Into This River I Drown

The ground beneath me suddenly gives way, and I think sinkhole before I start somersaulting down a hill instead. My shoulder smashes into the ground repeatedly, and I cry out, stars dancing across the black behind my eyes. I keep my eyes closed as I tumble, wondering just how long I’ll fall. Can’t break my leg or it’s all over, I think as my shoulder hits the ground again. Can’t break or I’ll die. Water splashes up all around me. I squeeze the closed pocketknife tightly, not wanting to let it go.

Nothing breaks, at least as far as I can tell. I reach the bottom of the hill and snap open my eyes, staring, dazed, at the stormy sky. Trees sway around the edges of my vision. Rain continues to fall, the wind gusting over my skin. I push myself up, staring back up the hill I’ve fallen down. I still hear Griggs crashing through the underbrush. Maybe he’ll fall too. Maybe he’ll fall and break his goddamn neck and this whole thing can be over. I turn my head, my brain screaming at me to get up, to get the f*ck up. I’m in a clearing.

The clearing where Cal fell.

The clearing is flooded slightly, and for a moment I think it’s because the river has risen so high it has overtaken the hill in front of me and is pouring down to fill the clearing, making a lake. It’s just the ground, though. The ground is so saturated the water can no longer soak into the soil. It’s too much for the ground to handle. It’s—

Gunfire. I hear the whine of a bullet more than I feel it. The ground two feet from my left hand erupts with a spray of water. I turn my head. Griggs stands at the top of the hill behind me, cocking the rifle. He aims for me again, and I still haven’t risen. This is it. This is the moment I die. I’ve almost made it to the river. I don’t know what I would have done had I gotten there, but I wasn’t fast enough. I’ve failed. I’ve failed my test, whatever it was supposed to be.

Through the rain and up the hill, I see Griggs smile, squinting down the sight of the rifle. I spread my arms wide, water dripping from my fingertips. “Come on, then!” I scream up at him. “Come on, you f*cking bastard! Do it! What the f*ck are you waiting for? Do it!”

He pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

Again. Nothing.

He’s empty. He pulls the rifle back with a snarl of anger and starts digging through his pocket to reload.

I run.

The small crater where Cal landed is completely filled with water. I look down as I pass it. Clearly visible through the water are the blue flowers that stretch out into the shapes of wings. They flash an even more brilliant Prussian blue, lighting up the water until I’m sure it will blind me, the outline of wings almost more than I can take. It’s just a trick of my exhausted mind, I know, but for a moment I think the wings will rise from the water and Cal will be there, taking my hand in his and making this whole day disappear like it never happened. I’ll be swallowed by the blue light and I’ll never be scared or sad again.

But, of course, that does not happen.

I reach the opposite side of the clearing as Griggs starts to slide down the hill. He’s reloaded the rifle and attempts to aim it at me as I scramble up the wet grass, but he slips and lands on his back, sliding down the rest of the way.

I dig in my feet, kicking the ground with each step I take, trying to create divots so I don’t slip and fall back into the clearing. I’m halfway up the hill when the rifle fires again and the bullet hits the ground below my feet. I glance over my shoulder. Griggs is slowly walking across the clearing, taking aim again. I’ve gritted my teeth against the inevitable shot in the back when the crater again flashes blue. Griggs stutters in his steps, looking down toward the crater. There’s another pulse, so dazzling I have to close my eyes against it.

Move!

I start climbing again, ignoring the flashes of bright light behind me, not focusing on the fact that the flowers are glowing in a crater where an angel fell. I dig my hands into the soil above me and pull myself higher up the steep hill. My legs burn as I push. My arms hurt as I pull. Griggs howls behind me as the blue lights begin to fade. I’m almost at the top. I crouch, pressing my stomach against the ground. I push as hard as I can and launch myself up and reach the crest of the hill, clutching the trunk of a tree.

The lights behind me fade out completely.

Griggs is staring dumbfounded at the crater below, rubbing his eyes. Another crack of thunder rolls overhead, and he snaps his head up toward me. Rage roils over his face again, and he raises the rifle more quickly than I think possible. He gets one shot off, and I duck against the tree, the bullet striking the trunk where my head had been just a second before.

He starts after me again.

I dash down the other side of the hill, through the trees. Ahead, the noise of the river is getting louder, until it’s an almost unbearable roar. But I don’t turn back. I can’t. There is no plan beyond reaching the river where Big Eddie died. It’ll be enough. It has to be.

As I clear the tree line, I skitter to a stop.

Mile marker seventy-seven lies before me, and the area has changed.

The river is fury incarnate, swollen and snapping, moving swiftly as it tears its way through the valley. It has crested its banks, waves splashing up and over the ground that surrounds the river. Debris floats by: shrubs, branches, a young maple tree, ripped from its roots. The boulder my father’s truck struck is partially underwater on the opposite shore, split in two from the night Cal fell. I’ve never seen the river fill so quickly. Maybe the dam upstream has broken.

A shout from behind me.

I take a step toward the river and then hesitate. There’s no way I can make it across. The river’s moving too fast, the current is too strong, the water too deep. I can’t run along the edges of the river because it has already risen. The only way out is back the way I came, but Griggs is thundering through the woods behind me.

I take another step toward the river and then another. And another. Water begins to rush around my ankles, and I feel the pull of it. I take another step, and the water is so cold my injured ankle goes almost completely numb, blanketing the pain that had started to come back. I stare down at the brown water, unable to see my reflection. The water is up to my calves when I reach the edge of the bank. Another step and the water will be up to my chest and I’ll be swept away. Maybe it’s better that way, I think. Maybe it’s better to float in the river than die at the hands of my father’s killer.

This feels like the dream, though I don’t think it is. My father’s truck is not in the river. There’s no shadowy figure standing on the roadway above, though now I know who it was. There are no feathers. There are no crosses. There is only the sky above, the rain falling down. The river rushing in front of me, hell rushing toward my back.

I turn and face what’s coming.





Once, when I was six, my father made me angry. I don’t remember what I’d

done, or what he’d said in response, but I made the decision to run away from home. I waited until the house was quiet that night. I loaded up my backpack with a pair of jeans. Three pairs of socks. Underwear. Two shirts, and a sweatshirt. I also packed a copy of The Boxcar Children, sure I could find an abandoned train car to live in and that the book would show me how. I went quietly down the stairs, jumping over the second-to-last one because it always squeaked.

I went to the kitchen and made three cheese and mustard sandwiches. I put them in a paper lunch sack, along with barbeque-flavored Bugles and strawberry Fig Newtons, each in their own baggies. I grabbed two Capri Suns out of the fridge and put them in my bag. I figured this bounty would last me at least three or four weeks, until I could figure out how to hunt for food. I contemplated taking a rifle, but they were locked up in the gun case in the garage, and I didn’t know where the keys were, so I packed my sling shot instead. And then, after further consideration, I also grabbed my boomerang that I hadn’t quite figured out how to make return just yet. I’d have time to learn.

I left a note ( I’m mad at you, so good-bye FOREVER!!! Don’t look for me!!! Love, Benji) before I left—it felt like the right thing to do. I opened the door into the night and started my journey into the wild unknown.

I’d barely made it to the end of the long driveway before I was sure something was following me. I’d forgotten a flashlight (much to my embarrassment and there was no way I was going back to get one) so I couldn’t quite see if it was an animal or not. I wasn’t scared of the dark, but this dark seemed darker than the normal dark. Maybe it’s a bear, I thought. Or maybe an otter. That would be kind of neat to see. I pulled my boomerang from my backpack just in case it was a bear and started walking down the roadway again.

The footsteps continued behind me.

I whirled around. “Who’s there?” I cried, my voice small. “I’ve got my boomerang, so don’t you mess with me!”

A snort of laughter came from behind a tree. “You should probably learn how to throw it first,” my father said. “Unless you’re just going to hit me over the head with it.”

I scowled. “What are you doing?”

Big Eddie stepped out from behind the tree, wearing his pajama pants and a blue shirt and the rubber boots he kept near the door for when it was raining. “Wondering what you’re doing,” he said easily. “Going for a walk at night?”

“I’m running away,” I said, putting the boomerang back into my bag. “Forever.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’m mad as hell.” I figured I could say that word now that I was a runaway.

He chuckled. “Are you? That’s not good.”

I glared at him before turning and walking down the two-lane road.

He followed.

“What are you doing?” I said, resolutely not looking back at him. “Going for a walk,” he said. “It’s a nice night.”

I huffed and didn’t say anything back.

I only made it half a mile before I got really hungry. Big Eddie stayed with me the whole way, talking about how pretty the night was, how many stars were in the sky, and did I see the Big Dipper up there? Or Orion’s Belt? I didn’t answer, but I did look up and find the constellations because he’d shown me how, a long time before. He chattered away about this and that, and I did my best to ignore him.

But eventually I was hungry and figured I at least deserved a break to have part of one of my sandwiches and maybe some chips. The cookies I’d save for later as a treat to celebrate when I found my very own boxcar. I wasn’t thirsty yet, so the juice could wait.

I went off the side of the road, through a ditch, and found a nice big tree to sit under. Big Eddie followed me and stood next to me while I dug around my bag until I found the lunch sack. I pulled out one of the cheese and mustard sandwiches and was about to take a bite when I remembered they were his favorite too. I felt bad, knowing that since we’d walked so far, he must be hungry like I was. I only warred with myself for a moment before I said, “You want part of my sandwich?”

He nodded and sat down next to me, putting his back against the tree trunk as I tore the sandwich in half. I handed his half over to him, and he thanked me quietly. And then I figured you can’t have mustard and cheese sandwiches without barbeque Bugles, so I gave him some of those too. And that led to Fig Newtons, because you needed dessert after a big meal. And that led to juice because the cookies coated our throats and we were thirsty.

Eventually, my head started to bob. I was tired because it was almost eleven o’clock, according to my Star Wars watch. I’d hoped to at least make it to Canada by morning since it was so close on the map I’d looked at before leaving.

And somehow, I found myself in my father’s lap, my head pressed against his chest, mumbling that I was running away, that I was mad at him and didn’t want to live with him anymore. But he was so big and warm I couldn’t fight the waves of sleep washing over me much more and figured I would rest until morning and then start out again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, when I was almost asleep.

“For what?” I asked drowsily, because I’d already forgotten.

“For making you mad.”

“Oh. That’s okay.”

He kissed my forehead. “Do you still want to run away?”

I shrugged.

“Well, if you do, can I go with you?”

This surprised me. “Why?”

“Because I’d be sad if you were gone forever.”

“Oh. Okay. You can come.” I paused, thinking. “What about Mom?” He sighed dramatically. “Oh, I forgot about her! Well, we just can’t leave her,

can we. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Maybe we should just stay at the house,” I said wisely. “All our stuff is there

already and it might just be easier.”

He hugged me tighter. “That’s a great idea,” he said. “I’m glad you thought of

it.”

“Would you have really been sad?” I asked, snuggling back down onto him. “If

I’d been gone?”

“Yes,” he whispered as sleep began to chase me. “I’d have been very sad. If we

were ever apart, I’d miss you every day until we were together again.” “Because you’re my daddy?”

“Because I’m your daddy.”

I considered this sleepily and came to the only conclusion I could. “I guess you

love me, huh?”

“Oh yes. Very much so.”

“Why?”

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Because there is no one such as you

in the world, and you belong to me. I’ll believe in you always because you are my

son. You’re going to be strong and brave, and one day, you’re going to be a great

man and you will stand for what you believe in. I have faith that you will stand and

be true.”

I didn’t understand, but then I was asleep, so it didn’t matter. I was safe against

Big Eddie.

I woke briefly, later in the night, to my father carrying me back up the road, my

backpack slung over one of his big arms, my head on his shoulder, his hand on my

back, rubbing in slow circles as he sang a familiar song. “Sometimes I float along the

river, for to its surface I am bound. And there are times stones done fill my pockets,

oh Lord, and it's into this river I drown.”

He carried me all the way home, and I knew it would all be okay because my

father held me in his arms.





Griggs points the rifle at me. The river roars at my back. The heels of my feet

are on the river’s edge. The rain pours from the sky.

“You killed Big Eddie,” I say.

“You should have just left things alone, Benji,” he snaps at me. “All of this could have been avoided had you just walked away.”

“I am my father’s son.”

He laughs. “And look where that’s gotten you! The same place where Big Eddie drowned. It’s almost poetic, if you think about it.”

“You won’t get away with this,” I say, strangely calm, clenching my hands in fists at my sides. Abe’s pocketknife is still in my right hand. “Others will ask questions. The day you murdered my father was the beginning of your end. Others will come. People will hear the truth.”

He narrows his eyes. “The truth? The truth will be whatever I say it is! I’ve got this f*cking town in the palm of my hand, and no one—not you, not your father, no one—will take it away from me.”

“You’ve already lost,” I tell him. “You just don’t know it yet.”

He tightens his grip on the gun as he takes a step toward me. He’s six or seven feet away, seemingly unaware that he’s moving closer. Maybe….

Griggs gives me a nasty smile. “Your father cried out,” he says. “Even as the truck began to fill with water, it was still clear enough that I could hear him screaming, begging for someone to save him. He only stopped when he started to choke on the river water in his mouth.” He takes another step. “I watched, you know. I stood up on the road by the mile-marker sign, and I watched the river overtake the truck until I knew he was dead. And then I left him there. I left him in the river for someone else to find.”

Somehow, I smile at him. “You are nothing, Griggs. The world will know you are nothing.” I push up the blade of the knife with two fingers slowly, trying not to attract his attention. It catches on my dirty jeans, and I unfold the knife completely.

“Who else have you told?” he shouts, jabbing the rifle in my direction. “Who the f*ck have you told!”

There’s no one else, but he doesn’t know that. “So many people,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the FBI was already in Roseland. You’re f*cked, Griggs. You’re so f*cked and you don’t even know.”

“You’re lying!” he screams. “You’re f*cking lying!” Another step. One more, and the rifle will be within reach. Grab the barrel, pull it away, and slash him with the knife. I might end up in the river, but at least he’ll go with me.

“You thought you were so smart,” I say with a laugh. “You thought you would get away with everything. Traynor’s gone, Griggs. Who do you think they’re going to go after for the murder of a federal agent? It’s all going to rest on you, and you’re gonna fry.”

He raises his foot… and takes a step back. “Nice try, Benji,” he says as chills go up and down my spine. “You almost had me there, didn’t you? You were good, but I’m better.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him quietly.

He arches an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

I look him in the eye. “Because I’ve done what my father asked of me. I’ve stood. I haven’t backed down. I’ve kept my promise to him.”

“Last stand, huh?” Griggs says, looking amused. “To the very end.”

I tilt my face toward the thunderous sky and close my eyes. I stretch out my arms away from my body, like wings. When I speak again, my voice is a roar, letting Griggs and Cal’s Father hear what Big Eddie has made me into. “I have faith! I believe in the impossible! If this is my test, then so be it! I have lived! I have loved! I have lost! And I am still standing, you bastard! You f*cking a*shole! I am my father’s son and I am still f*cking standing!”

“Good-bye, Benji,” Griggs says, pointing the rifle at my head.

I open my eyes. A patch of blue sky peeks out from behind a dark cloud.

Something explodes up from the river behind me. I snap my head forward and see Griggs’s eyes rise to something above me, his jaw dropping, the rifle starting to shake. Tiny blue lights burst all around me, flying along my skin, warming me from the inside out. There’s a beat of great wings, and through the heavy rain I smell earth, deep and rich. A massive presence lands behind me, a strong arm wraps around my chest, pulling me back into a solid mass. Wings rustle as they fold around me, their touch like a caress. There’s a breath along my neck, hot and harsh. A furious growl emanates near my ear.

“You have made a mistake,” the guardian angel Calliel snarls at the man in front of us. “You have tried to harm what is mine. You have tried to take from me. And now, I will take everything from you.”

He moves faster than I’ve ever seen him. One second he surrounds me, and the next he’s flying at Griggs, wings outstretched, trying to shield me from any attack. Griggs is able to squeeze off one shot before the rifle is ripped from his hands. I take a stuttering step back, my head suddenly swimming, my legs like jelly. My chest feels like it’s on fire. I didn’t know a bullet could hurt this much.

Cal tosses the rifle into the river and picks up Griggs by his neck. Griggs struggles weakly in his arms, blood soaking the pants of his uniform where the shrapnel embedded itself in his thigh when the shack exploded. The shrapnel piece is gone. He must have pulled it out himself while chasing after me.

Blue lights begin to spin around Calliel and gather in a swirling vortex off to his right. The black hole opens, and I can hear its whispered promises to float, to have all the cares in the world taken away so we can all just float. Griggs screams in Cal’s grip, his eyes going wide at the sight of the black, and he starts kicking his legs, to no avail.

I feel so heavy, but I have to try and stop him. I can’t let him do this. Not for me. Not now. Now that he’s….

I fall to my knees, the water splashing up all around me. “Cal,” I say weakly, a blood bubble bursting from my mouth, popping. The bullet must have nicked a lung. It’s hard to take a breath. “Cal, please don’t.”

He must hear something in my voice, because he turns to me. The anger leaves, suddenly replaced by terror. He throws Griggs to the ground, where he lands with a bone-breaking crash. I start to fall forward, but Cal catches me before I am submerged facedown into the river, twisting me over and pulling me into his chest. My blood flows into the water, a red streak in the gray water. The rain continues to fall.

“No,” Cal chokes out. “No.”

I reach up and touch his face. He rubs his cheek against my palm. “You’re okay?” I ask, coughing. Blood dribbles onto my cheek. Water falls in my eyes. I reach up blindly to his chest, near his shoulder, and find a raised bump of flesh, a bloodless hole in his skin. The groove along his head is deep. He’s hurt, he’s still hurt.

“I’m okay,” he sobs, tears falling from his eyes and onto my face like rain. “I wasn’t fast enough. O, Father, hear my prayer. I am but your humble servant. Please hear me. Please help him. I can’t lose him. Not like this. Not after everything we’ve been through. It can’t end like this.”

“You came back,” I whisper as he kisses my forehead, pressing his hand against the wound on my chest to try to stop the bleeding. “You….” It’s getting harder to speak.

“You will not take him from me!” Cal bellows, rocking his head back. Griggs rises behind him, my Colt .38 Super in his hand, pointed at Cal’s head. “Griggs,” I whisper.

Cal flashes out his right wing, which knocks into Griggs. The gun flies from his

hand and lands in the river. Cal growls as the wing wraps around Griggs like a snare, holding him tight. I expect the vortex to return and Griggs to be flung into the black. I don’t think I’ll have the words to stop him.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, Cal brings his wing in toward himself, until Griggs’s face is inches from his own. Griggs screams at the black fury on Cal’s face. Above his cries, I hear Cal’s words. “You are not welcome here any longer.” Then the wing snaps away and Griggs is hurled into the river.

He lands with a splash toward the river’s center. He disappears under the rushing water momentarily but comes sputtering to the surface. He slams into a boulder whose top is exposed. He finds a crevice and grips it tightly, choking on water as he cries for help. His grip slips, and he’s about to be swept away when a massive tree slams into the boulder. The crack of bone is audible above the water and rain. He screams in pain and tries to move. The tree’s strong branches have caught on the boulder and it’s stuck, pinning him against the rock. He struggles weakly and spits out the rising water from his mouth.

I close my eyes. It’s dark again.

“No,” Cal moans. “Wake up, Benji! You gotta wake up!”

I hear my father singing about a river.

“Benji!”

I hear Abe telling me he’s going to take care of me.

“Father!” Cal bawls. “Why won’t you answer me! I’m begging you! Don’t you

take him from me! Don’t you dare!”

I hear great wings spreading, and suddenly I’m lifted off the ground, rain and wind rushing over my body as the angel Calliel takes flight, hurtling toward the sky.

“Stay with me, Benji. Please just open your eyes.”

I want to tell him it’ll be okay, that I just need to sleep, but I can’t find my voice. I want to tell him how I feel, and that I’ll wait for him, no matter what it takes. I’ll find him, again. If I go to the place known as Heaven, if it is a real and tangible thing, then I will tear down his Father’s door until my voice is heard and we are together again. This, I promise him.

“I love you,” he whispers as he weeps.

I know. I love—

I am swallowed into the dark.





the white room

I open my eyes in a stark white room. There is no pain. There is peace, but it

feels fragile, hard-won. It feels like it could be taken away with just a word. This thought causes me to ache. Now there is nothing but pain. My chest hurts, though there’s no wound there. My wrist hurts, though the skin is unblemished. My ankle hurts, though it’s not swollen. My shoulder hurts, thought it has mended.

My heart hurts because it is broken.

“Just breathe,” a strong voice says.

I can’t help the bitter tears that fall. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

I turn my head, pressing my ear against the bright white floor.

The archangel Michael sits in a white chair, looking strangely dapper in a deep

blue pin-striped suit. His leg crosses the other at the knee. His white wings spread out behind him, almost blending in with the room itself, but they’re just off enough to be noticeable. They’re a beautiful thing, the feathers shiny and silky smooth. Michael himself is as handsome as I remember. There’s an empty chair next to him.

“Breathe, Benji,” he says kindly. “I know it’s difficult, but I need you to breathe.”

I need to get away from him. I need to get out of this place. I push myself up, ignoring the twinges in my body, almost blinded by tears. I gag and taste river water at the back of my throat. I press up against the walls, sliding my hands along the smooth surfaces, trying to find a catch, a handle, a door, anything that would allow me to escape this room. I go from corner to corner, again and again. Michael says nothing as I circumnavigate the room. The only thing in the room that’s different, aside from the chairs and Michael, is the faint outline of a child on one of the walls, like their shadow has been flash-fried into the wall.

Eventually, I can move no more, and I stop, leaning and panting against the wall, sweat dripping from my brow. Michael looks at me and nods to the empty chair beside him, then sits back and waits.

“Am I dead?” I ask him finally, unable to look him in the eye. “Did I die?”

Michael hesitates, as if unsure how to answer. Or as if he doesn’t want to answer. “It’s close,” he finally says. “It’s going to be up to you, I think. You have been tested greatly, Benji. But it is not over. Not yet.”

“Why me?” I say, wiping my face. “Why is he doing this to me? What does he want?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

He sighs. “My Father.”

I say nothing.

He gestures to the chair next to him. “Sit, Benji.”

I almost say no just to be defiant, but I don’t have the energy. The glaring white of the room is starting to give me a headache, and I can’t stop my eyes from traveling to the burnt outline of the shadow on the wall. It looks so small.

I nod once and sit in the chair next to Michael. It’s surprisingly soft, and I sink into it. “What is this place?” I ask him.

“The room?”

I nod.

“It’s… hmm. Well, to be honest, Benji, I don’t know what this room is, not exactly. It exists for moments such as these, when an individual needs to hear something or learn something that may be hard for them to understand, to point them in a direction they never thought possible. But that’s really all I know. I don’t know how it came to be or why certain people are able see it. Like you have.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I ask, pointing at the child’s outline on the wall.

He watches me for a moment, rubbing his chin. “Nothing,” he says finally. “Or at least I don’t think it does. Though,” he says, frowning, “I don’t know why it’s still there. This room usually resets each time it’s used. Do you remember when I told you about the darkness rising, spilling over from another plane of existence?”

“Yes.” With people who could manipulate earth and water. Fire and wind.

“Time moves… differently over there, compared to the other levels. Sometimes it slows, other times it speeds up, but it never matches anywhere else. Guardians aren’t allowed there, at least not of the angel variety, and it’s run by a being that thinks Itself a god. Even the God, though I hope It hasn’t sunk that far. A false deity is a terrible thing and can only lead to an ending constructed of a wave of fire.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That image, that burnt image of a child, was meant for a man named Seven who might be the key to not only saving his world, but the ones on every level above and below him.”

“Who is the child?”

Michael closes his eyes. “One who has the power for great destruction growing within him. It remains to be seen what side he will choose. In the end, though, the boy will burn. We just don’t know how.”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with me,” I say hoarsely.

“Indeed,” Michael says, quirking his eyebrow. “But here we are, nonetheless, in the White Room, as it’s called. Only a few have come here and even fewer have left with an understanding of why they’ve come here. While it’s meant to show a being the way, it usually ends up offering only confusion.”

“What about Seven?” I ask, almost rolling my eyes at the name. “Did he leave understanding?”

“I hope so, for all our sakes,” Michael says. “But let us focus on other matters for now. You, in particular. Do you know why you’re here?”

I hazard a guess. “I was shot?”

“Yes, yes, but why were you shot?”

“Griggs had a gun pointed at me, and he pulled the trigger.”

Michael sighs. “There is that, yes.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you know this was going to happen? When you touched him? Did you know?”

“No, Benji. I didn’t. As much as I’d like to think I have that much foresight, I did not know. It comes with the concept of free will. A billion tiny actions could have led to the specific moment of you and Griggs at the river. It could have been set in motion long ago, and nothing could have disrupted the design of it. That’s the paradox, you see, of the design: it’s like a spider web, and once caught, it is hard to shake.”

“But it is possible,” I mutter, saying the words he doesn’t.

He smiles, his eyes sparkling. “Some say so. And that’s where you come in. Regardless of how caught in the spider’s web you are, you’ve still managed to break free, at least partially. That’s something beyond anything I’ve seen.”

“I don’t know how I did it, though,” I admit. “I haven’t done anything different than I’ve normally done.”

“Haven’t you? Think, Benji. Think of all that has occurred to bring you to here, to this now. What have you learned? What has this taught you?”

“My father….” I stop.

“What about your father?” He’s curious, and I wonder if he doesn’t know much more than I do.

“Your Father,” I say. “What has he told you about me?”

Michael’s eyes cloud over, but the look is gone only a second later. “Father seems to have little to say on the matter, though I was able to recover Calliel’s lost memories.”

I’m stunned. “How?”

He tips his head in my direction. “In due time, Benji. Now, what about your father?”

“My father was a great man.”

“Yes, as you’ve said before. But what made him a great man?”

I am careful with my answer. “He was kind. He was loving, and not just to me and my mom, but to everyone around him. He was honest and brave.” I shake my head, hearing the way my voice cracks. “He stood… oh God, he stood and was true when he saw something wrong. All he wanted to do was make everything okay for everyone. He was the one who chased the dark away when it got too close. He was the one who made me think everything would be okay, even if there was a chance it wouldn’t. He had this way about him that even when you were at your lowest, you’d feel his arm on your shoulder and hear his smile in his voice and you knew, you just knew, it would be okay.” Tears stream down my face, and I can do nothing to stop them. “He always did the right thing, no matter what it took. Even if it meant—” My voice catches in my throat, and I don’t think I can finish.

“Even if it meant what, Benji?” the archangel asks me kindly.

No, you bastard. You son of a bitch. I won’t say it. I can’t say it. Please don’t make me. I want to go home. I just want to go home.

“Benji?”

“Even if it meant sacrificing himself,” I choke out. “Even if it meant he wouldn’t be coming home, he had to do the right thing. He couldn’t stand by and watch the world go bad. He always had to do something to right the wrong. He always had to make a difference, to make it better.”

“And who did he do that for?”

“My mom,” I say, unable to hold back the sobs. “My aunts. His friends. His family.”

“And?”

“Me,” I whisper.

“Yes, Benji. You. He knew what it meant to sacrifice because of what you taught him by being his son. You enabled him to be a father and to know the true meaning of love, for what is love without sacrifice?”

“I never asked him to do that!” I cry at Michael.

“That’s just it: you didn’t have to,” Michael says, folding his hands in his lap. His wings shudder slightly, the white feathers rustling. “The act of sacrifice is by its very nature a selfless act. One cannot sacrifice unless one is doing not for himself, but for the greater good. Your father knew this, Benji. He knew it more than most people.”

“It’s not fair,” I mumble at him.

He gives me a sad smile. “It never really is. That’s the funny thing about life. The moments of joy and wonder may be far and few between, but when they arrive, they are more glorious because of their long absence. The trials and tribulations you must go through to reach that glory are a test to make sure you can appreciate what you are given.” He pauses, looking away. “May I tell you a secret, Benji?”

I nod, only because I don’t know what else to do.

“I told you once that I was jealous of my brothers, that I vied for my Father’s affections because I felt that he didn’t have enough to share with all of us. How would he notice me amongst all my brothers and all the levels of humanity? Jealousy is an emotion that leads to sin, as one begins to covet what another has. I sinned in the name of love, and it was a dark thing.” He looks back at me. “But I learned something, even being so young and brash. I eventually understood that my Father loved me just the same, as he did everyone else; that it wasn’t any more or any less. Because there were so many, he couldn’t love any one of them more. It would not have been fair. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“But you. It’s different with you. Your father did not have anyone else. He had no one else to share his love with, at least as a father does with a son. Benji, I might not know your father personally, but I have seen the design. I have seen the pattern, the shapes. Your father loved your mother. He loved his friends and this tiny little town from which you both came. But his love for you made all the rest pale in comparison.”

I hang my head.

He leans forward and puts a hand on my leg. “It’s not meant to make you sad, nor is it meant to be a slight against your father. His love for you is a powerful thing, like the brightest beacon in the dark.” He leans back. “There was a man who died shortly before your time. His name was James Baldwin, and he was a beautiful man. An old soul. A poet. I admired him for what he did and what he tried to do to help change the world. He wrote something once that I will remember for eternity. ‘If the relationship of father to son could really be reduced to biology, the whole world would blaze with the glory of fathers and sons.’ It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

I am unable to speak. I think Michael knows this. I turn my head and look at the charred outline of the child against the wall. I wonder what this child’s father thinks about who he is.

“We are tested,” Michael says. “Every day we are tested so that we might know faith and love. It might not always seem fair, but it is the way of things. You are going to be given a choice soon, Benji, and it will be more difficult than anything you’ve ever faced. For some reason, my Father has decided to see what you are capable of.”

“I thought you hadn’t spoken to him. To your Father.”

He smiles. “Not directly. But I hear his whispers, and I recognize his design. I’ve known him a very long time, Benji. I know who he is, and I know the choices he makes. I may not always agree with them, but I know my Father. He’s not always as mysterious as he sometimes likes to think he is.”

“What do you want from me?”

He looks startled. “This is not something I am asking of you. This is….” He struggles to find the right words. “This is not an attempt to influence your free will, because that is something you will always have. The right of choice. That can never be taken from you, nor should it be. It helps define who you are and who you’ll become. I merely mean to level the playing field, so everything is out in the open and you can make an objective decision.”

“About what?”

“You’ll soon see. I told you I’ve seen Calliel’s memories.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Would you like to know what I saw?”

Do I? I don’t know. I’ve received answers to questions, more than I ever hoped to find. I know what happened to my father. I know who killed him. I know the name of the betrayer from my family. I know my father died attempting to do the right thing. I know he loved me. I know that on the brink of death, he met with the angel Calliel and pulled from him a promise to watch over me specifically, to protect me when the time came. And whether or not he felt it before he fell, Cal loves me, I know. Completely and fully. I would do anything for him. If this would help Cal, then I need to listen. He needs me as much as I need him.

“Yes,” I say, my voice clear.

He watches me for a moment, as if gauging my sincerity. As much as I want to quake under his gaze, I don’t move until he nods. “I’ve told you that we’re all tested. Has Calliel told you this as well?”

“Yes. He said that all angels are tested to prove their faith. He said that since he’s newer at what he does, your Father might test him more.”

“Our Father is nothing if not consistent. What Calliel told you is true. We are tested regularly. I wish to make sure that you understand that our Father is not questioning our faith in him. He’s an old thing, set in his ways. He knows we have faith, but he wants us to prove it whenever he asks it of us. Often he’ll give us two different paths, and we must make a choice about which path to follow. Think of it like contained free will. While we have the option to choose the path, whatever way we choose already has a set course, a predetermined construction in the design.”

“So no matter what you choose, the outcome of that choice is already decided?” I ask. “That doesn’t sound like much of a choice at all.”

“And it’s not,” Michael says. “Not really. But it’s presented as such. Most of us are much smarter than that and can see it for what it is. While the path beyond the choice may be veiled, the outcome is usually easy to discern. The design is a grand thing to behold, to see the way the paths reverberate out through the whole of it.”

“What was Cal’s test?” I ask, suddenly not wanting to know. “How did he fall?”

Something flashes behind Michael’s dark eyes, but I don’t know what it is. “Calliel is the guardian angel to Roseland, Oregon,” he says. “He is the youngest angel in all of On High. Normally, when new townships are incorporated, they are enfolded into an existing angel’s territory to protect. One day, our Father let us know that a new angel would be created, and that his name would be Calliel. This was cause for celebration, and, I admit, consternation, as no new angels had been created for millennia. He was given Roseland and its people, and while he may have fumbled at times, he was good at what he did.” Michael shakes his head. “To be honest, he reminded me of me when I was his age. Overprotective of his charges. Desperate to please. Incapable of corruption.

“He existed quietly in this part of the world, on this plane of existence. He loved the people he watched over as he was supposed to. And that love was as it was supposed to be: a distant thing, a faraway thing that could never become more than that. But that changed.”

“Who did it change for?”

“You’re not that blind to the way of things, are you?” Michael asks with a smirk. “Me?” I say incredulously. “You’re talking about me?”

He cocks his head at me, an action so like his Strange Men I get goose bumps on my arms. “Of course I am. Who else would it be?”

“I… just… I don’t know.”

“From the moment you were born, Calliel watched you. It was a simple thing, at first. You were one of his charges, and he cared for you. He loved as he should. But then you began to grow, and those feelings changed. You have to understand, in terms of angels, Cal is still considered a teenager, if you will. He doesn’t have the tight rein on his emotions that one in his position should have. There have been a few small instances in the past that have come to this, but they’ve always been corrected on their own as such things are unrequited. We are not meant to love.”

“That’s… so sad,” I finish lamely. “You can love your Father and the people you watch over, but you can’t ever get close to someone?”

Michael’s eyes turn wistful for a moment, and I wonder if there’s a story there. “It’s the way of things, Benji. But Calliel changed that. He broke away from the pattern, the design. He allowed it to become something more. So Father did what he always did. He tested him.”

“How?”

Michael’s eyes burn darkly. “He gave him a choice. Either save your father and allow the man named Griggs to die, or allow your father to die and Griggs to live.”

Of all the things he could have said, what he did say is what I expected the least. I grip the arms of the white chair as anger begins to well in my chest like a bloom of fire. I want to leap across at the angel and put my hands around his throat until he takes it back. I want to tear the White Room down until it’s nothing but rubble underneath my fingers. I want to find God and make sure he pays for everything he’s done.

But most of all, I want to find Cal and tell him to return to On High. I want to tell him to never come back, to forget he ever knew my name. And after that, I never want to see him again, and I will find someplace to float off into the darkness. It’s the only way to keep me from killing him myself.

The White Room begins to shake a little, the walls and floor vibrating. I think I hear whispers all around me, but I can’t tell above the blood roaring in my ears. Michael doesn’t move, his eyes still on me, waiting.

“Why?” I manage to say.

“Because that is how my Father works. The tests aren’t ever something simple, with a choice to be made that won’t matter in the long run. What would be the point of such a thing?”

“This is my life!” I snarl at him. “This isn’t some f*cking game!”

Michael’s not intimidated in the slightest at my fury. That sad smile makes an appearance again, as if he’s trying to show he understands what I’m saying. But he can’t. He can never know. He follows his Father blindly while the rest of us struggle to make sense of even the simplest of things. It’s faith, Cal/Big Eddie/Abe whisper. It’s faith pure and simple. Sometimes, oh sometimes, you’re not meant to understand.

“It’s not a game,” Michael agrees. “And maybe I was a little harsh when I said it as such when we first met. I did not know then what I know now.”

“What happened?”

Michael hesitates.

“Tell me!”

“Father revealed the whole of the design to Calliel,” he says. “The outcomes of his decisions, however far down the line they could go. He gave Calliel the choice of who to save on that day.”

“Why didn’t he save my father?” I croak out. “Why did he choose to save Griggs?”

“Sacrifice, Benji. It all comes back to sacrifice. Choices are never meant to be black and white. By saving your father, he would ensure he would have lived a long and healthy life, that he would have been by your side for decades to come until one day, at the age of ninety-eight, he would have died peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by you, your partner, your children and grandchildren. He would have been so loved by the family you would have had.”

“And by saving Griggs?”

“By saving Griggs, he potentially ensured the survival of humanity.”

“What?”

Michael looks down at his hands. “Should the business of the Elementals on the other plane of existence resolve in the way we hope and all the worlds be saved, there will come a time, a hundred years from now, when there will be the possibility that a man will rise in the East on this plane with the intent to destroy all he sees. His fate will be decided by a simple action by George Griggs. Two years after your father died, Griggs helped save a young woman involved in a car accident. Because of him, she lived and will go on to give birth to a daughter. That daughter will grow up and give birth to a son. That son will save another woman from a fire, who in turn will live and give birth to twins. And so on and so forth, down the line, until the necessary opposition will rise against the man in the East, and humanity will have a fighting chance.

“My father revealed more of the design to Calliel than he ever had to anyone before. Calliel was left with a choice of whether to ensure your happiness or to make sure the world has a chance at survival should this dark man rise, long after you’ve already gone.”

“He punished him,” I say bitterly. “What you’re trying to say is that he punished him for loving me.”

“Sacrifice, Benji. It all comes down to sacrifice. And while the decision was difficult on Calliel, he made the only one he could, the only one an angel in his position could.”

“And it had nothing to do with jealousy?” I snap at him. “Cal saw my future if my father had lived. You said I had my own family with me when my father died. Cal was obviously not in it. You don’t think that influenced his decision at all?”

Michael looks at me sharply. “Does anything you know about Calliel suggest pettiness?” he asks, his voice hard. “I know you’re angry, and I know it hurts, but think carefully before you speak, child. You’re not a stupid boy, so don’t act like one.”

Ashamed, I look away. He’s right. Of course he’s right. Calliel doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body. But even though it’s not fair to him, I still can’t find a way to soothe the anger burning through my veins. He could have saved my father. Cal could have saved Big Eddie and I would have had him for a lifetime.

“Why did he fall, then?” I ask.

“Because of your grief, Benji. Calliel was finding it harder and harder to live with the consequences of his decision. He broke protocol by making a promise to your father, one that was not his to make.”

“What promise?”

“Think, Benji. You know. You’ve seen this. You’ve heard this. You’ve been there. It was in—”

the river

“—your dreams. You’ve been getting closer and closer every time, and you finally heard what you were supposed to hear.”

I close my eyes and in the dark, I remember the river:

You have to protect him. If you are who you say you are, if you are 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 down on him. Do you promise me?

Big Eddie, I—

Promise me! You f*cking promise me! This is my son! You f*cking promise me!

I promise.

“He promised to protect me,” I whisper.

“He did, but it was more than that. He is a guardian, Benji, and he would have guarded you anyway. But he was bound to his promise because Big Eddie meant it more than being a guardian. And Calliel knew that when he made the promise. He knew what it meant to accept a dying man’s last wishes. He loves you, yes, more than I think I’ve ever seen before, but he fell to keep the promise he made to your father.”

My mind is spinning, and I am dangerously close to being overwhelmed. There are too many emotions running through me all at once. I feel detached, and I can see everything Michael has told me swirling in me like a great storm. It’s a massive thing, an angry thing, but every now and then there’s a flash of blue, mixed in with all the black and gray and red. It’s small, but it’s bright, so very, very bright. I latch onto it, and the warmth I feel from it is like nothing else I’ve known.

“So he fell?” I ask, closing my eyes to see the blue lights.

“Yes,” Michael says. “It’s part of our limited free will, the choices that we can make. Metatron made that decision. And now Calliel.”

“You keep saying free will,” I tell him. “But it sounds like anything but.”

He laughs and I open my eyes. “Semantics,” he says with a wave of his hand.

“So what is my test? What decision do I have to make?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but then his eyes blacken completely and he rocks his head back slightly, his mouth dropping open. His wings shudder violently, and impossibly (improbably, I manage to think) a flash of light begins to spin above his head. I realize I’m looking at the faint outline of a halo. His lips begin to move as his eyes twitch back and forth toward the ceiling. The whispers from the walls of the White Room get louder and louder until they sound like the flow of a river. I cover my ears with my hands and bow my head as the White Room erupts in brilliant light.

And then it’s over.

I slowly open my eyes as I lower my hands. I look back up at Michael, who is rubbing the sides of his head. “What the f*ck was that?”

“That,” he mutters, “was my Father.”

I gape at him. “You just spoke to him? To God?”

He chuckles. “More like he spoke and I listened.”

“What did he say?” I am sure I don’t want to know, but I can’t stop myself from asking.

“That I’ve said enough,” Michael says ruefully. “That instead of telling you, it’s time to show you.” He shakes his head. “Unexpected, to say the least. I don’t think this has ever been done.” He stares at me hard. “What is it about you? Who are you?”

The whispers in the White Room quiet. All that’s left is the sound of my ragged breaths. “I am Benjamin Edward Green,” I say. “I am my father’s son.”

He stands suddenly, his wings flapping up behind him. He’s a commanding presence as he holds out his hand toward me. I think of my father as I stand and take his hand. “Where are we going?” I ask the archangel.

“Away,” he says. “There is a man who needs your help. A choice needs to be made.”

“Why? Why must we always make choices?”

“Because my Father has commanded it.” His wings begin to close around us, to capture us in a cocoon. I glance one last time at the child’s shadow burned into the wall and send a single wish to him and the man named Seven. I wish for their happiness and that they can know peace, whatever it might take. Michael’s wings close completely, and the White Room is gone.

“Who needs my help? What am I supposed to do?”

Silence.

“Michael?” I whisper in the dark.

A hand on my shoulder. “Yes, little one?”

“What’s going to happen to me?” I sound so small. I feel so small.

He sighs, and when he speaks next, his mouth is near my ear. “You are being given a great gift,” he whispers. “One most people will never receive. You must cherish it, and do your duty as a son. It’s time for you to stand, Benji. It’s time for you to stand and be true.”

Everything flashes white.