Into This River I Drown

by T. J. Klune

  Eloise Watkins and her long Friday cigarettes.

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

  A stone angel, silent but always watching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I love you, my husband. Forever, Este.

  I nod. Not much time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I nod, feeling fresh blood trickle down my neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Did you do it? Did you kill him?”

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

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

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

  I’m quaking. “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?”

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

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

  “And I won’t stop. Not now. Not now, you fucking bitch.”

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

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

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

  “Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

  I’m insistent. “No, I’m not!”

  “Who else have you told?”

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

  “George,” she says.

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

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

  I sit back up with a groan.

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

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

  “Why?” she repeats.

  “Why this? Why all of this?”

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

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

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

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

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

  “Jesus, boy,” Griggs snaps. “What the fuck is it to you?”

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

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” the sheriff singsongs.

  “And satisfaction brought him back,” I growl.

  “Caves,” my aunt says.

  “What?”

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