Truth Runner

by Jerel Law

  “We need to talk, Jonah.” His father took a big gulp of coffee from his mug.

  Jonah pushed his bowl away. “I have to get to the bus stop. I don’t want to be—”

  “Son!” his father raised his voice, then backed off, gathering himself. “Son . . . I don’t care about you being late to school right now. It’s more important that you and I . . .”

  Jonah looked at him, raising an eyebrow as he checked his watch. “That we what?”

  “Talk,” his dad said, breathing heavily through his nose. “We haven’t talked in so long, and I know that you’re upset, and you miss your mother like crazy . . .”

  Jonah leaned back, crossing his arms in his chair and looking down at his feet while his dad continued.

  “It’s just that, well, it’s been almost a year since Eleanor died, the hardest year of our lives, without a doubt. But it’s been almost a year . . .”

  “So?” Jonah asked. He felt his temperature rising, and he was suddenly ready for a fight.

  Benjamin took his glasses off, blew on them, and began cleaning them on a napkin. When he spoke, he did so softly. “So, yes, it’s been almost a year, not very long when you consider the loss you have had. But you need to make progress. You need to take steps. And all I see right now is you running in place. You’re still here, for goodness’ sake! I have allowed that. I have given you your space. I’ve tried to understand what you’re going through.” He sighed, putting his glasses back on. “But I’m not so sure that hasn’t been a mistake.”

  Jonah felt the boiling hot bubbles of contempt rise from somewhere deep inside. Tears began forcing their way from his eyes, and he pushed back from the table and stood. “You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’m going through. You think I haven’t taken any steps? You don’t think I’m making any progress? Look at yourself!” He pointed to his dad. “You stay locked in your study. You wander around the house. You don’t even shave your beard anymore. You’re a total mess. And you want to give me advice about what to do?”

  Jonah backed away from the table and grabbed his backpack, slinging it on his back. He turned around just before he reached the door. “I’m here because I want to be here. I don’t want to go back to New York. That’s fine for Eliza and Jeremiah, but that’s not me anymore. That’s not who I am!”

  He heard his father stand, move toward the door, and call out, “Jonah! I want to talk more tonight, okay?”

  Jonah tried to think it all through on the bus as he stared out the window on the way to school, but he didn’t know what to make of it. He knew his dream had been more than a regular dream. It had been a while since he’d even admitted to himself the truth. That he was a quarterling. That he was a prophet of Elohim. That he was different.

  But figuring out what to do with the dream was harder, because every time he thought about the conversation with the man in the first room, he just felt more frustrated and angry.

  Jonah slammed his hand against the side of the bus lightly.

  His father was right about one thing. He was definitely stuck.

  The rest of the day went no better. The creatures were everywhere. If possible, it seemed as though they had doubled overnight. He tried to tell himself he was just more attuned to them, but he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t even have to be in the hidden realm to see them everywhere. He resisted stepping into the spiritual world, afraid of what he might find if he did. Fallen angels were whispering in some students’ ears, tormenting others, and driving kids apart from one another and into loneliness and isolation. Jonah saw it happening in front of him, but he was paralyzed. Every time he thought of his mother, that old anger spewed and boiled inside and he turned away.

  Finally, the last bell rang, and Jonah headed to the gym to get ready for that night’s basketball game.

  Tariq caught up to him. “Ready for a big game tonight, my man?” He held out his hand, and Jonah slapped it.

  “At this point, Tariq,” he said, “I’m ready for anything other than going home.”

  “Trouble with your dad or something?” Tariq asked.

  Jonah grimaced. “Is it that obvious?”

  Tariq shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s just call it an educated guess, that’s all. But whatever is going on, you really should try to fix it. Your dad is cool, and you two have a pretty special relationship.”

  He slapped Jonah on the shoulder. “I gotta go, man. Good luck later on. We’re going all the way to the state championships this year!” He said it loud, so everyone around him could hear.

  Jonah’s face flushed as he waved him off and continued toward the gym.

  Jonah walked out onto the court with his four teammates and shook hands with the opposing team’s center. But he couldn’t help but be distracted by all the activity going on around him. Things only he could see, that he’d noticed as people began filing into the gym and while they were warming up.

  Jonah knew he should be focusing on the court, but he spent most of the warm-up looking up.

  One of his teammates standing beside him in the layup line began to look up too. “What are you looking at, man?”

  “Oh,” Jonah said, realizing he’d been staring. “Just stretching my neck. It’s a little tight.”

  The kid eyed him. “Okay, whatever,” he said, sounding unconvinced.

  A swarm of fallen angels were in the room, dipping, whirling, and causing mayhem in the crowd. The Peacefield High fans and those from the other school were already jeering at one another, and the game hadn’t even tipped off.

  As Jonah stood at the center jump circle and the referee held the ball aloft, he couldn’t help but look past it, into the rafters. A row full of griffins, those half-lion, half-eagle creatures, sat like giant pigeons on a telephone wire on one of the ducts. They gnashed their beaks at one another and flexed their claws.

  He knew what they were there for and what they wanted. He had seen what they could do.

  Jonah forgot to jump when the referee threw the ball.

  “Jonah!” the coach screamed at him, jumping up and slamming his feet down together. “You awake out there?”

  Jonah shook his head and tried to recover on defense, but the other team had already scored.

  “Sorry, guys,” he mumbled to his team, telling himself to focus.

  But the fallen angels had noticed his distraction, and they were making the most of it. Jonah got the ball at the top of the circle, faked out his defender, and drove to the basket. Swooping in from his left and right, though, were two fallen angels, screaming at him.

  “Don’t miss, Jonah!” they jeered. “Don’t miss!”

  He launched himself awkwardly, the ball in his right hand. But he swatted at the air with his left in mid-stride. Jonah landed, and the referee blew the whistle.

  “Traveling!” the man in the striped shirt said as Jonah stood, looking upward again. He was only half aware of the game going on around him anymore.

  “Son,” the referee said. “Ball.”

  Jonah couldn’t hear him, watching a fallen angel fly right above his head, glaring at him.

  The referee blew the whistle and raised his hands into a T. “Technical foul, number thirty-four. Delay of game!” He walked over and snatched the ball from Jonah’s hand.

  “Huh?” Jonah said, shaking his head and pointing his thumb into his chest. “On me?”

  The ref rolled his eyes.

  “Stone!” Coach Marty called out. “Get over here. Now!”

  Jonah trotted over to the sideline.

  “Where are you today, son?” his coach said, looking up at his star player. Then he pointed to the last spot on the bench. “Why don’t you take a seat over there and figure out if you want to play for us tonight or not. Okay?”

  “Yes, Coach,” Jonah said sheepishly, his mind still in a fog.

  When the second quarter started, with his team already down by eleven points, Coach Marty called Jonah over to him. “You ready now?”

  Jonah nodded. “I�
��m ready.”

  He joined the others on the court, determined to make up for his embarrassing mistakes. The crowd cheered when he stepped out, and he waved to them.

  “We want to see a dunk!” a kid screamed.

  “Come on, Jonah! You can do it!” another yelled.

  He felt their enthusiasm fuel him, and he clapped his hands together. It was time to show them the real Jonah Stone.

  His teammate threw the ball in, and instead of letting their point guard get it, Jonah stepped in front of him and grabbed the ball. Dribbling with a new level of intensity, he summoned a bit of his angelic abilities and sped by the defender as if he were standing in cement. He jumped, just inside the free throw line, and sailing through the air, threw down a monstrous one-handed dunk.

  The crowd stood on its feet, screaming and jumping up and down. Jonah raised his hands in the air, beckoning them to cheer louder. He barely noticed the fallen angel sitting up in the rafters beside the griffins.

  The fallen one spoke a word to the winged creatures, and suddenly they descended onto the court. Jonah was running back to play defense when he saw them come.

  Ignore it, Jonah.

  But they sped downward, reaching their talons out to him. Five of them were directly overhead, and then suddenly they surrounded him. He couldn’t see anything.

  “Get out of the way!” he said, swinging his arm out at them. “Go back to where you came from!”

  “Are you okay?” he heard the voice of one of his teammates from behind, but he couldn’t see him, his vision blocked by the griffins. They were screeching loudly now, though, and he instinctively brought his hands up to cover his ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Stop it!” he shouted. “Get away from me!”

  In unison, they flapped their wings and retreated upward. In seconds, they were back on their perch above.

  It took Jonah a moment to realize that he was standing at center court, all alone. The game around him had stopped. The gym was silent. The referees were so stunned they hadn’t thought to blow a whistle.

  All eyes were on him.

  Jonah saw a fallen angel hover just out of his reach, smiling, enjoying the sight of the quarterling embarrassed in front of his entire school.

  Before anyone could say anything, Jonah ducked his head and ran off the court, bursting through the double doors of the gym that led outside.

  THIRTEEN

  BUS STOP

  Jonah ran to his mountain bike and fumbled with the lock, almost completely out of breath. He took a couple of seconds, hands on his knees, to gasp for air. What had happened back there? How could he have let the fallen angels get to him like that? His mind was clearing, and serious embarrassment was setting in. Jonah banged his head on his bike seat as he crouched in the dark.

  “Ugh,” he mumbled. He put his hands over his ears . . . how was he ever going to face his friends again?

  “Jonah! Jonah?” Tariq called out through the darkness.

  “Leave me alone, Tariq,” he said flatly, unlocking his bike and pulling it out of the rack.

  His friend walked toward him, concern etched across his face. “Look, man, I don’t know what happened back there. It was like you snapped or something. What’s going on with you?”

  Jonah slammed his front tire down into the gravel and hopped onto the bike. “I said, leave me alone!” He put his foot on the pedal but didn’t move. “I’m sorry, okay. I don’t know what to tell you. I mean, I could tell you, but you would think I was crazy.” He mumbled this last part almost to himself.

  “Are you sick or something?” asked Tariq, trying to come up with ideas. “Maybe you need to go see the doctor—”

  “That’s not it,” Jonah interrupted. “I’m not . . . sick.” How could he explain this to his friend? He wanted to. He had never wanted to share something with someone so badly in this moment, so that at least another person here would know what he was dealing with. All of the past months of silence were catching up to him. He and his dad weren’t talking, and he couldn’t really talk to Eliza or any of the other quarterlings back in New York.

  So he hadn’t spoken to anyone.

  Not even Elohim, he reminded himself.

  “Well, whatever it was, you know that all that stuff in there”—Tariq pointed back to the gym—“that was kind of . . . weird, right? Look, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Jonah pushed down on the pedal of the bike and rolled past his friend. “I’m fine. Thanks, okay? I just need to sort some things out, that’s all.” He tried to manage a smile as he looked back. “I’ll catch you tomorrow, all right?”

  Tariq wrinkled his brow, waving to him slowly. “Yeah, okay.”

  The sky was cloud-covered as he rode home, the streets in utter darkness except for the street lamps here and there. He replayed the scene in the gym over and over in his mind, but couldn’t shake it.

  I can’t really get away, can I?

  His legs began to pedal faster and faster until he was moving at a high rate of speed past men and women in cars, driving home from work. He didn’t care if they saw him move at blazing speed or not. Soon, he was wheeling into his driveway and throwing his bike into the grass.

  An urge, strong and pressing, moved within him. He knew what he had to do.

  “What are you doing, Jonah?”

  He spun around as he grasped the door handle. The angel was standing right behind him. Her hair fell across her shoulders, black as night, but her eyes sparkled blue with flecks of silver. “You scared me, Cassandra! Man,” he said, catching his breath. “Haven’t I told you to never sneak up on me like that?”

  She stood, a smirk on her face. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Jonah turned toward his guardian angel. “I’m going home. What does it look like?”

  She leaned against the wooden porch post. “You really expect me to believe that? Come on, I know what’s going on. Probably more than you think.”

  “Do you really?” Jonah demanded. “Then where have you been? Have you seen what’s happening in the school? There are fallen angels all over the place and their creatures, doing all sorts of awful things to the students. And where are you? Where are the angels?”

  He paused, trying to bite his tongue.

  She nodded. “Go on . . . you were going to finish with ‘where is Elohim?’ weren’t you?”

  Jonah rolled his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I was.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  She spoke quietly. “There is a plan, and even though you cannot see it, it doesn’t mean that—”

  “Save it, okay? I’m tired of hearing about plans. You keep going ahead with all the plans you want. As long as they don’t involve me.”

  Jonah slammed the door in her face and then stomped into the house.

  He passed by his father’s closed study. The lights were shining underneath the door. Jonah knew that he and his dad were supposed to talk tonight, but Jonah didn’t want to stop and talk. His mind was made up.

  Jonah vaulted the steps four at a time up to his room, changed clothes, and grabbed what he needed. In less than a minute, he was back on his bike, pedaling away from his father, Cassandra, school, his house, and everything else.

  Jonah stood in front of the bus terminal departure board, studying the outbound schedule, looking for whatever would take him farthest away. He had one hundred and three dollars. It was all he had left from the money he had saved mowing grass for neighbors during the summer.

  “Anything far away,” he muttered. Running his finger along the bus chart, one town jumped out. “Buffalo. Hmmm.”

  All he remembered about Buffalo was that it was near Niagara Falls, and that they had taken a trip there when he was six. He had a picture of his mom and him standing underneath the giant falls in long, black ponchos and flip-flops, soaking wet with huge grins on their faces.

  That was all the encouragement he needed.

  “One ticket to take me to Buffalo, New York, please,”
he told the bus station attendant behind the desk.

  The woman glanced at him and then at the schedule. “Sixty-three dollars, please. That bus leaves at seven twenty-two. It’s boarding.”

  Jonah handed her the money and checked the clock behind her. That was in fifteen minutes. She gave him his ticket, and he walked outside and found the bus, ready and waiting.

  He took a seat about halfway back, dropped his backpack at his feet, and settled in, trying to clear his mind. He plugged his headphones into his ears and turned on some music.

  A woman, holding a duffel bag in one hand and the hand of a young girl in the other, struggled down the aisle. She arrived at the two seats across from Jonah, sighing loudly.

  “Anita, get in,” she said wearily. Opening the top compartment, she hefted the bag up and shoved it in. The girl, maybe two years old, stood instead, watching Jonah. He met her bright, brown eyes with his and gave her a small wave. She smiled but hid her face behind the seat.

  “I said get in!” her mother scolded, pulling the girl into the seat beside her.

  Another woman eased herself down the middle of the bus. She wore a rain hat and a brightly colored jacket, and carried a large brown bag. Around her neck hung a huge silver cross.

  The woman stopped in front of Jonah and stared directly at him for a few seconds longer than most normally would. A look of surprise crossed her face, and she seemed to want to say something but didn’t. Jonah glanced away and then looked at her again, uncomfortable with her stare. She shook her head and moved past.

  When the bus was a little more than half full, the door closed and the driver picked up the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for riding Greyhound buses with us this evening. Drive time to Buffalo will be approximately seven hours, with three stops along the way. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  Jonah’s eyes must have closed at some point, lulled to sleep by the bus motor and the cushioned seat. But when a loud clap echoed through the bus, his eyes snapped open.