Into This River I Drown (21 page)

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.

Rosie
and her shotgun aren’t the only ones that show. After she arrives, more townsfolk start pouring into the store, word of the attempted robbery spreading quickly. Their faces are filled with concern, which quickly turns to anger that such a thing could happen in Roseland. This is such a safe place, they say. Things like that don’t happen here. What the hell is going on?

Sheriff Griggs arrives the same time my mother and Christie do.

“Benji,” my mother gasps as she pushes her way through the crowd, wrapping me in a hug. “Christ, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice muffled against her shoulder. She pulls away, and as mothers tend to do, checks for herself, not satisfied until she knows I haven’t actually been shot.

She asks what happened just as Griggs walks into the door. He looks around the store wearily before announcing loudly that the store needs to be cleared. Roselandians grumble but comply. They gather out near the one gas pump, whispering excitedly.

I tell the sheriff and one of his deputies the same thing I would have told my mother. The guy had come in, demanding money. I’d attempted to give him everything out of the register, but he wanted more. The bank, I say, picked up the funds from the safe the day before as they do for all the businesses on Poplar Street. The robber had flashed his gun around, and it’d gone off accidentally. We didn’t see where the bullet had gone, but there didn’t appear to be any damage. Maybe it misfired, I say. I didn’t know. But the shot seemed to scare him. He fled.

“That so?” the sheriff says. “Sounds like you got lucky, Benji. You and your friend Cal, here.”

Cal keeps his face blandly schooled and says nothing.

“Very lucky,” the sheriff repeated. “You got a security setup here, don’t you, Benji?”

“Eh, sorry, Sheriff,” a voice says from behind us. Abe walks out of the back office and down the aisle to where we stood. “Just went back to check the tape myself and there seemed to be a malfunction. The tape is completely blank. Didn’t record a darn thing. You should really get that checked, Benji. Hate to think something could happen again and there’d be no evidence of it.”

The real tape is out behind the store smashed to pieces and buried in the trash, but the Sheriff doesn’t need to know that.

Griggs frowns. “Well, isn’t that just something. Awfully convenient that happened. A shame there’s no video to back up what you’re saying.”

My mother scowls. “You sound like you don’t believe him,” she accuses Griggs. “What the hell else would have gone on here, Sheriff? My son was just
attacked
and you’re making it sound like he had something to do with this!”

Griggs shrugs. “Just asking questions, Lola. You know I have a job to do. If it makes you feel any better, the guy was caught very easily. Apparently someone saw him ditch the gun a few stores down and one of our very own residents made a citizen’s arrest. He’s heading over to the station as we speak.”

The words chill me, but I show nothing on my face because Griggs is watching for any reaction. “That’s good,” I say. “I’m glad he was caught so easy.”

Griggs laughs. “I bet. He’s also shooting off his mouth like you wouldn’t believe!”

“Oh?”

“Yep. Seems to think there was a monster in the store.”

“A monster?” my mother asks, sounding flabbergasted. “What on earth?”