Into This River I Drown

by TJ Klune

  Now I feel guilty. “Back in the office. I was cleaning it. Forgot to bring it back up.”

  “Of course you did,” he murmurs. “Well, this should be interesting.”

  The guy has done a tour of the store, not stopping to pick anything up. I know he’s casing the store, trying to see if anyone else is in here. I don’t know how long he’s been watching outside and whether he saw Cal before he came in. I don’t recognize him, so he’s not a townie. But I do recognize the way he’s moving, the rigidity behind his steps, the way he jerks his head back and forth. He’s high, or was high, or has been high on something hard-core. Drugs have never been a problem in Roseland, as far as I’ve seen. Most of the underage kids here resort to cheap beer cadged from their parents’ refrigerators. But you’d have to be blind not to see the signs of a habitual user.

  Cal hasn’t come back yet, but that doesn’t mean anything. For all I know, he’s distracted by something outside, as he’s prone to be. Worse, he might have seen a thread that is not my own and been pulled toward it. It’d be pretty great if my thread was screaming for him about now, I think. Or however it’s supposed to work.

  Our new friend licks his lips again as he walks by us, glancing our way before looking out the front to the street. Abe starts forward, as if he’s going to clock the guy from behind, but I grab his arm, shaking my head when he turns to scowl at me. I raise my hand at him, mouthing wait. His lips pull together in a thin line. Cal! I scream in my head as the guy reaches up and latches the lock on the door. I could really use your help right about now! If you can see anything, see my fucking thread!

  Time seems to slow as the lock clicks into place. The guy seems to explode, pulling his hands from his pockets in a jerky motion, a handgun in his right hand. He raises it up, his eyes wide, his hands shaking, mouth moving. “You know what this is! Give me all the fucking money in the register! Do it now!”

  “Okay, son, okay,” Abe says, his voice low and smooth. “We all just need to take a deep breath here. No one has to get hurt.”

  The guy snarls as he takes a step closer, waving the gun between the two of us. “Shut up, you old fuck!” he cries. “Get the money out of the register before I blow your fucking head off!” He glances behind him, out the front window. The sidewalk is empty this far down Poplar Street. “Where’s the other guy?” he snaps when he looks back.

  Shit. “What other guy?” I ask, tapping a button on the register, opening the till drawer.

  “The big one! Where’d he go?”

  I shake my head, grabbing the bills that make up the hundred or so bucks I’ve got in the drawer. “He left out the back a while ago. Had some errands to run.”

  He looks toward the back of the store. It’s empty. “You got a safe back there?” he asks, jerking his gaze back to me.

  “Nothing in it,” I tell him. “Bank pickup came yesterday afternoon.”

  “Fuck!” he screams. “All I wanted was a fucking hit, man! Traynor told me I could get it, that fucking bastard!”

  Traynor. The name is familiar, but I can’t place it right now.

  “What did Traynor tell you that you could get?” Abe asks gently.

  He swings the gun back and points it at Abe. “I told you to shut the fuck up,” he says coldly. “I will kill you, man. I’ve done worse. I don’t fucking care.”

  “I’ve only got a hundred bucks,” I say loudly, trying to get the guy’s attention off Abe and back to me. “It’s yours if you take it and leave now.” I hold it out to him across the counter, both of my hands visible.

  He twitches again, the gun coming back in my direction. He takes a step toward me then stops, narrowing his eyes. I can see something stirring in his mind. Whatever it is can’t possibly be good. Cal! I scream again. My heart is starting to pick up in my chest and my palms feel clammy. But I’m also pissed, maybe more so than I’ve been in a long time. This is my store. This is my father’s store. He worked his ass off to make sure this place stayed afloat and I’ve done the same since it became mine. Who the fuck does this guy think he is, walking in here, waving that fucking gun around? This place was my father’s. It is now mine. This is my home.

  “Maybe I don’t believe you,” the man says slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “Maybe I don’t believe you about the safe.”

  “The bank comes the same time every week,” I tell him, a sneer on my lips. “Just because you’re tweaked out of your mind doesn’t mean I’m lying to you.”

  “Not a good idea to upset the guy with the gun,” Abe mutters.

  “There’s no money in the back,” I tell him again, my voice hard. “Either take what I’m offering or get the fuck out of my store.”

  “I’ll fucking shoot you, you goddamn asshole!”

  “Take the money and get out.”

  “Benji,” Abe pleads.

  I look the guy straight in the eye and say, “Get. Out.”

  I think, Cal.

  I can see it all, those next few seconds stretched out so that they feel like days. His finger tightens around the trigger, the hammer inches back. A bead of sweat drips down his forehead, slides between his eyes and off the side of his nose, leaving a track like a tear under his sunken right eye. His lips tremble. His shoulder shakes. His finger jerks and the gun fires, the sound surprisingly muffled in the store. Cal, I think again.

  The world around me suddenly darkens with a loud rush, and I smell earth, raw and pungent.

  Silence.

  Then:

  A low snarling noise rumbles near my left ear.

  “Holy mother of God,” Abe whispers.

  The would-be gunman moans.

  I open my eyes, unsure of when I closed them.

  It’s dark, which confuses me for a moment. Wasn’t it just daylight? And then I wonder if I’ve been shot in the face and am blind. There’s no pain, but I’ve never been shot in the head before, so I don’t know if it’s supposed to hurt. Maybe I should be relieved there’s no pain. If there is no pain, then there can be no sorrow.

  The earth smell hits me again. It’s overwhelming and a lump forms in my throat. I don’t know why. This earth is my home, I think, not knowing where it comes from. Then the black ruffles against my face, light and soft scratches. The rumbling near my ear gets louder. Oh, I think. Oh. This? This is…. He’s….

  Wings.

  The darkness parts in front of me, light forming down the middle and spreading toward my face, the cocoon splitting, the shelter cracking in half. The ruffling of feathers is almost as loud as the rumbling from behind me. They part, the great wings rising above me. Blue. The feathers are so blue, so deep and dark and wonderfully blue that the lump in my throat grows bigger and my eyes burn.

  The rumbling turns into a full-on growl and I turn my head to the left. Only inches from me is the face of the angel Calliel, coming slowly into focus. His head is so close to mine I can smell my soap on him, even through the scent of musty earth. The stubble on his head blends into a sideburn that turns into the light beard across his face, a deeper red than I’ve ever noticed before. His eyes look almost completely black. His lips are parted, his teeth bared in fury. The rumbling is coming from him. His chin scrapes my shoulder, and only then do I notice his arms around me protectively, his right across my right shoulder and chest, his left around my waist.

  Something catches the corner of my eye and I look up, over his head. The wing above me seems massive, pressed against the ceiling and bending back down toward the floor. A tip of the wing, which I now see is the left, falls toward me. It stops moving down about a foot overhead. The wingtip is still for a moment, but then it starts to shake, twitching back and forth. Something falls. I reach up with my only free hand and catch the object. It’s hot in my hand. I lower it to see.

  A round disc of burning metal, squashed flat.

  The bullet.

  The growl is turning into a roar.

  I turn from Cal and look ahead. The tweaker is standing frozen, his face pale. Abe is
staring slack-jawed, his eyes wide. I wonder what they see. I think for a moment, my mind disconnecting from the reality in front of me, that what they see must all be blue.

  I turn back to the angel. I reach up with my free hand and grab his chin, turning his head toward mine. There’s a moment when the sound coming from his throat gets louder, and his eyes get blacker, but then something sparks within him and a semblance of humanity returns.

  He can’t have humanity, I think wildly. He’s not human.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  He snarls at me.

  I shake his chin with my hand. I struggle to free my left arm, twisting as I pull.

  He tightens his grip around me, and for a moment, I think he won’t let me go, but I slide my other arm loose and he moves his hands to my back, clutching me tightly. I reach up and cup his face in my hands. He tries to pull away and I dig my fingers into his skin.

  “Hey,” I say again, louder. “It’s okay.” Cal shakes his head. “He needs to go into the black!” he roars, his voice far deeper than I’ve heard it. His breath is hot against my face, contrasting with the chills down my spine. “He will suffer for trying to take what’s mine!”

  “No,” I say, trying to ignore the way his words slam into me. “You need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

  I think he’s going to refuse, he’s going to pull away and launch himself at the gunman, sending him into the black, whatever or wherever that may be. He surprises me then, as a shudder rolls through him, rippling up through his body and extending through his wings. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and when they open again, they are dark, but the overpowering black is gone. He nods.

  “You are not the judge,” I tell him. “You are not the jury. You are not the executioner. Since you are none of those things, what are you?”

  “I am the protector,” he whispers.

  In the distance, a bell rings, but we ignore it.

  “And you have protected me,” I tell him, relaxing my grip on his face, tugging gently on the auburn hairs on his face. From up above, bright lights swirl and the wings begin to fade.

  His face grows dark again. “But… but he—”

  “No,” I tell him. “Me. You and me. Okay?”

  He watches me for a moment. I don’t look away. He sighs and the lights above grow brighter, obscuring the feathers, which are growing fainter. He hugs me tightly, his face going to my neck. He breathes me in and lifts me, my feet leaving the floor. He trembles again before he sets me back on the ground. The wings have almost completely disappeared, the blue lights flashing, but growing dim. A moment later, they’re gone completely.

  “You had your wings,” I tell him, almost laughing at the absurdity of the sentence.

  His eyes flash. “Your thread is very bright. And very loud. I heard you screaming my name. I was angry.” This last comes out heatedly, as if he’s getting riled up again.

  “At me?”

  He shakes his head. “No. At myself. I should have been here sooner. I got distracted. You must forgive me.” He reaches out and grabs my hand, clutching it in his own. His eyes search mine, pleading.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” I say, entwining my fingers in his.

  He looks like he doesn’t believe me, but I don’t know what else to say. Today has been a very weird day. Getting shot at can do that to you, I guess. I’m ready to go home and it’s not even two in the afternoon.

  I look back out to the store. The gunman is gone.

  “Looks like we’re about to have some company,” Abe says from the window, his voice thin. “People must have heard the gunshot or seen the guy running. Rosie’s marching her way down with a shotgun. She looks determined.”

  “She probably just wants to make sure I made you eat the sandwich,” Cal says. “She was really insistent about that.” He looks worried at the thought of Rosie with a shotgun. Hell, I’m worried about Rosie with a shotgun.

  “Abe,” I start, unsure how to finish.

  He waves his hand at me. “Boy, I’ve known you since you weren’t nothing but a twinkle in your father’s eye. I may not completely understand what I just saw, and I may not even believe it, but it’s not mine to tell. Though, if you can, I’d like to hear more about it later. I think you’ve got one hell of a story.”

  I hang my head in relief mingled with sorrow. “Thank you,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say.

  “And you,” Abe says, pointing at Cal. “I don’t care if you’re angel or demon. Just promise me you’ll protect him.”

  Cal stiffens next to me, and for a wild moment, I think he’s going to refuse. I look up at him and his eyes are almost black again and something crosses them, a shadow darker than the black. But then it’s gone and he nods and says, “I promise.”

  Abe watches him for a moment, as if gauging his sincerity. He frowns. “All right, then. Look alive, boys. The posse’s almost here. We’ve got some explaining to do.”

  the last time, the first time

  This is the last time I saw my father alive.

  He said, “I’ve got to make a trip to Eugene in the morning. Going to meet up with some old friends. I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

  The way he said it gave me pause. For one, he did not say who the friends were, and though I didn’t think to ask, it would strike me later as being very odd. It was as if he was attempting to hide something, something he wasn’t ready to say. That was unlike my father, for hadn’t he taught me there was to be truth in all things? That, even at the expense of someone’s feelings, it’s better to be honest than to tell a lie? Lies, he said, could come back to haunt you, no matter how small, or how good your intentions might be. We were never to lie to one another, given that he was raising me in truth. That might be why I didn’t think anything of it at the time.

  He leaned against the doorway upon making this announcement, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He seemed tense, slightly nervous, which caught my attention almost right away. Yes, I would think about why he said the word “friends” instead of saying who later, and I’d kick myself for not thinking of asking, but it was his stance that I remember the most. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his face lined. He looked older than I’d ever seen him, and I wondered if he was getting sick. I wondered if he needed sleep. I wondered if he shouldn’t just stay home.

  But I said none of this. My biggest regret is that instead I said, “Do you need me to open the store tomorrow, then? It’s Saturday. I don’t have plans.” I did have plans, with some buddies, but I would cancel for him. My father asked me and I did. It was that simple.

  But it’s never as simple as we think. It’s never as simple as we hope. I should have done more. I should have demanded he tell me what he was doing, who he was going to see. I should have screamed that he tell me everything, why he was so anxious, why there was that look in his eyes. That look that said he wasn’t sure what he was doing. I should have begged that he take me with him, let me tag along. Mom could open the store, I should have said. Or we could close the store for a day. Just let me go with you. Please, just take me with you. Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you make it right. Don’t do this on your own.

  I should have said all of those things. And more.

  Big Eddie smiled, but it looked forced. “That’d be great, Benji. I think it’s going to be slow tomorrow. Supposed to be a storm coming in, so you can take your school work with you and get some studying done. You’ve got finals coming up in a few weeks.”

  I made a face as I muttered, “Don’t remind me. I don’t know how I’m going to pass this stupid algebra final. Who cares about x’s and y’s and what stands for what? The alphabet shouldn’t be in math.”

  He laughed, and with that simple action, he seemed freer. Lighter, somehow. He moved from the doorway and came to where I sat at my desk. “Can I tell you a secret?” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

  I grinned as I nodded, waiting for my line.

  He didn’t disappoint. “
Cross your heart?”

  “Hope to die.”

  “Stick a thousand needles in your eye,” he finished.

  I waited.

  He leaned closer and whispered, “Nobody uses algebra in the real world. Learn it, pass it, then forget it.”

  I laughed. “Unless I want to be a nuclear scientist,” I said. “Or a mathematician.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You aren’t gonna be no damn mathematician. Green men have no need for math. We’re hands-on. We get dirty.”

  “Unless you’re balancing the books for the store. Or building a house.”

  He waved his hand in an easy dismissal. “Just the basics,” he said. “That’s why we have an accountant. And a contractor to help with the logistics.”

  “Sure, Dad.” I turned back to the book. He lifted his hand from my shoulder and ruffled my hair. I didn’t know it then, but that touch, those fingers in my hair, would be the last time I would feel my father alive. I would see him again, but he’d be cold under my hand, life long since departed.

  Had I known then what I know now, I would have clung to him. I would have looked him in the eyes to see that spark of mischief, that undying intelligence that belied his gruff exterior. If I’d known the inevitable, I would have said everything I felt in my heart and soul. I would have told him thank you for being my father. I would have said that if I’m ever going to be a good man, it’s going to be because of the way he’d raised me. I would have said that building Little House together and fixing up that old Ford until it was so cherry were the best times of my life. I would have said that I didn’t think I’d be able to go on without him.

  I would have told him I loved him.

  But I didn’t. I didn’t because I didn’t know. I didn’t even say good night. Or good-bye.

  My father’s last words to me were, “I’ll see you when I get back, okay? Don’t study too hard. Live a little, Benji.”

  I nodded, not looking up. I’ll live a little once I pass my sophomore year, I told myself.

  He left my room.

  Twenty hours later, my mother would arrive at the gas station in the pouring rain to tell me he was gone.