by T. J. Klune
I—
Wake up.
Dad, I can’t just—
Wake up.
I miss you so damn—
WAKE UP!
I—
—open my eyes. I’m in the cab of the blue Ford, and we’re flying through the
dark, the engine of the truck roaring as the headlights illuminate the road before us. I’m covered in my dad’s old coat, my skin still slightly chilled. I look over at the man who fell from the sky, his big hands wrapped tightly on the steering wheel at ten and two, just like I was taught at sixteen. His eyes are wide, his forehead scrunched up in concentration, his lips pulled back in a grim smile. I gasp and reach for the passenger door, trying to put as much distance between us as I can.
“Uh,” I say articulately. He glances over at me, dark eyes flashing, his smile growing wider. “I’m driving!” he says with an excited rumble. “I didn’t think I could get the hang of it, but I’m driving.” His gaze never leaves my face.
“Watch the road,” I whisper. He ignores me, his eyes still on mine. “Sure as shit, I didn’t think I’d get it that fast. I mean, I’ve seen you people drive before, and I thought, how hard could it be? I mean, you obviously weren’t going to do it, because you decided it was a good time to pass out.”
“Slow down,” I say.
“I mean, I’ve seen you drive this old truck before, but you never go this fast. You drive like Abe does in that little car of his—”
“Slow the fuck down!” I scream at him.
My sudden outburst startles him, and he jerks the wheel to the left and the Ford
follows with a groan of metal and rubber, the rear beginning to fishtail and swing to the right. There’s a moment when all the weight of the truck seems to be on the passenger side and I think we’re going to flip, but then that passes and we’re spinning out. The truck comes to a halt in the middle of the two-lane highway, having spun in an almost complete circle before stalling in the road. The only sounds are the ticking of the cooling engine and our panting breaths.
Then, “You’ve got a loud yell for such a little guy,” he says, arching his right eyebrow in appreciation. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you yell that loud before, Benji. Not even when you were really angry.”
My brain can’t compute this, this intimacy, him speaking as if he knows me. My brain doesn’t seem to be computing a whole hell of a lot, now that I think about it. It’s probably because I’ve completely lost it, I tell myself. I’ve gone completely and utterly batshit insane. It’s the only thing that would make any sense.
“Who. The fuck. Are you?” I ask, ignoring the waver of my voice He rubs a hand over the rusty stubble on his face. He appears to be trying to choose his words carefully before he speaks, but seems to be having difficulty doing so. This, of course, only makes it worse. People who choose their words can choose to lie. “Calliel,” he says finally, averting his eyes from mine. “My name is Calliel and I’m the guardian angel for Roseland and its people. And I’m here because of you. You called me, Benji. You called me and I came. Oh, and I’ve always wanted to tell you, because it hurt me to see you so. I’ve always wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your dad. Big Eddie was a great man. He was a great man and I’m sorry.”
I wish he’d lied.
corporeal
So,eitherhe’s certifiable, or I am, or we both are.
That’s the only thing I can think as I stare at him as he starts up the truck again, the grin back on his face at the purr of the Ford’s rebuilt eight-cylinder engine. He straightens out the steering wheel, pulling us back into the right lane. I am astonished when I feel mildly amused on top of everything else kicking around in my head when he keeps the speed below thirty miles an hour, grumbling under his breath that he’s doing Abe proud. He keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes, but he’s trying to be sneaky about it. It does no good for him to try and hide it as I am still plastered against the far door and facing him, refusing to take my eyes off of him.
Him. Calliel.
I’m the guardian angel of Roseland and its people.
And I’m here because of you….
“How did we get back across the river?” I ask finally, unsure what else to say. He stops muttering to himself about speed and starts watching me again until I
remind him to pay attention to the road. “I’m not going to crash,” he says, his brow furrowing. “Have a little faith, huh?” Faith. That’s funny, coming from a man who claims he is an…. Jesus Christ. This is not a real thing. He is not a real thing. He’s just a man. He’s just a normal—
“I carried you across,” he says. “You’re light and I’m big, so it wasn’t that hard.”
“How come I’m not wet?”
He snorts. “I carried you above the water.”
My eyes bulge out of my head. “You can walk on water?” I whisper.
“What?” He laughs. “Of course not. I waded across and carried you over my head so you wouldn’t get wet.” He laughs again. “Walk on water. You’re funny.”
I didn’t think it was funny. At all. “Why didn’t you just fly over? Angels have wings right? If you were really an angel, you would have just flown over.” Logic wins every time.
He shakes his head. “Can’t seem to pull them out here. I tried. I stood there on the riverbank for a minute or two, but nothing happened. I don’t know if it has to do with me becoming corporeal or what.”
“Cor-what?”
He shrugs. “Physical. Real. Here.”
“Did anyone see you crossing the river?”
“No. I got you back in the truck in time. There were people coming, though. I could hear them. I came down from On High with a crash, so I’m not surprised. I didn’t think it was going to be that loud, you know? Or that bright. We passed a couple of cars before you woke up, but no one tried to stop us. I couldn’t tell who they were like I normally could. I couldn’t feel them. I didn’t want to take any chances. I kept you safe, just like I said I would.” He says this last in a growl, like he expects me to contradict him. I’m too overwhelmed to even really consider his words.
“Oh.” Then, sudden panic, clawing at my throat. “Where is it?” I gasped, rubbing my hands over the seat frantically, my dad’s coat falling off me. “Where did you put it? Did you leave it behind? Don’t tell me you fucking left it!”
He glances at me, a worried expression on his face. “Where’s what?”
“The feather, dammit! Where did you put the feather!”
“Benji,” he says quietly, pointing at the seat next to him. “It’s here. It’s right here.”
It is. In the dark, in my panic, I couldn’t see it. I snatch it up, sure he’s going to try and take it from me. It warms instantly in my hands. I watch him with wary eyes, wondering how I could have possibly gotten to this point.
“You know where that came from, right?” the man named Calliel asks me.
I dreamed it real. “Just found it outside,” I mutter, looking away.
“Sure, Benji. Okay.” He doesn’t push it, but he’s not fooled.
Silence, for a time. Then, “You’re just fucking with me, right? This is a joke?”
He laughs, a deep thing that sounds like it comes from the pit of his stomach. “No. No joke. I’m not that big of a joke-teller. I hope that’s okay. But I sure like driving this truck. This is cherry, right, Benji? This ride is so cherry. Isn’t that what Big Eddie used to say?”
I can’t speak.
We drive on in the dark, a hand of ice wrapped around my heart.
The fact that Calliel knows where he is going should surprise me, but with all that
has already happened, it seems to be the least of my worries. We pass Poplar Street in silence, where I’d sat at the intersection only ninety minutes before, trying to decide if I was going to go to the seventy-seven or go home. Ninety minutes is all it has taken for my reality to change. We don’t speak. I still sit with my back to the door, watching him. The occasional car driv
ing by illuminates his face. Sometimes he’s looking ahead, focused on his driving. Other times, he’s glancing over at me, his mouth opening like he’s going to speak, but then closing like he’s thought better of it.
He’s been waiting, yes, but you helped bring him here, down to this place. You’ve got to help him. I’ve got to do no such thing. The fact that he’s now pulling into my driveway means nothing. The fact that the small smile on his face is growing as Big House comes into view means nothing. Do I call the police? Do I wake up my mother and the Trio? What do I tell them? Where do I tell them he came from? He’s certifiable, to be sure. Can I even be sure I saw what I remember seeing? The more logical explanation is that it was dark, that there was a huge storm going on over me, thunder and lightning. The light I saw falling from the sky was just some aftereffect of the storm. A freak thing. Maybe ball lightning. This man got struck and now he’s crazy. The electricity has done something to his neurons or synapses or whatever they are. And I’m just tired. Sitting beside a stranger who drove directly to my house without needing directions.
“It seems so different seeing it from this side,” he sighs, slowing as Big House looms above us. “It seems so real.”
“It’s always real,” I mutter. “Everything about it.”
“That’s not what you normally think,” he says without looking at me.
Fear again. “How do you know what I think?”
Calliel shrugs. “It’s just something I did. It was part of my job.”
“What am I thinking right now?” Tell me the truth. Who you really are. No more bullshit. No more crazy. Tell me who you are. Tell me the truth so I know this is just a dream that I can’t seem to wake up from.
He catches my eye again, and for some reason, I can’t break away. For a moment, I can imagine him doing just as he said he would. That he’s reading my mind and in a moment he’ll tell me what I’m thinking. But even worse, he’ll be able to tell me the things I’m not thinking, the things buried so far down that dragging them into the light will break me in half. I hold my breath as his gaze bores into me. Who are you?
The moment shatters as he sighs again and looks away. “Can’t do it,” he says, sounding frustrated. “Being down here isn’t the same as being up there looking down.”
I deflate, feeling strangely disappointed. I’m about to tell him that I can give him a few bucks if he’s looking to get something to eat since he’ll be on his way (I’m hoping), when he slams on the brakes in front of Big House, the headlights illuminating the front steps.
I follow his line of sight. “No,” I tell him, already struggling to open the door. “No, you don’t even touch her—”
“Nina Fisette,” he says happily, watching my aunt waiting patiently on the steps for me to come home. “Born September 14, 1964 at 3:34 in the afternoon under a sapphire sun. Sister Mary Fisette born thirty-four minutes later. Suffers from trisomy 21 caused by the presence of an extra partial twenty-first chromosome. Daughter to Michael and—”
I grab my dad’s coat from the floor of the truck and I’m out the door even as Nina rises from her spot on the steps. She looks hesitant as she sees me rushing toward her, but then her gaze flickers over me, back to the truck, and the smile that blossoms on her face causes me to stumble in its beauty. I’ve never seen her wearing the look she has on her face now, and it’s enough to cause the world to shift on its axis again. I stop as she walks past me, not even acknowledging my presence. I reach out to grab her, to stop her from whatever it is that she’s about to do, but she pulls away, never looking back. “Nina,” I say, but it comes out choked.
The man has gotten out of the Ford, and as she walks toward him, the rational world as I know it disappears like sand through my fingers.
Calliel stands in front of the truck, watching the small woman walk toward him. He’s changed. There are flashes of blue whirling around him, sparking off into the darkness. His eyes are alight with something I can’t place. Elation? Unbridled joy? Love? I don’t know. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way he’s watching her. I can hear a soft exhalation as she reaches him, a sigh of peace. The blue is brighter now, spinning faster. It molds around him, beginning to take shape. It only takes seconds when the lights make a faint outline, clinging to his back and rising up and down around him. The feather in my hand vibrates, heating until it’s almost too much to hold on to.
Before I can shout a warning, my aunt reaches up with her little hands that can’t quite reach what she’s trying to hold onto. Calliel lowers his head and she cups his face in her hands, rubbing her thumbs gently over his cheeks. He closes his eyes, and, remarkably, hums a contented sound that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. The blues (Prussian and cobalt and azure and indigo and so many, many more) spin in tighter circles and the shapes behind his shoulders become more pronounced until I can no longer deny the outline of great wings that stretch around him.
The night has gone silent around us, as if we three are the only living things left on the planet. I’m aware of every breath I take, every beat of my heart, every thought that rushes through my head. It’s not as if my ears are plugged, no; it’s as if I can hear clearly for the first time and I’ve focused on every single little thing that ever was and ever will be. Bright flashes of light burst behind my eyes, but I can’t look away.
“Hello,” Nina says, her voice filled with awe.
“Hello, Nina Fisette,” the stranger says, turning his face in her hands so it rests against her left palm.
“You came,” she says. “I didn’t think you would. I didn’t think you could.”
“He called for me,” he tells her, never taking his gaze from hers. “He called for me and I would not say no. I made a promise. To him. To you. You know this, little one.”
“Promises are made to be broken,” she says, her voice breaking. My heart stutters in my chest. “Promises aren’t always kept, even if they’re meant to be.”
“Not mine,” he says, reaching up to his face to place his hand on top of hers. “Not to you. Never to him.”
“Does he know yet, you think? Does he realize?”
Calliel glances up at me, the blue dancing around him causing his eyes to spark. The feather in my hand grows hotter still, but I can’t look away. Much is said in his eyes, but I can’t decipher any of it. My breath hitches in my throat and my eyes start to burn, and all I can hear is my father in my head saying, Wake up. Wake up, Benji. He’s come down from On High and you need to wake up. Open your eyes and see. Wake up.
“Not yet,” Calliel tells my aunt as he watches me. “But he will.”
“He’ll be difficult,” she warns him gently. “He won’t know what to do. You know this, yes?”
“I know,” he says, looking back down at her, the blues beginning to fade. “I’ve watched for a very long time. I can see the patterns. The shapes. The design that connects you all.”
She chuckles. “And are you in the design? Can you see yourself there?”
He shakes his head. “It’s hidden from me. I don’t remember much from up there. I remember knowing the call was coming, knowing it would be soon. I just don’t….” He squints his eyes shut. “There is much I don’t remember. Pieces. Large pieces disconnected because parts are missing. I think I knew this would happen. I think I didn’t care. I’ve been trying to put the pieces back together so the shapes make sense, but it’s still too soon. Little one, what if I don’t belong here?”
“Then we’ll deal with it as it comes,” she says, patting his face gently. “But you’ll never know unless you try. Your blue is so lovely. So warm and so beautiful. Lonely, but beautiful.”
He grins and preens under her hands.
The night is slowly returning, darkness filtering back in. Crickets are chirping. Wind is blowing through the trees. Off in the distance is the high-pitched yip of a coyote. My heartbeat slows. My breath evens out.
When the final blue fades into the night, Nina drops her hands and take
s a step back from him. “There is much you can teach each other,” she tells him quietly. “But he is trapped too.”
He nods. “I know.”
“I think I shall call you Blue,” she announces, clapping her hands together. “But I still want to know your real name.”
“Calliel.”
“Calliel,” she repeats, tasting the word on her tongue. “Very pretty. And strong. It suits you. Can I still call you Blue?” She sounds like a little girl, shyly asking for what she thinks she’ll never get.
He smiles. “You can call me what you like, little one.”
She giggles and holds her arms out, spinning in circles, her laughter spilling out in all directions. When she stops, she’s facing me. “Hello, Benji,” she says. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“I don’t know,” I say hoarsely. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Soon,” Nina says. “I told you soon you will see. And you will. Soon, we all will.” She turns again and stands on her tiptoes, then reaches up and plants a kiss to Calliel’s red beard. She spins back around, a gentle blush rising on her cheeks, evident even in the dark. She rushes toward me, a determined look on her face. I open my arms and she collides with me, breathing heavily against my neck. “There is a point to grief,” she whispers fiercely. “But there is also a point to opening your eyes and living.”
I nod, not knowing what else to say. Disbelief washes over me again.
She lets me go and pushes past me. “Nina, wait. You can’t….” I stop.
She looks at me over her shoulder expectantly.
What do I tell her? That everything we’ve both just seen is a figment of our imaginations? That this man (Blue, I think; Calliel) isn’t what she thinks he is, whatever it is she’s thinking? I can’t say those words—they would sound false to the both of us. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I don’t know what he is.
“Just… don’t tell Mom, okay?” I say finally. “Or the rest of the Trio. Not until—”
“Nina? Benji? What’s going on out here?”