for the owner of the voice, even though I know who it is. Even as I twist my head, a sharp pain cuts into my finger. I gasp at the suddenness of it, piercing through all my other aches in body and mind. I roll onto my stomach, away from the wall, trying to see what I cut myself on.

Estelle’s gift to her husband lies on the ground against the wall.

“Wake up,” I say. “I gotta wake up.”

Yes, boy, Abe whispers in my mind. You gotta wake up, because sometimes, all we want to do is to jump into that river and drown. It’s easy. It’s relief. It’s the warm embrace of death. But it’s also selfish. It’s selfish and solves nothing, and that is not who you are. So you wake up.

I don’t want to die here. I can’t die here. I have to tell people what I know. I have to tell the world what has happened. If not for my father, then for Cal, who only wanted to protect what was his. For Abe, who deserved more than to die on the dirty floor in a derelict shack in the middle of the woods. They deserve more, and only I can give that to them. Then I can sleep. Then I can float on the river’s current and drift away.

Like ghosts, my father says.

Like knives.

I lie back on my side and count to three before I jerk myself up and onto my ass, using my legs as leverage against the floor. My ankle screams at me, but I ignore it. The pain is nothing. It’s nothing compared to everything else.

Then I’m up and take a moment to catch my breath. The air inside the shack is stifling and hot, the little cracks in the walls not enough to ventilate the inside. Another splash of water lands on my head and trickles down my face. The rain thunders on the metal roof, and it sounds like a rushing river.

I press my back up against the wall and scrabble for the open pocketknife. My fingers brush the blade, and I follow it back until I reach the handle. I twist it up in my fingers until the blade is pointed up. My fingers are sticky with blood, sweat, and grime. I can’t let it slip. Not now. I don’t know how much time I have, but it can’t be much.

I press the blade flat against my wrist and slide it up against my skin until it’s under the plastic zip tie. It cuts into the already sliced flesh and I grit my teeth. This is nothing. The pain is negligible, I tell myself. I’ve been through worse. I’m going through worse. The searing of the knife into my flesh? This is nothing.

But the pain grows as I twist the knife, until the edge of the knife is pressed against my wrist, the sharper edge against the plastic of the zip tie. Blood drips down my fingers. I close my eyes and try to visualize my hands behind me. Instead of focusing on the damage I’m doing to my wrist, I focus on what I have to do to make this work. I grip the handle of the knife tightly with my knuckles.

A sound, above the rain. A low rumble. Lights roll up through the shack, flashing through the metal slats. The sound of tires on gravel. The harsh squeal of brakes.

A truck, a large one by the sound of it.

Not much time, I tell myself. Not much time at all. You going to do this? I am.

I grip the knife as tightly as I can. Taking a deep breath, I lift my knuckles up

and down, trying to press it as hard as I can into the plastic and away from my flesh, but it’s not far enough. Each sawing motion nicks my wrist again and again, the point of the blade stabbing into my arm. Blood flows more heavily. I grit my teeth and press up again. The sting of tearing flesh causes my eyes to water. I don’t even know if this is working. I don’t even know if Estelle’s gift is cutting into the plastic at all. Maybe the knife is too dull. Maybe the plastic is too strong. Maybe the only thing I’m doing is cutting my wrist. It’s not going to work. It’s not going to—

The zip tie gives a little. The sawing motion is becoming harder to do because the knife is cutting into the plastic. The pressure around my right wrist lessens slightly. It’s working. I saw up again and tears stream down my face as my wrist is sliced again. More blood drops onto my fingers and gets onto the handle of the knife. The zip tie gives further. Blood flows onto my knuckles and the knife cuts deeper and I think it’s about to—

The knife tumbles from my grip and lands on the floor. I reach for it and close my hands around the handle. Dirt from the floor mixes with the blood on my hands. I try to grip the knife, to twist it again, but I can’t get a good hold on it. I drop it and try to rub my hands against the back of my jeans, the back of my shirt. I can’t get them clean, not enough so I can hold onto the knife again.

The door to the shack rattles. I freeze, waiting for someone to open it. It doesn’t. Just the wind. It’s just the wind.

The zip tie has been cut, though not completely. I try pulling my wrists apart. The pain causes my vision to gray, but there is some give, the plastic seeming to stretch. I put my wrists back together. My hands are soaked in blood. I don’t know how badly I’ve cut myself. Abe still sleeps in front of me, but he’s not asleep. Not really. My vision tunnels again and I bang my head against the wall behind me, thunder covering up the rattling of the metal. I hit my head again. And again. And again. New pain shoots through the fog. I’m awake. I’m alive. I’m not asleep. I’m not in the river.

I close my eyes as my arms tremble. And knowing what will happen if this doesn’t work, I take in a deep breath and jerk my arms apart as hard as I can, with all of the strength I have left. The strain against my arms is incredible, and the muscles burn and start to cramp. I tilt my head back until it hits the wall. I grit my teeth and pull harder, the zip ties cutting into my skin even further. My head feels like it will explode, like my eyes are bulging from the sockets. Just when I think I can’t take the pressure any longer, I reach down deep within me and find the last reserves I have left and give just a little bit more.

The band around my right hand breaks.

I bring my hands to my lap, crying out softly at the tingling of blood circulating again through my arms, like a deep vibration. I hold my injured wrist to my chest and rock back and forth, hitting my head against the wall behind me. I think this might be a dream and it isn’t the zip tie that has snapped, but my mind. This can’t be real, that I’m still tied up and sitting in this dirty place.

I open my eyes.

I’m free from the tie, though the skin on my right forearm looks shredded. The blood isn’t gushing as much as it’s oozing, so I probably didn’t cut as deep as it felt like. I grab the knife and use it to cut off a strip of my shirt. I tie the strip around my wrist carefully, slipping the ends through and into a knot. I pull one end with my teeth and the other with my good hand. The pain is excruciating, and my eyes water. The cloth is not enough to completely stanch the flow of blood, but it has to be enough. For now.

I cut the ties around my legs and then close the knife and put it in my pocket. I stand shakily, my legs and feet still slightly numb. I move slowly around Abe, not wanting to hurt him any further (because he’s sleeping, I tell myself). I reach the door to the shack and peer through the cracks in the slats. It’s still daylight out, though the light is very weak, hidden behind the black clouds. The rain is still pouring as hard as I’ve ever seen it. The fresh air through the slats is the best thing I’ve ever smelled. I inhale as deeply as I can, but it’s too much and I start to cough. This hurts my chest, and I wonder if I’ve cracked a rib or two.

Once I stop coughing, I look through the slats again, but can’t see anything. I can’t quite remember where I heard the sound of the truck stopping. For all I know, I imagined it. I need to get out and get my bearings. Caves mean I’m north of the river and where Calliel landed, if they’re the ones I’m thinking of. The caves have been closed off for as long as I can remember. No one has a need to go up there, or at least they never did before. There’s nothing in them, no mineral deposits of any import (not since all the gold was mined), and no drawings on the stone walls from the Umpqua Indians who lived here centuries before. Nothing about them was supposed to be special, not anymore.

I have to get out of here. I have to get back to town.

Thunder cracks overhead. Lightning briefly illuminates the darkened sky.

Of course, I think. Of course the storm won’t let up. It’s a test, remember? It’s God’s test, and he’s going to flood the earth until we all float away. Once the surface is covered, the Strange Men will pull us down into the dark, and we’ll find out what it truly means to love. What it truly means to have faith.

I shake my head, trying to clear my mind of these odd thoughts. I feel woozy. I’m so tired. I could lie down next to Abe, maybe. Just for a little while. Just to sleep. Maybe it’ll—

A hand on my shoulder.

A breath on the back of my neck.

A smell of the darkest earth.

I whirl around. There’s no one there.

“I know,” I mutter. “I know.”

I take the knife back out of my pocket and open it. I press my hand against the door. “I’ll come back for you,” I tell Abe. “I won’t leave you here, I promise. I’ll come back for you and take you home, and the world will never bother us again.”

He doesn’t answer.

I pull the door open slowly. The blast of cold air is wonderful against my fevered skin. My face is instantly soaked and chilled. That clears more of the lingering fog in my head. The air feels clean and free. I almost want to take off running, but I don’t think my ankle could take it. I’d get shot in the back, knowing my luck. The door opens to the forest stretched out in front of me, running down a steep hill. There is nothing down the hill or to my left. I look right and see a road. On this road is a large paneled moving truck, backed up to a rocky outcrop that rises from the forest floor. And by the rear of the truck stand three men.

I jerk my head back inside the shack. It looks like Griggs is one of them. The other two I don’t recognize, but through the rain I can’t be sure. I close the door again and go to the wall of the shack facing the truck. I shuffle some of the garbage bags filled with empty plastic bottles. The smell coming from the bags is almost overwhelming. I force myself back to reality and kick another bag out of my way. There’s a large crack in this wall, near the floor. I slowly drop to my knees, ignoring how my whole body aches. I press my face up against the crack in the wall.

Griggs stands facing away from me, his sheriff’s hat and uniform obvious, even through the heavy rain. The other two men are facing me, listening intently to something Griggs is saying. He’s punctuating his words with his hands and eventually he points back toward the shack. The other two men peer around him with obvious interest. I freeze, feeling their eyes roam over me, and even though I’m sure they can’t see me, it looks as if they are staring right at me. They turn back to Griggs, who taps his watch. One of the men shakes his head and says something Griggs obviously doesn’t like. The sheriff grabs him by the collar of his coat and slams him into the side of the truck. Griggs pulls my Colt out of his coat pocket and presses it against the other man’s head. The third man does nothing, standing with his arms crossed, occasionally glancing over at the shack.

The man pressed against the truck struggles in the sheriff’s grip. Griggs snarls into his face and twists the gun into his temple, and it’s all I can do—

look away, benji, look away

—to keep my anger from rising. I want to knock down the door and fly at Griggs, break him apart. I grind my teeth together and dig my fingernails into my palms to try and keep centered, to keep aware. The red sheen that threatens to fall over my eyes is held at bay, at least for now.

Griggs drops the man from the side of the truck and takes a step back. He waves the gun toward the rear of the truck. The other two men shake their heads but seem to do what he asks. They go to the back of the truck and open the large rear door. They pull down a long metal ramp and set it on the ground. Griggs says something else and disappears around the truck. The other two stand, leaning into each other. I’m too far away to see their lips moving, but they seem to be talking. They look back at the shack again and then follow the sheriff.

The truck. Unguarded. Headlights still on. The keys might still be in the ignition.

“I’ll come back for you,” I promise Abe as I stand. His face is turned away from me. I ignore the bloody hole in his head. “You won’t stay here. I’ll come back.” My heart stutters in my chest, but I push it away.

I move to the door and open it slowly, poking my head out. No movement. I step out into the rain and am instantly soaked. I move along the outside of the shack until I reach the corner. Taking a deep breath, I turn and press my stomach against the wall and tilt my head around the corner.

The truck sits at the edge of the road. The headlights are still on. Farther up there’s a dark hole in the side of the hill. The cave entrance. Lights have been strung up on the cave ceiling, leading deeper into the cave, but the entrance is empty. I gingerly put weight on my ankle, testing it out. The pain is there, and it burns, but it’s not overpowering. I move around the corner of the shack, out into the open, and almost trip. There are four white propane tanks, the kind that hook up to barbeque grills, stacked against the wall. One starts to fall into the others, and I reach out and grab the top to keep the tanks from falling. The sound probably won’t carry, but I can’t take the chance. The top tank is heavy. It’s full. I set it back up and look back at the cave entrance. Still empty.

Now. Do it now.

Shit.

Now!

I take off, running as quickly as I can, sort of hopping to keep as much weight as

possible off my ankle. Rain slams into my face, the huge drops almost blinding me. The wind is strong. Thunder tears across the sky above. Forty feet. My chest hurts. Thirty feet. Abe and Cal are dead. Twenty feet. Please let the keys still be in the truck. Ten feet. The look on Cal’s face before he fell off the bridge. Five feet. Look away.

I hit the passenger door almost running full tilt. I frantically scrabble for the door handle. It’s wet and slides from my hand. I pull on it again. And again. The door doesn’t open. It’s locked. Without hesitating, I turn and run round the front of the truck, the headlights flashing in my eyes. I hit the driver’s door and have started to pull on the handle when I hear the rumble of voices through the rain, coming from the cave entrance, which I have a clear view of. I see movement farther back in the cave. I’m almost frozen, until my father whispers move, move, move. I won’t make it up the hill or back to the shack in time. I can’t try and open the door. If it’s locked, I’ll get caught trying to open it. If it’s open, they’ll see the door. The voices get louder. I drop to the ground and roll under the truck.

My breathing is out of control, to the point of hyperventilating. A large rock digs into my back. The sound of footsteps and voices is deafening. The pulse in my neck feels like it’s throbbing. Even though the rain is cold and the temperature has dropped, I start to sweat again. I stare up at the undercarriage of the truck, smelling metal and oil.

I can’t make out what they’re saying until they get closer to the truck and onto the metal ramp. Then their words reverberate through the truck.

“I always knew Griggs was f*cking insane,” a deep voice says.

The other voice is higher pitched. “Yeah, that’s f*cking hard-core, man. Even the boss seems a little freaked out.”

“Ah, screw it,” Low Voice says. “I’d rather a few people be dead than go to jail. I can’t go back there.”

“I dunno,” High Pitch says, sounding nervous. “What kind of person do you have to be to consider putting a bullet into your own family? He’s just a kid!”

“She’s already done it once. Don’t let the boss fool you. She’s a cold bitch, trust me.”

“What? What do you mean?”

There’s a pause. Then, “Come here.” I hear them move above me and down the ramp. I lift my head to see their feet walking around to the passenger side of the truck, near the door. The rear of the truck partially blocks them from being seen from inside the cave. “It was before your time, man,” Low Voice says clearly. “That kid in there? His daddy apparently found out about this whole operation. Didn’t know about the boss, but apparently knew about Griggs and Walken. She overheard him on the phone one day, talking with the FBI.”

“Oh, shit,” High Pitch breathes. “That guy… that Traynor…?”

“Man, f*ck Traynor,” Low Voice says. “The guy was a psychopath. But yeah. Apparently it was the same FBI guy. The kid called him in this time. His daddy did it before. Traynor wasn’t around then, so she got Griggs to do it.”

A chill runs down my spine.

“Do what?”

“Ran the guy off the road when he was going to meet up with the agent. Griggs ran the guy off the road, and he drowned in the river like a mile from here. F*ckedup thing was that it was her brother-in-law.”

The red sheen falls over my eyes. I can’t stop it. I curl my hands into fists at my side.

“Jesus Christ,” High Pitch says. “This is some f*cked-up shit, man. Why’re we doing this again?”

“Money,” Low Voice says. “It’s all about the f*cking money. But I’m not touching that kid, man. I’m telling you. I don’t even want to be here when it happens. The little shit can die, I just don’t want to see it.”

“What if she tells us we have to go in there when we’re done loading up?”

“We go. We close our eyes. But I’m not pulling the trigger. I can’t do shit like that. But better him than us. Who the f*ck is gonna miss him?”

“But… won’t that make us, like, accomplices? Or whatever?”

“I dunno, man. I didn’t go to law school. What the f*ck you think I look like?”

“F*ck you. It’s not like….” High Pitch trails off.

“What?” Low Voice asks.

“What’s that on the door handle?”

The pair of feet nearest me turns to face the truck. “What the hell? It looks like blood. Are you bleeding or something?”

“I think I’d know if I was bleeding.”

I close my eyes, feeling the tacky blood on my hands. I hadn’t even thought of it. The rain hasn’t washed it completely away. I wait for High Pitch and Low Voice to drop to their knees to look under the truck. They are quiet as if contemplating what they are looking at, and I slowly pull the small knife from my pocket. If they find me, I’ll take someone’s eye with me, that’s for damn sure.

And just when I think I can’t take it anymore, there’s another voice.

“What are you two doing?” Griggs snarls from the mouth of the cave. “Get the f*ck back to work!”

They hurry off back toward Griggs, and I lift my head, watching their feet. All three pairs turn back into the cave, Griggs snapping at both of them, though I can’t hear what they’re saying. I have to stop myself from getting up right now and running after Griggs, burying the knife in his neck over and over again until all of his blood is on the cave floor and I know he’s dead. He killed my father on Christie’s orders. I will see them both dead by my hands.

Wake up, my father says. Wake up.

I almost don’t want to. I want to stay in this black-and-red haze and follow them into the cave and kill them before they kill me. I want to cause as much damage as possible before someone pulls a gun and shoots me through the head. They must suffer for what they’ve done.

It’s a test, Cal whispers, that familiar rumble causing my heart to ache. It’s a test, Benji. You must not fall into the black. You can’t go there.

“Cal,” I moan, closing my eyes. My hands start to shake. “Please, Cal. Come back. Don’t be gone. Please come back.”

I don’t hear anything other than the rain.

Without thinking, I roll out from underneath the truck and stand. I pull on the handle, and the door opens. The inside of the cab is warm. The keys aren’t in the ignition, nor on the seat. I flip down the sun visor. Nothing. They keys aren’t here. Low Voice or High Pitch has them. This was a mistake. I can’t use the truck. I’ve got to get the f*ck out of here. Now. Now.

I close the door behind me as quietly as possible. I use my sleeve to wipe away the blood and grime my fingers left on the handle. I move around to the front of the truck, gripping the pocketknife in my hand. I’m about to cross back to the shack when I pause. If I’m going to make it, I can’t use this old road. It’ll be too easy for them to find me. The distance back to town is too great, the bridge too far away. I’ll have to go through the woods to where Cal fell from the sky. Where my father died.

They can still beat me around in the truck, I think. I won’t be fast enough.

I grip the knife in my hand and go back to the driver’s side. The knife is sharp, well cared for. Abe said he could never let the blade become dull because it’d feel like he’d sullied his wife’s memory. “Always keep it sharp,” he’d told me quietly. “It helps me remember.”

“Thank you, old man,” I whisper out loud. I tighten my grip around the handle and stab the tire repeatedly. It takes a moment; the tire is thick. But eventually, after hitting the same place repeatedly, the knife goes through the rubber. I do the same thing in three other places, the air hissing steadily.

Low Voice and High Pitch return, carrying crates covered in blankets. I crouch down at the front of the truck and wait until they go back into the cave. Once they’re out of sight, I do the same to the left tire. They won’t go completely flat, not for some time, but it’ll slow them down when they attempt to drive the truck. It has to be enough. For now.

I hobble back toward the shack, moving as fast as I can. I move past the propane tanks and press my back against the wall near the door, out of sight from the truck and the cave. Down the hill behind the shack, the woodland stretches out, intimidating, like the biggest forest I’ve ever seen. The river is about a mile away, maybe less. I don’t know how much time I’ll have before they come back to the shed to find me gone. If I’m not on the road, they’ll know I’m in the woods. With my ankle slowing me down, it might be easier for them to catch up with me. I’m f*cked either way. I should hole up somewhere nearby and wait for them to leave, but I don’t know if there’s anyone in the cave with them who I haven’t seen yet. I don’t know how many people are in on this. For all I know, Walken is already on his way up.

Distraction. I need a distraction.

What I need is for them to die.

The wind blows and metal rattles against metal. The propane tanks, stacked against the shack. Completely full. I don’t have matches. I don’t have a lighter. I don’t have a gun to shoot them, though that might only happen in movies.

Something creaks inside the shack.

Abe is awake, I think, even though I know he’s dead.

I open the door to the shack. Abe still lies on the floor, unmoving. The two old light bulbs overhead swing on their wires. Rain pounds the roof. There’s no—

The light bulbs.

No f*cking way could this work. It’s nuts. I’ll get myself killed. They’ll never fall for it. I’ll get caught before it could ever work.

But that doesn’t stop me. I turn back and peer around the corner. No one is at the truck. I move back into the shack, flicking the light switch off. The bulbs hiss quietly as they darken, the only light left from the lantern. I take the pocketknife out of my pocket and use the handle to break the glass of the light bulb. The glass is hot. The filament is exposed. I crack it with the tip of the knife. I do the same to the other bulb.

Abe says nothing about my insanity.

I move back to the door and out into the rain. Movement around the truck. High Pitch. Low Voice. They head back into the caves.

I reach around the corner and grab a propane tank and haul it over to me. I push through the door into the shack and set the tank down in one corner, near the garbage bags. I do my best to ignore the words in bright red that says “Flammable” on one of the discarded bottles. My hands shake as I turn the propane canister so the nozzle faces into the stuffy room.

Not much time.

It takes me two minutes to bring in the three remaining tanks and put them each into a corner of the room, facing toward the center of the shack. Without a second thought, I twist the nozzle. Gas starts to hiss out quietly. I move to each canister, twisting each nozzle. They’re all hissing by the time I’m finished. I’m dizzy, the room filling quickly with gas. I’ve kept the door shut as much as possible so the gas is trapped in the room.

“I’m not going to leave you in here,” I tell Abe, trying to breathe shallowly. “I can’t take you all the way with me. Not now. But I won’t leave you in here.”

He doesn’t answer, but that’s okay.

A single spark to light up the world, I think. Flick the light switch. Electricity will try and connect through the filament. It’ll spark. It’ll spark, and all will burn. The gas is getting to my head.

I switch off the remaining light, the lantern. The shack goes almost completely

dark.

I bend down near the floor and look through the crack toward the cave entrance and the truck. Griggs walks down the metal ramp, back into the cave. They haven’t noticed the propane tanks are gone. I wait another moment, breathing in the fresh air, clearing my head. There’s no one else in the truck.

“Time to go, Abe,” I tell my old friend as I stand. I use the knife and cut his bonds. For a moment, his hands don’t move, as if he’s frozen with his arms strapped behind him. Then they fall slowly until they are resting at his sides, the fingers still pointed up toward the ceiling. I swallow past the lump in my throat because he isn’t—

he is he is he is oh please he is

—sleeping. He’s—

no no no no

—gone. He’s gone, and I can’t just leave him here. I can’t leave him to burn with

the rest of them. I can’t let that happen to him. He promised me one day a long time ago, when I was lost in the dark, that he’d take care of me. Every day he’s kept that promise. The least I can do is keep my promise to him.

I roll him over, slide my hands under his arms, and start to drag him toward the door. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, tears streaming down my face. “I know you don’t like to get dirty, but I can’t carry you. I hurt my ankle and I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

He doesn’t say a word.

We reach the door and I set him down carefully, trying to ignore the way his head lolls to the side. The room is stifling now, the hissing sounding like a den of snakes. Water drips from the ceiling onto my sweat-slicked face. I open the door quickly and step through, then close it behind me. I look around the corner again. No one is there.

I turn back and open the door, moving as fast as I can. I grab Abe under his arms and pull as hard as I can. I drag him completely outside and then reach in to shut the shack door behind us. I take Abe’s arms in my hands again and pull him away from the shack, away from the truck and cave. Away from his killer. Away from my Cal’s killer. Away from the man who murdered my father. I pull with all my might, my ankle shrieking at me, the burning almost unbearable. I slide down the small embankment behind the shack and turn to pull Abe after me. He feels so much heavier now. Either that or I’m just tired. So tired.

I only get fifteen feet into the forest before I have to stop and rest. I lean up against a large tree trunk, trying to catch my breath. The walls I have built around my mind since I saw that first bullet strike Cal in the chest are starting to crumble. My hands are shaking. My mind is racing and I can’t focus on a single thing. I just want to lie down and sleep, float away in the dark.

But even before I can hear my father, before Abe speaks in my head, before the sweet rumble of Cal’s voice breaks me apart, I stand on my own, pushing myself away from the tree. I can do this. I can do this. I’ll leave Abe here and hoof it back to town. I’ll find someone—anyone—and they’ll take over and I’ll never have to worry about it again. Someone else can worry about the problems of the world. I have to find Cal. I have friends to bury.

I’ve turned to grab Abe to pull him a little further into the trees when I see four people approaching the shack. High Pitch and Low Voice are in the front, glancing nervously at each other, their shoulders brushing together as their lips move, as if they are whispering to each other. My Aunt Christie follows behind them, a determined look on her face. Griggs follows behind her a few feet, the hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, my Colt in his hands. He cocks the Colt back and snaps a bullet into the chamber.

Boom, I think. Boom. Boom.

High Pitch and Low Voice reach the shack first and wait anxiously at the door. Christie says something to them, and they shake their heads. She scowls and turns back to the sheriff. She says something to him, but he doesn’t answer. He’s looking down at the ground and frowning. Christie speaks again, and he holds up his hand, silencing her. I don’t know what he’s looking at. I can’t see from where I stand. He bends over and I can only see the top of his head. I look up the embankment and my heart starts to thud.

Drag marks, down the embankment. Through the mud. He’s seen the marks left by Abe’s feet.

Christie opens the shack door. She grimaces as she takes a step back.

High Pitch and Low Voice peer over her shoulder.

She says something to Low Voice. He looks tense but steps around her and into the shack.

Griggs stands, looking down the embankment. He sees me. His eyes widen.

I smile up at him.

He jerks his head toward the shack. “Don’t!” he roars as he spins.

Christie turns to him, startled.

The shack explodes in a burst of fire much larger than I expected. There’s a bright flash, and then a concussive blast hits me like a heated wave. I’m knocked off my feet and onto my back. Rain falls on my face. I open my eyes and see the trees dancing in the sky above me, branches waving in the wind. An arc of lightning. A ripple of thunder, though it might be an echo of the blast, rolling down into the valley. Black smoke starts to smudge against the dark-gray clouds. Leaves and grass press against my back. It’s all wet. Everything—

i have is blue

—is wet, and I need to get up. I need to get off my back and up. I have to run. I have to run.

I sit up. My ears are ringing. My eyes are focused, unfocused. Focused, unfocused. I shake my head and push myself to my knees. Up the embankment, fire rages, hissing in the rain as if angry. It sparks in reds and oranges, but also blues and greens. I wonder how hard I hit my head until I remember the chemicals that were in the garbage bags.

I need to leave, but I have to know.

I make my way up the embankment, coughing at the smoke and smell of burning plastic. I slide in the mud, avoiding a burning piece of wood. I pull myself up until I’m at the top. The shack itself has been leveled completely, bits and pieces strewn out in a twenty-foot radius. A piece of the roof has landed on the hood of the truck, the front tires now completely flat.

Run.

A burnt body lies on the ground in front of me. I can’t tell if it’s High Pitch or Low Voice, but I’m assuming its Low Voice since he was the one who turned on the light. Off to the right, the door to the shack remains somehow intact, and I can see an arm sticking out from under it. I hobble over to the door and lift it. Christie is underneath, and next to her is High Pitch. He groans, but doesn’t open his eyes. Some of his hair has burned off, and his left eyebrow, but his skin doesn’t appear charred, just red, as if he has a really bad sunburn. My aunt looks the same. I watch as her chest rises and falls steadily. She’s alive. I toss the door to the side. I reach down and go through their pockets. There’s no phone on either of them. If Low Voice had one, it’s burned up like he is.

Run. Please. Run.

I tighten my hand around the knife as I turn to Griggs.

Griggs, the man who killed my father, who killed Abe. Who killed Cal. Griggs, who lies fifteen feet away, his jacket slightly smoking but otherwise looking intact. Bullets for the rifle he’s carrying spill out of a pocket where the zipper has broken. I take a step toward him and realize how easy it would be to bury the knife in his throat, to slice his neck from ear to ear until it opens like a bloody red mouth. It would be so very easy to watch his eyes flash open as he gurgles, blood bubbles popping out his lips, painting his face in a spray of crimson mist.

It would be so easy, I think as I find myself standing above him. His skin has pinked slightly, his hat knocked off his head. His hair is plastered wet against his skull. His eyes are closed. There’s a small piece of shrapnel sticking out of his right thigh, blood leaking slowly, soaking his pants. But still he breathes. His life is not threatened by injury. He’s alive. He doesn’t deserve to be. He deserves pain, agonizing pain. He deserves death in all its forms. I can do this. I can avenge the men I love and have lost. I stand above him and raise Estelle’s gift high above my head, ready to bring it down on him again and again and again. Once he is gone, this nightmare will be over and I just need to do it. Do it!

As I raise the knife as high as I can, I hesitate.

You are not the judge, my father whispers.

You are not the jury, Abe murmurs.

You are not the executioner, Cal says, and it’s so loud he could be standing right

next to me. A tear slides down my cheek. You are the protector. You are a guardian.

It’s time to go home, Benji. It’s time to—

A hand reaches out and seizes my leg.

I look down. Griggs is awake and snarling up at me. I try to step back, but he has

a vise grip on my ankle. “I’ll kill you,” he says, his voice a low rasp. “I’ll f*cking kill you.”

Run!

I jerk my leg away, using my good leg to kick him upside the head. He howls as he rolls away from me… directly toward the hunting rifle he used to kill Cal. He lands on top of it, and I’m already taking off toward the forest. I can still hear him screaming as I jump down the embankment, rolling as I land to avoid putting all the weight on my ankle.

I’m sorry, Abe, I think as I reach him and run right past. I’m so sorry.

There’s a loud crack behind me that can’t be anything but gunfire, and a tree branch above me explodes. I hear Griggs scream after me. I glance over my shoulder.

Sheriff George Griggs tears after me, the rifle in his hands.





mile marker seventy-seven

The rain continues to fall as Griggs chases me through the darkening woods.

Branches slap against me, and I raise my arms to protect my face. Thin cuts form when the wood slaps against my skin. The blood from my damaged wrist has soaked through the strip of shirt I used to tie it off. My ankle and foot are going numb. But still I run.

I know where I’m heading. I run toward the place where much of my life ended, and much of it began again. I run there only because I don’t know where else to run. My mind is like a static screen, snowy white and almost incapable of broadcasting. I’m not following logical thought. I’m following my heart, and it’s leading me to the river.

I can hear Griggs crashing through the underbrush behind me, booming steps punctuated by shouts and screams. He’s going to kill me, he bellows. He’s going to kill me like he did my father. He’s going to hold me underwater until I stop kicking and my skin turns blue. He’s going to cut off my head and mail it to my mother and he’s going to laugh, he roars after me. He’s going to watch the look on her face and he’s going to just laugh.

I zigzag around a tree just as he fires the rifle again. The bullet smashes into another tree just ahead, bark flying in the air, pitch leaking like black oil. Like the tree is bleeding after getting shot. He swears behind me and starts to move again.

There are times when I’m so far ahead of him I can barely hear him behind me. These are the times I think about taking cover, trying to find someplace to hide, but something tells me to keep going, that I need to get to the river, that everything will be okay as long as I can reach the river.

Other times it seems he’s so close I can hear him wheezing as he runs. It’s only the terror of knowing he could reach out and grab me that allows me to put on an extra burst of speed, putting more distance between us. If he catches me, I know, I will die in the middle of the woods, and no one will find me again.

I think of many things in the fifteen minutes it takes me to reach the river. I am hyperaware of everything around me, yes, but it’s like I’ve detached from myself, floating high above my own body, tethered to myself only by a thread of brilliant blue.

I remember a time my father broke his leg, when I was eight. He was laid up in the house for six weeks. “Gonna need you to be my right-hand man, Benji,” he told me seriously. “Gonna have to be the man of the house for a bit. You okay with that?”

I feel the pocketknife in my hand. It feels like it’s heating from within. I wonder at the depth of the love between Abe and Estelle, only now accepting with a rip through my chest that Abe is truly gone. They’re together now, I tell myself. Please just let them be together now.

As another bullet flies over my head, I remember the first time my mother smiled after Big Eddie died. We were working outside, raking up the leaves in front of Big House, putting them into a big pile near the old oak tree. We hadn’t spoken for hours when suddenly she stopped and turned her face toward the sky. She dropped the rake and ran and jumped into the leaf pile. She was laughing when she came up, and the smile on her face was one of such heartbreaking beauty I felt annihilated.

I trip and almost fall when I think of Nina.

After I woke up on that third day following my father’s death, she was the next person I saw after Abe. She came into the room and sat in the chair next to me, reaching out to grip my hand. I turned my head on the pillow to look at her. With tears in her eyes, she said, “I know your heart hurts, because mine does. But you have to know you’ll see him again. One day, you’ll see him again.”

I hear Griggs roar in anger behind me as I remember a time about a year after my father died. Abe came into the shop under the pretense of having his car checked out, looking uncharacteristically nervous. When I finally asked if he was okay, he told me gruffly that he was just fine, and didn’t I know there may be gold in those hills? Estelle always had wanted to go look for herself and see. I nodded, following the routine as always. Finally, as he was about to leave, he turned to me, pointed his eyes toward the floor, and said, “You know you’re just about the best friend I’ve got, right? I know I’m just this crazy old guy, but you’re my best friend. Okay?” I nodded, speechless. He left, and we never spoke about it again.

I remember Mary and Christie telling me they were going to move into Big House, for as long as we needed them there. “You two will never be alone,” Christie had said. “The Trio will never let you down.” I had bunched my fists at my sides, trying to maintain my composure, trying to be the man of the house. Christie had come to me, wrapping her arms around me, holding me as I broke and cried into her neck, saying only, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I remember the people of Roseland gathering for Big Eddie’s funeral. The church was full, with people spilling out onto the streets. Speakers had been set up so the pastor’s voice could reach everyone. Most people kept their heads bowed the entire time. Many had tears on their faces. We stood next to each other, my mother and I, after the service and before the cemetery. It seemed like every single Roselandian waited in line just for the opportunity to touch one of us in some way, either a handshake or a hug. A hand on my shoulder. A kiss on my cheek. “He was a great man,” they all said. “He was a wonderful man.” Even Sheriff Griggs had shown, wearing a tie. He was one of the last, and even though I wanted to ask him about the status of his investigation, I couldn’t find the words. He shook my hand gently and said, “I grew up with your daddy. He’s always been a part of my life. I’ll never understand why these things have to happen to good people.” I nodded and looked away.

But even through all these thoughts, even through every flash of my life before my eyes, as the pieces are coming together to make the whole of who I am, I think of him. Falling from the sky. Saying my name for the first time. The look on his face when he ate green clover marshmallows. The way his eyes lit up at the sunrise. The way he made a home for himself inside Little House. The way he held me. “I’m a guardian,” he told me. “I’m guarding.”

The sound of the river invades my thoughts. I’m close.

I throw a glance over my shoulder. The forest is dense, but I see a flash of clothing through the trees. Griggs is still behind me, twenty, maybe thirty yards. The rifle is still in his hands. I don’t know how many times he’s fired at me, or how many bullets he has left. It only needs to be one for everything to end. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him bury me in the river and get away with all he’s done. Everyone needs to know, and I need to be the one to tell them.

I no longer feel my ankle. I no longer feel the cuts and bruises. No burning in my chest, no lumps in my throat. I have remembered enough. I have been hurt enough.

Or so I think.