by T. J. Klune
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. “Y
ou 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 fuck!” 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 fuck!”
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 fucking loud and strong I think my heart is going to burst. Holy fuck. 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.
&
nbsp; 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 fucking dumbass, anyways.”
Christie frowns. “He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Boss. No. No.