“He’s home now,” Ben said.
Nicholas and Marietta remained quiet, waiting for Ben to go on when he was ready.
“What did you see, Ben?” Nicholas asked, realizing that Ben was not going to speak again.
“Didn’t you see?” Ben asked.
“I saw a light, but I couldn’t look at it. I had to close my eyes,” Nicholas admitted, shifting in his seat.
“We all did, Nicholas,” Marietta said. “Raziel would have burned those pretty blues of yours clean out of your sockets.”
“But the noise,” Ben said. “Didn’t you hear it?”
“What noise?” Nicholas asked.
Marietta regarded Ben through the mesh, and he stared back at her for a long moment before turning to Nicholas. That expectant look was back in their eyes, and they seemed to be waiting for him to explain what he meant. A gust of loneliness as powerful as the winds that had shaken the ceiling tiles from the factory’s roof swept through Ben once more.
“You didn’t hear it,” he said.
“I couldn’t hear anything,” Nicholas said. “Toward the end it was like Marietta was screeching that noise that Raziel would make.”
“Was I?” Marietta asked, taking on a frown as she leaned closer to the front seat.
“For me to speak it to you now would dismantle your physical form,” Ben said, parroting Raziel’s words from their voicemail conversation.
“What?” Nicholas asked, furrowing his brow.
“It’s something he said,” Ben replied. “About the language of the angels.”
“Is that what you heard, Benjamin? Did you hear the actual words?”
“I don’t know what I heard,” Ben said. “But you can consider me dismantled. I don’t understand how Azazel kept that inside of him.”
“He used to have his own, remember?” Marietta said with a sigh. “He bound Raziel’s in darkness and used it for all these years to harness the power for his own means. It’s how he was able to open up the ‘doorway’ as Nicholas called it earlier. You’re funny, though, Benjamin.”
“Am I?” Ben asked, startled.
“In all the years he was trapped here, why do you think you’re the first person Raziel asked for help?”
Ben did not reply, but he could sense Nicholas’ unsettled gaze.
“You got something in you,” Marietta said. “Maybe it’s your soul. Maybe it’s the way you were both locked out of your homes in different ways. Maybe he knew you’d understand.”
For the second time that night, Marietta’s words stung more than Ben would like to admit. Nicholas’ attention was fixed on the factory. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he stared toward the north side of the building.
“So that’s it? It’s over? No more monsters?” he asked.
“Just the usual ones that you take care of, Sheriff,” Marietta said.
Nicholas’ shoulders sagged slightly, but Ben found little relief in the confirmation. Marietta’s reassurance felt like a Band-Aid on a broken bone.
“And what about Ben? Is he going to be okay?”
“Benjamin is tired,” Marietta drawled, leaning back from the mesh. “He needs to rest.”
Nicholas cranked the engine without further prompting. He reversed, turned, and navigated the cruiser down the dirt road. Ben propped his forehead against the window on his side of the car. The glass was as frigid as the loss he felt but could not articulate.
“You can just call me Ben, you know,” he said, murmuring the words without looking back to Marietta.
“Names are important,” Marietta said after a beat. “They say a lot about us. We don’t have a choice in the one we are given, but, most of the time, there was some thought behind its selection. Even if you change your name, you deliberate over it. You want a name to mean something whether you’re giving it to someone else or yourself.”
“What does ‘Marietta’ mean?” Ben asked, lifting his head slightly.
“Well, that’s complicated. It’s a version of Mary, which itself is a variant of Miriam. Both names have meanings that have become muddled over time. Some say they mean ‘star of the sea,’ others say ‘bitter waters.’ Maybe it’s a bit of both. But I wasn’t named after a meaning.”
“What were you named after?”
“My hometown,” she replied. “Marietta, Georgia as I live and breathe. My sisters were named after the cities they were born in too. Florence was in South Carolina, and Augustine in Florida. My mother thought it was important that we always remember where we came from.”
In the cruiser’s headlights, River Bend Road stretched out like the arm of a loved one held up to enforce distance, and Ben pondered the sentiment behind Marietta’s name.
“Your mother was a smart lady,” he said at last.
“She was,” Marietta replied. “Do you know what your name means, Benjamin?”
“Something about a son,” Ben replied, forgetting the exact meaning. “My mom had a friend named Ben when she was growing up.”
“It’s always nice when a name is infused with a devotion of some kind,” Marietta said. “But you’re correct. Benjamin means ‘son of my right hand.’ In the Torah, Benjamin was the youngest of Jacob’s twelve sons. He remained loyal to his father even when his siblings turned against Jacob. And the right hand is very significant, you see.”
“Is it?” Ben asked, thinking of Raziel’s right hand as it stretched skyward in the seconds before the world exploded.
“Of course,” Marietta said. “Christian tradition says that Jesus occupies the throne at God’s right hand. It’s a place of honor.”
“I thought you were Jewish?”
“Nobody’s got it quite right. I told you before.”
Ben wished Nicholas would speak up to derail the theological talk; he might have enjoyed the discussion on another occasion, but, for now, he had enough of God and angels and everything in between to break his brain over for a lifetime. Nicholas, however, kept his eyes on the road and his lips pursed into a line as straight as the yellow markings that divided the asphalt.
“What does Nic’s name mean?” Ben asked.
“Do you know, Sheriff?” Marietta peered at Nicholas as if she already knew the answer. She probably did.
“No,” Nicholas said, making a left onto Main Street.
“You never wondered?” Marietta asked, and a knowing lilt was present in her voice. “That says a lot. Nicholas means ‘victory of the people.’ Perhaps it’s appropriate given your profession.”
Nicholas did not reply. The quiet hum of the car’s engine was soothing, and Ben was thankful for its gentle monotony. He checked the digital clock on the dash and was surprised to see it was after midnight. Over six hours had flown past since their venture to the factory. Ben struggled to account for the time after Raziel’s grace exploded, but exhaustion and emptiness clouded his thoughts like muddy creek water.
Nicholas parked in front of Marietta’s house. He climbed out, trudged around to her side, and opened the rear door for her. Marietta tapped on the passenger window, and Ben pushed the button to roll down the glass.
“You get some sleep, Benjamin. You need it,” Marietta said as she bent down and took Ben’s hands in her own. She pressed something cold and flat into his right palm. Ben knew without glancing down that she had returned Andrew’s Zippo. He clutched her hand, and Marietta tilted her head as if trying to read him again.
“What made you move to Point Pleasant?” he asked in a whisper. “Was it Raziel?”
Marietta considered Ben for several seconds, and she smiled. “Because they’re mighty pleased to have you here. Even if they don’t always know how to show it.”
Ben released her hand, and she brushed her fingertips over his before she stood back from the cruiser.
“You come see me sometime,” Marietta said. “I’ve got a teak G-Plan sideboard in the back of my shop that has your name written all over it.”
She turned and headed toward her walkway. Ben slippe
d the lighter into his coat pocket and watched as she disappeared inside her purple house. He reclined his head against the seat and scrubbed his palms over his eyes when he saw a flash of the light play against the inside of his lids.
Nicholas resumed his place behind the steering wheel. His hand hesitated on the gear shift, and he regarded Ben with the same kind of caution that Ben imagined he used with a potentially armed suspect during a routine traffic stop over an expired tag.
“Ben?” he asked in a whisper. “You okay?”
“I’m tired,” Ben said, wavering under the weight of the evening.
“Do you want me to take you home?”
“I don’t even know where that is,” Ben said, slinking back into a daze.
Nicholas finally put the car into gear and drove to the other end of Main Street. Cold air seeped in from the open window, and Ben relished its frigidity. When he looked out, they were in front of the Wisehart house on Cardinal Lane.
“I don’t mind if you want to stay with me,” Nicholas said. “I’d prefer it. Or I could stay with you.”
The projection screen in Ben’s head flickered with images of Nicholas’ unmade bed. “I just need to sleep for a while.”
“Ben—” Nicholas started, but he seemed to be at a loss for what to say. “Talk to me. Or don’t. Just don’t be alone.”
“Tomorrow,” Ben said, reaching for the door handle. He slid out of the car and offered a weak wave, shut the passenger door, and followed the dark pathway to the house.
The motion sensor lights in the front yard activated when he neared the porch and pulled out his keys. He waved again and went inside, dropping the keys without care. They clanked on the wood flooring, and the sound carried through the entry hall like an echo in a tomb. Ben shrugged off his coat, let it fall to the floor with the keys, and lumbered upstairs where he collapsed on the bed in his old room.
In the few seconds before unconsciousness took hold of him, Ben saw the light.
Illustration, Chapter Four. “Callosamia promethea.”
Illustration, Chapter Five. “Actias luna.”
Chapter Five
Ringing. There’s ringing.
Ben roused from sleep. Moonlight filtered in through the window over the bed, and he groaned when he sat upright. The ringing came again, and he realized it was the doorbell. Lethargy gripped him like a vise as he rose from the bed.
He blinked the bleariness out of his eyes and stumbled into the hallway and down the stairs. The bell rang twice in succession with more insistence than a doorbell had any right to affect. Ben groused at the noise and opened the door.
Nicholas had just turned to walk back to his car, but he pivoted when the door opened. He was wearing jeans and a red t-shirt in place of his uniform. Ben frowned at the detail, though he was unsure why it stuck out so much.
“Ben,” Nicholas said, his voice lilting with surprise. “I’ve been calling all day.”
“Day?” Ben asked, squinting at the light over the door.
“It’s after seven. Have you been asleep this whole time?”
“Seven? P.M.?”
“Yeah,” Nicholas said, hesitating before he stole closer to the doorway. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Ben said, realizing he was blocking the doorway. “Sorry.”
Nicholas stepped inside and shut the door. Ben flicked on the lights in the hallway and winced at the brightness.
“I’m going to make some coffee,” he said and scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. “You want?”
Nicholas nodded distractedly and trailed after Ben. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”
Ben considered the question as he pulled the coffee tin out of a cabinet. “Tired.”
“I didn’t know you were asleep. I thought—”
“Thought what?” Ben asked.
“I thought you’d left.”
“It’s a bit hard to leave without a car, Nic,” Ben said, stifling a yawn while he scooped several heaps of coffee into the filter basket. Good evening to you, Mr. Coffee, sir.
“Tucker reckons it can be fixed.”
“What can?” Ben asked, flicking on the machine to brew.
“The Camaro. He had it towed to his farm this morning. I think it’s his gesture of gratitude.”
“For what?” Ben asked. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did a lot, Ben.”
Dysphoria threatened to pin Ben under its considerable weight, and he shifted awkwardly.
“I got your bags,” Nicholas said after a beat. “I thought I’d save you another hike out to Tucker’s. They’re in my car.”
Ben offered a slight nod of acknowledgement. “Thanks.”
“I was worried about you.”
Ben opened the cabinet in front of him and pulled out two cups. “I’m fine,” he said, sounding strained even to his own ears.
“Ben, talk to me. Please. What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said, turning his attention back to the machine. He guessed there was enough for two and pulled the carafe out of its cradle. Droplets of coffee sizzled when they hit the exposed hot plate underneath. Ben poured the first cup, but he paused and spared a furtive glance over to Nicholas. “It was like being in the middle of an exploding star.”
“Did you really feel it?”
“Felt it, heard it, saw it even though my eyes were closed. I don’t know, Nic. I can’t even begin to explain what happened. I don’t know what you want me to talk about. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. It was amazing, but it was awful more than anything. And all I can see is the light.”
The bandana that Nicholas had tied around Ben’s arm was still in place. Ben tugged it off. “And look,” he said and gestured to where there should have been evidence of when Nicholas had drawn Ben’s blood for the ritual, but the skin was unbroken. “I shouldn’t even be able to hear anything right now. Azazel blew my eardrums out before the ritual even really started. At one point I was completely deaf. But I’m fine. How the fuck am I fine?”
Nicholas touched the bare skin of Ben’s forearm. He frowned at the absence of a wound and seemed to be at a loss for words.
“Seriously, Nic,” Ben said. “I don’t know what you want me to talk about. I can’t get my head around any of it and if I tried, I think I’d go insane.”
“You were so sad, Ben,” Nicholas said, his voice hushed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry, not even when we were kids.”
“Oh well,” Ben said, shrugging with hollow resolve. “I’m usually alone when that happens.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“Nic, please, not now.”
“Ben—” Nicholas started.
“No,” Ben replied. “I know you want to help, but there’s nothing to say. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Nicholas gave a weak nod despite Ben’s harsh tone. “Then we won’t talk about it anymore.”
Ben resumed his task of pouring coffee and slid Nicholas’ cup to him. “How’s the town? Did anything happen last night?”
“No, town’s fine,” Nicholas said, taking the coffee. “I guess it all went down in the forest.”
“Good.”
“Still can’t find the eight missing cruisers. Lizzie’s awake, though.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “She’s okay?”
“She will be.”
“That’s a relief.”
“My parents are back,” Nicholas said after a beat.
“Bet the drive through Main Street was a shock.”
“Understatement,” Nicholas said, flexing his eyebrows for exaggeration. “They wanted to know if you’d come over for dinner.”
“Tonight?”
“It’ll take your mind off things. They want to see you. Mom practically fell over herself asking about you.”
There was a pleading glint in Nicholas’ eyes, and Ben felt trapped.
“Yeah, okay,” he said at last.
�
�You just made my mom very happy,” Nicholas said, grinning with such palpable relief that Ben felt guilty for his hesitation.
“I should shower,” Ben said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“I’ll get your bags,” Nicholas offered.
“Thanks,” Ben said. “I’ll be upstairs. Make yourself at home.”
He waited until he heard the front door open before he headed to the upstairs bathroom. With the door closed and locked behind him, he stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He saw that the bruise and cut on his forehead were completely healed, much like his arm. He was surprised by how normal he looked even as a small, indistinct part of himself had almost expected some kind of dramatic, visible change.
Oh well.
Ben felt different though. He did not know how he felt different, he just knew that he did. In his head, Ben saw a flash of the light. He closed his eyes and braced himself against the sink.
“Don’t be such a baby, Benji,” he told himself, and he was surprised by how much he sounded like Andrew.
Ben undressed and moved to take off his watch. He noticed it had stopped and tapped its face. The time was frozen at exactly seven o’clock. Ben tried to remember what had happened at that time, but the memory was a rushed blur. He removed the watch and tossed it onto the counter by the basin. Useless.
Despite the warm spray of water in the shower, a cold emptiness—the same feeling that had consumed him when the light disappeared and the cacophonous symphony of horrifying sound faded—loomed like the whale from Ben’s fuzzy memory of a Sunday school tale about a man named Jonah. After the events at the factory, Ben wondered if such a man had actually existed and if steadfast prayer and thanksgiving had really helped him survive inside the belly of a leviathan.
Ben imagined Jonah stuck inside the beast, pacing back and forth just as Raziel had flown the narrow confines of Point Pleasant’s skies for over five hundred years—just as Ben had often wandered the expanse of his comfortable brownstone back in Boston. Did Jonah ever truly feel free even after he was spat out onto some ancient beach?
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