Into This River I Drown

by T. J. Klune

  All that man flesh. Michael, is it? Don’t suppose he’s a queen like Cal?” “He’s not your type,” my mother sighs as Abe snorts. “Trust me.” “You need to be careful of Griggs,” Abe says. “I’ve told you that before, Benji.

  But he’s got his eye on you, and he might have….” He trails off, seeming hesitant to

  say the rest.

  And I realize this is a moment, an opportunity for someone to say aloud what I

  had thought and what I am sure the others had thought about my father. I could tell

  them all I know, but I don’t, simply because I want to distance the danger from my

  family as much as possible. I can’t bear the thought of one of them getting hurt

  because of me. Corwin’s death has weighed heavily on my mind, dragging my guilt

  to the forefront for all to see, even if they don’t know what they’re looking at. I

  would not survive if I caused the death of another person, especially one of the

  people standing near me. My conscience would not allow it. But here? Now? There

  is this moment where it seems like we have stepped to the edge of a precipice and all

  held our breaths, waiting for one person to have the courage to finish Abe’s sentence.

  It needs to be me. It needs to be me because I have had the thoughts every day. It

  needs to be me because I am my father’s son and I will not rest until I am sure he can

  rest.

  “And he might have been the one who killed Big Eddie,” I say.

  Michael stops speaking and looks out into the dark again. Cal turns neatly on his

  heel and comes back to me, stopping a few feet from where we stand huddled as if

  trying to protect each other from a gathering storm. He watches us for a moment, but

  I can’t make out the expression on his face. Is he resigned? Defiant? I don’t know. He holds out his hand to me.

  I don’t hesitate and step from my family and grab the rough familiarity of his

  hand. “Michael would speak with you, if you’d allow it,” he tells me quietly as he

  pulls me against his chest. “He says he has words for only you to hear.” “What did he tell you?” I all but demand, sure that he is forcing Cal to return to

  On High.

  “Nothing I didn’t already know,” Cal says. “That I am wrong for being here, that

  it is killing me. That he’ll return to collect me when the time is right. That he’s sure

  Father is testing me, though he doesn’t know how.” He sighs as he rubs my back.

  “He’s seen the knot in my head, how the pieces are all tangled and not making sense.

  He saw something in Griggs, but he will not tell me what.”

  “Why not?”

  Cal chuckles ruefully. “Michael’s always been a stickler for the rules. Since he is

  sure this is a test, he does not want to interfere.”

  “But he is interfering,” I remind him. “He’s trying to make you leave.” “He’s conflicted,” Cal says. “He doesn’t understand what Father wants, and only

  knows what he’s been told in the past. It’s confusing him. He’s frustrated.” “He can go fuck himself,” I hiss angrily. “Tell him to go away and leave us

  alone. Or better yet, I’ll do it myself. He wants to talk to me, right? I’ll make him go

  away and never come back.”

  I can’t help but notice the way Cal quirks his lips at the sides, like he’s trying to

  stay serious but can’t help but be amused by the tiny human in front of him who

  wants to go kick an archangel’s ass clear across the county. I try to scowl at him, but

  don’t succeed.

  “And then he’ll leave?” I ask. “Without you?”

  Cal nods eventually, though it looks forced.

  “Then you get the rest of them inside,” I tell him. “I’ll go talk to the big, bad

  Michael and see what the hell he wants.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone with him,” he snaps. “You can forget that right now.” I can’t help the grin that follows. I stand on my tiptoes and brush his lips with

  mine. “I can take care of myself,” I say, as if I’m not talking about an angel of God.

  “Please. Just do as I ask.”

  Cal rolls his eyes, an action I think again is so unbefitting an angel, so human,

  and my breath catches in my chest. Something warm lights itself at the base of my

  spine and roars up me until all I can hear is a deep-pitched buzz in my ears. I feel

  alive and powerful. Even more, I feel awake, truly and completely awake, for the

  first time in years. I will do anything for this man (for that is what he is becoming, I

  think) in front of me. I will do anything to save him.

  I walk away from him before he can see this in my eyes.

  Michael hasn’t moved, and I come to stand beside him, leaving enough distance

  between us so we are not touching. If he wants to do his weird hand chest zap mojo

  thing, he can reach out easily, but I don’t think his request to speak to me is about

  that. I glance behind me to see Cal ushering everyone inside, over the protests of my

  mother. The others go inside Big House, but she refuses, sitting herself down on the

  patio defiantly, watching Michael and me with a guarded expression. Cal does what I

  thought he would and sits in the wicker chair beside her. They do not speak. “What do you want from me?” I ask the angel.

  “Walk with me,” he says and turns toward Little House. I think to hesitate, to say

  we need to stay in the light, but then I think better of it. I glance back at Big House

  and see Cal standing again near the porch steps, his big arms crossed over his chest. I

  shake my head once at him, and he nods but doesn’t move to sit. I can feel his gaze

  on me as I turn to follow Michael.

  My steps are slow, the pace set by Michael. He seems to enjoy looking around in

  the dark, staring up at the stars, reaching out to brush his fingers along the trunk of a

  large tree, his fingers coming away with sap that oozes like black oil. He brings his

  hand to his face and inhales the scent. It hurts my heart to see, though I can’t say

  why.

  “I was not the first angel,” he says as he rubs the pitch against his slacks, “but I

  was one of the Firsts. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah. I think so. Metatron was first, right?”

  Michael stops and squats on his heels, rubbing his fingers along the grass. “Yes.

  I must admit to being surprised that you know that name.”

  “Cal mentioned it once. Said no one had seen him for a long time.” “Longer than you could possibly imagine,” Michael says, picking a pinecone off

  the ground and rolling it in his hands. “But that is beside the point. When I was much

  younger than I am now, I felt I had to compete with my brothers for my Father’s

  affections. I was one of the Firsts, which meant I had brothers to compete with, or so

  I thought. Things were much different then. We were young. Cocky. We thought we

  could do it all, or at least my brothers and I did. Father was strict in his rules, and we

  acted out as much as possible, specifically because a time came when it appeared he

  loved his humans more than he loved us. That was not the case, of course, but we

  were his sons and we worshipped the ground he walked on, so it was easy to get

  jealous. Metatron above everyone else, though. There’s something about being the

  actual first. In essence, he was the only because he was the first. Gabriel, David,

  Raphael, and I couldn’t help but feel inferior to Metatron, who seemed to have

  Fat
her’s favor above the rest of ours, seemed to have his ear more than the rest of us.

  But then Metatron was gone.”

  “Where did he go?” I can’t help but ask. I am unsure what this has to do with

  me, but it seems important that I listen. “Did he fall?”

  “It would seem so,” Michael says as he stands. “No one really knows for sure

  how or why, and Father would not say. If I had to guess, I would say he was cast

  out.”

  I feel cold. “Is that what happened to Cal?” I whisper.

  Michael looks at me sharply. “No. And please don’t misinterpret what I am

  saying as that. No, Calliel is… something else entirely. He is no longer part of a

  design, the pattern. Something has shifted and I don’t know what it is. I don’t know

  what my Father has planned for Calliel, or why he is testing him like he is. I was not

  being facetious when I said that Father likes his games. He does, as I am sure the

  history of humanity could tell you. But he is not cruel, at least not intentionally. He

  believes all beings should have to prove themselves. I don’t know why he’s picked

  Cal. Or you.” He pauses. “Or your father, it would seem.”

  Nausea rolls over me in waves. “I don’t understand.”

  “Nor do I,” Michael admits as we resume our slow pace toward Little House.

  “Fathers are mysterious creatures, are they not? We may not always understand their

  motives, or even agree with the choices they make, but we love them just the same

  for all that they are.”

  “My father…,” I start but the lump in my throat stops me from finishing. “Was the greatest man in the world?” Michael says kindly. It’s like he can read

  my thoughts. For all I know, he can.

  I nod.

  “Most sons think that. I could say the same about my own, but the comparison

  isn’t fair for either of us. I do not know this Big Eddie, and you don’t know my

  Father. Not in the way I do.”

  “Does your father love you?” I ask.

  Michael smiles. “Oh yes. I should think so.”

  “Does he love Cal? And me?”

  “Yes, child. He does.”

  We reach Little House, and I can’t help but notice the way Michael reaches out

  and strokes the wooden railing on the porch, a loving caress. This only fuels my

  anger. It seems wrong for him to touch what my father made, though I don’t know

  why.

  “Then why must we suffer? Why does he hurt us every single day? Why did he

  let Calliel fall and take his memories? Why is he allowing it to kill him while he

  stays here? Why did he allow my father to die? Why does he have to take everything

  I love if he’s supposed to love me?” My words are harsh by the end

  Michael doesn’t flinch. “You can’t know,” he says quietly, “how much you truly

  love something until it’s gone.”

  “That’s not fair,” I say as I tremble.

  “No one said it would be. He tests you, Benji, and he tests Calliel for a

  supremely simple reason. You are tested because if you aren’t, how could you know

  what you believe in?”

  I can’t do it. I can’t get into a philosophical debate with an archangel, knowing

  how ridiculous it is and how unprepared I am. Not to mention I’m too angry to listen

  to what his words actually mean. I go in a different direction. “You touched the

  sheriff. Just like you touched Cal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what happened to my father?”

  “Bits and pieces.”

  “Tell me.”

  He sighs. “Benji, how are you supposed to know love if the answers are given to

  you?”

  I hate his backward questions. “I know what love is,” I snarl at him. “No,” he says. “You know only grief now. There is a difference, though I don’t

  expect you to understand what it is, at least not yet. You have all but buried yourself

  in it, so how could you? How can you love if you don’t even know yourself

  anymore?”

  “That’s not fair,” I croak out.

  “Do you love Calliel?” he asks.

  I freeze, unable to answer, unable to process the question. Any part of it. “And yet he loves you,” Michael says. “I could see it the moment he opened the

  door. Maybe because it was so unexpected, or because it was so bright, I don’t know.

  But it almost knocked me flat.”

  “He… he doesn’t… he can’t….”

  “And you don’t see it,” Michael says, as if I’d agreed with him. “Because some

  part of you is already grieving for him. You think him lost, and so you are burying

  yourself in preparation.”

  “You said… you said he would die.”

  “Did I?” Michael asks, testing the porch step with his foot. “Not even I can know

  what my Father has planned. True, it is killing him to stay on this plane of existence,

  but it is up to God, as you call him, to decide Calliel’s fate.”

  “Then why do you want to bring him back? Why are you here? Why did you

  send the Strange Men after him?”

  “Because there is an order to things, even if you can’t see it in all the chaos.

  There is a balance, and Calliel has broken that balance.”

  “But if it was God that did it, then wouldn’t you think he has a reason?” Michael almost looks embarrassed. “I am a sort of stickler for the rules. Comes

  with being one of the oldest. And Father has not spoken to me yet regarding this, so I

  must follow protocol until I hear otherwise. But….” He stopped, staring up at Little

  House.

  “But what?”

  “This house has some old bones. Good, but old. You must be very proud of it.” “This is the house my father built.”

  He arches an eyebrow at me. “I expect you helped, though. I can feel you in

  every part of it. There is love here. Old love. New love. You’ve just forgotten what it

  feels like.”

  “I….”

  “I like you, Benji. That surprises me. I can see why Calliel loves you as he does.

  Such a little thing, this place seems to be, but it too surprises me.” He turns to face

  me. “There are other… levels… of existence. Other planes. Worlds you couldn’t

  possibly imagine exist. There may even be an infinite number of them. I don’t think

  even Father knows for sure. Once he started creating, I don’t think he knew how to

  stop. And within these infinite levels, there is one that sets itself apart from the rest.

  On this level, there are people who can do the most beautiful things with earth and

  water, fire and wind. They can manipulate the elements like it’s so much magic. It’s

  a beautiful sight to behold. But… there is a darkness coming. One we don’t know yet

  how to stop, no matter how much we wish we could. And we must stop it, before it

  finally spills over onto the other levels. It is too important to ignore. Metatron….” He

  sighs and shakes his head.

  “What does that have to do with me?” I ask harshly, unable to fully comprehend

  his words.

  “That’s just it,” Michael says. “I don’t think it has anything to do with you… at

  least it shouldn’t. But then why is my Father so focused on this plane, this corner of

  the universe, this planet, this country, this place? Why is he doing what he’s doing?” I say the only thing I can think of: “God works in mysterious ways.” Michael stares wide-eyed at me for a moment
before he bursts out laughing,

  using Little House to prop himself up as bends over, clutching his stomach. I can’t

  find the humor in it, but I start to laugh along with him because if I don’t laugh, I’m

  sure I’ll lose it completely. So we laugh. We laugh until we can laugh no more. And

  when we finish, I know our conversation is almost over.

  Michael stands before me and drops his hands on my shoulders. He isn’t

  laughing any longer. “I believe there will come a time, Benji, very soon, that I’ll

  return to give you a choice. You must think hard on the choice you will make,

  because I don’t know if it can be reversed once it has been made. I might have been a

  bit premature when I said Calliel has broken the design. He might have just made it

  different. For some reason my Father has allowed me to come here, and I think I

  have become part of this test, whether I asked to be or not.”

  “Test of what?” I ask, unable to look away.

  “Faith, Benji,” he says, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “It always

  comes down to faith. To do what you must, you must believe. Father has tested one’s

  faith for as long as I can remember. It’s kind of his thing, in case you haven’t heard

  the stories. But I may need to speed things up a bit. As I’ve said, my focus and his

  focus need to be elsewhere.”

  “I thought you were a stickler for the rules,” I say without thinking. He laughs again. “Maybe some part of me wants to see how this plays out too.

  It’s certainly a first in all of my existence. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of

  history?”

  Somehow, I don’t think I want to know just how long his existence has been. “I will send one of the Strange Men, as you call them,” he says, squeezing my

  shoulders. “They will not be here for you, or for Calliel. Think of it as a… a gift.

  Once you catch sight of the Strange Man, you will know I have assisted you and that

  you should follow. You may get the answers you desire, but remember this:

  sometimes the past is better left alone. Do you understand?”

  My heart pounds in my chest. “Yes.”

  He lets me go and steps back. “I have enjoyed our conversation, Benjamin

  Green. I think maybe you have taught me some things. I hope you will continue to

  surprise me.” He turns and starts walking toward the forest behind Little House. “Wait,” I call out before I can stop myself.