Into This River I Drown

by T. J. Klune

  There were concerns that the river would rise too high and flood the streets. Sandbags were placed out along the church and the Grange as a precaution, just in case floodwaters began to chase after them.

  My mother was in the church, with Mary and Nina.

  The power flickered on and off before finally just staying off. Candles were lit as people huddled together, listening to the storm rising outside. My mother was panicking, not knowing where I was. She tried calling me many times, but eventually the signal cut out and her phone was useless. Mary and Nina tried to calm her, to let her know I was obviously with Cal and Abe and that we’d be okay. Christie, they said, would also be okay because she was at Big House.

  There had been nothing to do but wait.

  And pray.

  My mother says she prayed that day. She prayed for the first time in a very long time. Pastor Landeros was leading a quiet service for those who wanted it, but my mother wasn’t listening. She was sitting toward the back, looking at the beautiful stained glass window set high on the other side of the church. It was a circle of so many whites and greens and reds and yellows, with St. Jude Novena in the center, a red beard, long flowing robes of green and brown. And blue. So much blue.

  Her grandmother had taken her to this very church on many occasions when my mother was a child. She remembered a prayer she’d been taught when she asked who that man in the glass was. That’s St. Jude Novena, her grandmother had told her. And he has a special prayer, one made for your darkest hour. But prayers are not like wishes, my child. They won’t always come true. But if you pray hard enough, surely someone will listen, and that, my darling, is what prayer is all about.

  So my mother prayed, and recited the prayer of St. Jude Novena.

  Most holy apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the church honors and invokes you universally, as the patron of hopeless cases, of things almost despaired of. Pray for me, I am so helpless and alone. Make use, I implore you, of that particular privilege given to you, to bring visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired of. Come to my assistance in this great need that I may receive the consolation and help of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and sufferings, particularly that my son is safe from harm so that I may praise God with you and all the elect forever.

  I promise, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, to always honor you as my special and powerful patron, and to gratefully encourage devotion to you.

  Amen.

  Seven minutes later, the doors to the church blew open with a great crash. Wind and rain flew into the church. People shouted and screamed. And then all fell silent when the impossible happened.

  An angel entered the church, deep blue wings spread wide, water dripping onto the floor. He had a panicked look on his face as he looked from side to side. “Help,” he croaked out. “I need help. Someone, please. Help me. He’s hurt and I can’t fix him. Please.” He looked down at the body he carried in his arms. “He won’t wake up. Please just wake up. Please, Benji. Just wake up.”

  My mother gives me a fragile smile now, from her place next to my hospital bed. “You’d have thought,” she says, “people had seen angels all the time with the way things happened next. Doc Heward ran forward and made him lie you down. I was holding your hand and crying so hard I couldn’t see straight. Others came forward and offered to help. Rosie got blankets. Mary got the first-aid kits. Jimmy brought fresh water, and the Clarks went back to try and radio for help.

  “But it was Nina who went to him first. Our little Nina. He stood, off to the side, watching the doc work on you. His eyes never left your face, not until she came over to him. She walked right up to him and reached up to touch his face. He closed his eyes and sobbed, just once, his whole body shaking.”

  Everyone fell silent then, watching the tiny woman touch the gigantic angel. The doc continued to work on me, but even he glanced out of the corner of his eye.

  “Oh, Blue,” Nina said finally, her voice quiet. “You are in so much pain.”

  “My heart hurts, little one,” Cal choked out. “I cannot lose him. Not now. Not ever. I would be lost.”

  “What does your Father say?” she asked.

  “Nothing. He has forsaken me.” His voice was bitter.

  Nina smiled up at the angel. “He would never forsake you. You just aren’t listening.”

  The angel trembled… and then he collapsed.

  “Where is he?” I demand now, horrified. “You didn’t bring him here, did you?” I can only think of him being locked in a room while having experiments performed on him by people who need explanations, who need everything broken down to exact science rather than being able to believe in the impossible. “Please tell me he’s not here!”

  My mother shakes her head. “No, baby. We didn’t. He’s still in the church. The doc has been watching over him. Hell, the whole town has been watching over him. But there’s not much more the doc can do. He’s fading, Benji. Cal’s fading. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She has tears in her eyes when she finishes.

  I’m still so very angry, though I don’t know if the anger is directed toward him anymore. I don’t know how it could be, but part of me still feels the need to place blame. Part of me feels none of this needed to happen, that Cal shouldn’t have been put in the impossible situation of deciding between the lives of two men. My father didn’t need to die. So many things didn’t need to happen but did because of God. Because of his games. Because of his design.

  I love you, Cal had said.

  “I need to see him,” I mutter. “He needs me.” I make to get up from the bed, but my body is one gigantic ball of pain and I can barely move. I groan as I force my way through it, but my mother leaps up from the chair and pushes me back down.

  “You need your rest,” she says sternly. “I swear to God, if you try to leave here and something happens to you because of it, I will never forgive you.”

  “If he dies while I’m here,” I say to her coldly, “I will never forgive you.” And in my secret heart, I know this to be true, no matter how dark it makes me feel.

  She flinches and looks away.

  See me, I pray to him. Cal, see my thread. Please hold on. Please don’t leave me. I need you.

  But anger continues to rise. At her. At my father. At God and Michael. And at Cal. Mostly, at him.

  Sleep takes me only moments later.

  Many people want to speak to me the next day. Doctors, therapists. Nurses and

  radiologists. They all have questions as they poke and prod me, as they take my blood or wheel me down to yet another test. I’m lucky, I’m told repeatedly. Only a few more inches to the left, and the bullet would have pierced my heart. So lucky, they sigh. I could have died, they say in hushed voices. It’s a miracle.

  Many people want to speak with me the next day, but none more than the FBI. Turns out a man named Teddy Earle was found wandering near Old Forest Highway with some surface burns on his skin. He was dazed and slightly confused. He said that his friend had been burned to a crisp, that his boss was gone when he awoke. He was taken to a clinic in Jackson County, and when they found crystal meth in his pocket, they called the police. Police came (thankfully, I was told, not the Douglas County Sheriff’s office) and Mr. Earle was interviewed. Turns out he had quite the tale to tell, dropping names most could not believe. A psychopath named Jack Traynor. A dead arrestee named Arthur Davis. An FBI agent named Joshua Corwin. A sheriff named George Griggs. A mayor of a small town named Judd Walken. The woman in charge named Christie Fisette.

  And, of course, a man named Edward Benjamin Green. Big Eddie, to his friends.

  The storm cleared and four different law enforcement agencies ascended the mountain to the caves Earle had pointed them to. They found remnants of a large methamphetamine operation up there. They found the body of Mr. Earle’s associate, a man named Horatio Macias. They found the body of one Abraham Dufree, pulled away into the forest. Eventually, they found the
body of George Griggs, who had drowned in the river, pinned up against a rock by a tree.

  Mayor Walken fled the day of the storm. He made it as far as Glendale, forty miles down the road. His car was found overturned in the river. They thought he survived the impact, but might have drowned when the water rose too high. He must have lost control, they said.

  Jack Traynor was found a day later, washed up on the banks down river five miles away.

  My Aunt Christie was found the day before I woke up. Her body was deep in the woods, huddled up against a large rock. It was unclear exactly how she died, but most likely it was from exposure. It appeared she’d gotten turned around while trying to escape into the woods. Water, I was told, had filled her lungs. Like she had drowned. They didn’t know how that had happened.

  I told those who asked what had happened, leaving Cal out of every part of it. I told them about Traynor trying to run us off the road. I told them how Abe had saved us by shooting Traynor in the head. I told them about how Griggs and my aunt had shown up only moments later. I told them about my meeting with Corwin, and how Griggs and Christie tried to use Abe to find out if I’d told anyone else. I’d told them, my voice breaking, how they’d shot Abe right in front of me.

  I told them about my escape, the explosion, my run through the woods. I told them how Griggs had followed me, and that he shot me, only to slip and fall into the river. Did I remember who found me? No. Did I remember getting taken back into town? No. Did anyone in town remember who had brought me in?

  Apparently no one did. Just some stranger, the agents were told. Some stranger who passed right on through and didn’t leave any information.

  Small towns take care of their own.

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” an agent named Nathan Rosado told me once the interview was done. “Most wouldn’t have gotten away like you did. You did a very brave thing, even if you had no business trying to go up there in the first place.” But his admonishment was soft, and I saw he was impressed. I knew I’d corroborated almost everything Mr. Earle had told them, and Agent Rosado told me that most likely I wouldn’t have to testify, seeing as how almost everyone involved appeared to be dead. “There will be more questions, though,” he said. “But those can wait for now.”

  They left me alone after that, for a time. No one from town had been in my room to see me, though I knew some of them were nearby. I didn’t want to see them, not yet. I wasn’t ready to face the questions they would have, about the angel that slept in the church. I wasn’t ready for those questions, because I didn’t know what answers to give. I needed to see him first. I needed to get the fuck out of this damned hospital. I needed to see the man I loved.

  And my anger grew.

  These thoughts were interrupted when my mother came back into the room shortly after the FBI agent had left. It was only then that it hit me how hard this had to be on her as well. Not only had she lost her husband, she’d found out her sister had ordered it done. Whatever I was going through, she was experiencing almost the same. She looked tired, dark smudges circling her eyes. Her hair was frazzled and pulled back into a loose ponytail. Her clothes looked wrinkled and slept in.

  I knew we were survivors, she and I. I knew we’d have to pick ourselves up from the dirt yet again. If we didn’t, then we’d be nothing and blow away. So much of life demanded sacrifice, I knew, and the only way to make it through was to take one step at a time, one day at a time. She needed me to help her back up, and I was the only person left who could.

  So for the moment, I stopped planning my escape when she wasn’t looking. I stopped trying to figure out a way to get to Cal before the day was over. I started thinking about more than just myself and what I needed. She came back into my room and I opened my arms, and there was a stutter in her step, a frown on her face that turned into something more. She cracked and rushed over to me, and as she shattered, I ran my fingers through her hair and told her it’d be okay, that it’d be all right. I told her that even though it may not seem like it, one day, we’d be okay again.

  There was a brief moment when I almost told her about seeing Big Eddie again. I opened my mouth to spill the words, wondering what, if any, comfort it might bring her. But a second later, I closed my mouth again. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel fair to her. I didn’t want her to know that he’d been trapped by the river for five years while trying to protect me. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something more. I don’t know. Maybe I will tell her. One day.

  “How do you know?” she sobbed into me, clutching at my arms. “How do you know we’ll be okay? The world has gone to shit and everything is broken! How do you know? How do you know!”

  “Because I have faith it will,” I whispered back. “And because I have faith in you. There’s no one I know who is stronger than you. It might be rough, and it might seem unfair, but we’ll be okay. I promise you we’ll be okay.”

  My thoughts strayed to Cal, and I felt like a liar. If something happened to him, I wouldn’t be okay. If he left me, I knew I would find the river and once again be adrift.

  With those thoughts came the seed of doubt that sprouted quickly.

  A final test.

  I’m awoken from a nightmare by a touch to my face, a finger dragging along

  my cheek. I open my eyes. It’s dark in the room, the only light coming from the door that’s cracked open. My heart thuds painfully against my chest. I’m convinced it’s Griggs here with me in the dark and that he’s going to take me into the White Room forever.

  But then my eyes adjust and my nightmare flees. Nina is standing over me, touching my face, poking my cheek. This is the first time I’ve seen her since I’ve been in the hospital.

  “Are you awake now?” she asks, her eyes shining in the dark.

  “What time is it?” I ask her.

  “Not too late,” she says. “Not too late for a lot of things.”

  My mind is still fuzzy. “What are you doing here?”

  “Big House and Little House are empty,” she says quietly. “So many things are

  gone. Even Mary feels it. We came here to see Lola. I came here to see you.” She looks down at my arm and touches the needle for the IV at my wrist. Her eye follows the tubing until it reaches the machine pumping me full of God knows what.

  I smile up at her. “It’s good to see you.” It’s not as hard to breathe as I thought it would be.

  She nods and then pulls the needle out of my hand with a quick jerk, the tape catching on my skin.

  “Nina! That fucking hurt!”

  She frowns. “Language,” she scolds. “We don’t have much time.”

  “For what?”

  “You. We need to leave.”

  She pulls me up to a sitting position, ignoring my groans. “And go where?”

  My aunt stares at me as if I’m stupid. “Blue needs you,” she says. “Can’t you feel it, Benji? He’s almost gone. He needs you.”

  I feel cold. And what’s worse is, I hesitate. Removed from the situation by a few days, I’ve allowed my anger to rise unchecked. And this time, it is all directed toward him. He had a choice to make, yes, and he was tested by his Father, oh yes, but he could have done something. He could have done something more. He could have stood up to his Father and said no. He could have done everything in his power to stop it from happening. He could have saved my father.

  Or, Michael whispers, he could have promised him to watch out for his only son for the rest of his days. Or he could have fallen to earth to protect this son. Or he could have cared for this boy. Or he could have fallen in love with him and treasured him above all else, even though it was so close to blasphemy it endangered his mortal soul.

  “Nina,” I say, hedging.

  She stops and stares at me hard.

  I look away.

  “Oh, no,” she says. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to say no. Not now. Not after all he’s done for you.”

  My mind is beginning to clear, and it hurts to thi
nk.

  “That man loves you,” she growls at me, squeezing my hands tightly. “And he needs you, Benji. Just like you need him. You can’t stay here. You can’t keep hiding. This is just another white room and you know it. If you wait too long, the choice will be made for you.”

  I snap my eyes to hers. “How did you….”

  “It doesn’t matter. You must hurry.”

  “I’m tired,” I say. “I’m tired of everyone telling me about choices. I’m tired of having to make choices. I’m tired. The choices I make don’t matter. Nothing I do matters. How can it? God can just take everything away whenever he wants, so how the fuck does anything I do matter? It’s just a game, Nina! It’s all just a fucking game!”

  She flinches away from me as I finish, but it doesn’t last long. Her gaze filling with steely resolve, she leans over and brushes her lips against my cheek. “Then you fight,” she whispers harshly in my ear. “You fight for what you believe in. You fight for what’s yours. He would do it for you—he already has. The only real person in the world who can know what a father can mean is dying, Benji. He’s dying, and he needs you.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper, the fight draining out of me. “I can’t watch that happen. Not after everything I’ve seen. ”

  She stands back, the lines around her mouth pronounced in anger. “It’s not always about you,” she says coldly. “You may think it is, and maybe since Big Eddie died it has been, but not now. Not anymore. You’ve allowed yourself to drown in your grief, thinking only about yourself. You’ve been selfish long enough, Benjamin Edward Green. Big Eddie raised you better than this.”