Into This River I Drown

by T. J. Klune

  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. Ei
ther 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 fucking 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.”