Into This River I Drown (52 page)

Something wet drips on my forehead. I open my eyes again.

It’s dark, though there must be a light somewhere because it’s not pitch black. I’m lying on my side on a floor. It feels like rough carpet beneath me. My clothes are soaked to the skin, my hair wet and plastered against my forehead. I try to push myself up, but my arms are restrained behind my back. My legs are tied together. I wiggle my fingers and feel hard, thick plastic. It takes me a moment to realize what it is.

Zip ties. The sheriff’s department made a big deal about them when they arrived, saying they were less chafing than metal handcuffs and easier to put on whoever was being arrested. The backs of my hands are pressed together, fingers pointed out. My hands feel like they’re going numb.

Griggs.

Boss,
he called her.

Christie.

Everything hits at once. I cry out against the gag in my mouth, banging my head on the floor, trying to make myself sleep again, trying to knock the thoughts out of my head. Cal’s eyes on mine, the surprise, the horror. The pain. The love. Oh,
God
, so much love there, and how could I have never seen it before? How could I not have realized?

And then he fell….

Griggs. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to rip his bones from his body, and once it’s done, I’ll go to the river and float away. I ache with the thought of it.

A muffled voice growls at my right.

My eyes are adjusting to the weak light emanating from somewhere. It’s not so much a room I’m in as it’s a shack. The walls and ceiling are dilapidated and leaking water. Rain thunders down on the roof, and a peel of thunder rumbles through the air, causing the shack to quiver on its foundations.

There’s a small camping lantern set on a card table pressed up against the far corner of the room. Two dark light bulbs swing overhead. Piled against the wall near the table are a dozen black trash bags, stuffed full, straining the plastic. One has split open and lies on the floor, spilling out its contents. Empty antifreeze bottles. Empty brake fluid containers. Plastic bottles with holes cut through the top.

If what your father told me is correct,
Corwin whispers in my head,
then they could be supplying methamphetamines up and down the West Coast.

But this looks small-time. Dirty bathtub bullshit in this dirty fucking shack. It smells awful in here, the stench almost making me gag, a mixture of fumes from the discarded bottles. If they are making meth in here, it couldn’t have been a lot, not the size Corwin was talking about. What the fuck did my dad know?

Another muffled growl.

I crane my head to the left.

Abe has his back against the wall, his arms tied behind him, a sharp jut of bone sticking out of his forearm, tearing his flesh. He’s completely gray, sweat pouring off his skin. The cloth wrapped around his mouth and neck looks soaked. Our gazes lock, and his eyes are filled with such relief I can see him trying to smile around the gag. The smile falters as a tremor rolls through him, and he tilts his head back against the wall, his face twisting into a grimace against the pain.

I cry out around the gag, my anger almost overwhelming. How could they want to hurt him? All he wants to do is live out the remainder of his days in this goddamned fucked-up little town. All he wants is to make up problems with his car so he can come and sit and chat with me all day. All he wants is to one day close his eyes, only to open them and see his beloved Estelle looking back at him. He never wanted this. He never asked for this. It’s my fault as much as it is theirs.

The archangel Michael warned me—
you may get the answers you desire
.
But remember this: sometimes the past is better left alone.

But I didn’t leave it alone. I couldn’t.

I kick my feet and hop/roll over to Abe. By the time I reach him, my wrists are rubbed raw from the cuffs and my whole body is a bundle of exposed nerves, but it doesn’t matter. If we’re going to die in this fucking pit, then we’ll face them together.

I rest my head on his outstretched legs for a moment to gather my strength and he makes a soothing sound at the back of his throat, as if he’s trying to calm me. A sob bursts from my throat, and it’s all I can do to keep from curling up in a ball and waiting for the end. Abe makes the noise again and twitches his leg a little bit. I know he’s trying to let me know he’s here with me, I’m not alone. He doesn’t know that makes it worse. This is my fault.

I lift myself off his lap, jerking myself up despite the sharp flare of pain. I rest my back against the shack wall, brushing my shoulder against Abe’s. I turn my head to look at him. He tries to smile again. I almost break, but not quite. Not yet.

I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall. Abe lays his head on my shoulder and we sit there, in the squalid dark, water dripping down on us, the storm raging outside. I try to turn my mind off, but I can’t. I think of my mother and wonder if she knows of her sister’s betrayal. What about the rest of the Trio? Nina, surely not, but what about Mary?

I think of Joshua Corwin, special agent with the FBI, now resting in the ground, a hole in the back of his head, his body ravaged to hide his identity.

I think of Estelle, a woman I barely remember but know I love, if only because she loved Abe with her whole heart.

I think of Rosie, sitting in her diner, a mischievous smile on her face.

Doc Heward in his office, squeezing a stress ball with the name of an anti-inflammatory medication on the side.

Jimmy Lotem, from the hardware store, and his poor mother with cancer.

Eloise Watkins and her long Friday cigarettes.

Pastor Thomas Landeros, his hand on my back as a coffin is lowered to the ground.

A stone angel, silent but always watching.

The archangel Michael, his secretive smile, his Strange Men.

Big Eddie. Big Motherfucking Eddie. My father. The man I will worship for the rest of my life, no matter how short that might be.

Abraham Dufree, my best friend. The way the skin around his eyes crinkles deeply when he smiles and laughs.

And Calliel. I think of the guardian angel Calliel. His dark eyes. His bright smile. His red hair. The freckles on his nose and shoulders. The way he held me. The way he kissed me. The way he loved me. The sunrises. The dreams he saved me from, even if he was just trying to save me from the truth. The way he protected me. The way he guarded me. The blue lights. His massive wings.

I take in a deep breath and wonder, like my father, if the end will hurt. It’s almost comforting to know even my father had fears, that he wasn’t perfect. He might have been the tallest, he might have been the fastest, and he might have been the greatest man alive, but he was still a man.

The door to the shack suddenly bangs open, letting in a cool blast of air that knocks back the stink of the room. There’s another flash of lightning, followed by a quick rolling blast of thunder. The storm has to be on top of us now.

Griggs is first into the room, his sheriff’s uniform soaked, even with the heavy coat he wears. He sees us staring at him, and he smiles, opening his coat to reveal the hunting rifle. He walks farther into the shack.

And then she follows him in. My aunt. Christie, one-third of the Trio. My mother’s sister. The
boss
. Her eyes are flat, her mouth a thin line, water dripping down her face, smearing her makeup, making her appear ghoulish. She catches me looking at her and reaches up to wipe her eyes. Her mascara smears, and it looks like she’s now wearing a black mask that trails down her cheeks. “Both awake, I see,” she says.

“We need to do this now and get it done and over with,” Griggs snaps. “Teddy and Horatio will be back with the truck in a couple hours. We need to finish packing up the rest of the site before they return.”

“We have some time, George,” my aunt says. “I doubt they’ll be able to return in this storm as it is. I told them to call when they were heading back, but I also told them to stay and start setting up the new site if it looks to be too much to travel in this storm. Of all the days for it to rain.” She sighs, showing just how inconvenient this weather is for her.

Griggs snorts. “Fucking rain. You’d think God was out to get us.”

I’m cold, and it has nothing to do with how wet I am.

Christie walks over to the table and turns the lantern up to its highest setting, chasing away some shadows and creating new ones. The light illuminates a switch on the wall. She flips it, and the two light bulbs overhead burst into life. The light is almost blinding. Stark. “You need to call in the bridge,” she tells Griggs. “Let them know that a concerned citizen called you, saying that it looks like an accident has occurred. Your deputies will be too busy with the town to do anything about it now, but at least it’ll look like the accident happened when the storm hit. It’ll make things easier later, when they find the Ford.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was already going to do it,” the sheriff grumbles. “Don’t need you fucking harping on my back. Christ.”

“George,” Christie snaps. “Shut your fucking mouth and do what I tell you without complaint. I’m getting sick of your attitude. I’d hate for you to be a situation that needed to be rectified.”

I’m shocked when Griggs looks contrite—cowed, even. He mutters something under his breath, but then he nods and moves toward the door again, squeezing the radio on his shoulder. “Dispatch, come in.” He lowers his voice, and I can’t hear the rest of the conversation aside from an occasional screech of static.

Christie pulls out her cell phone and flips it open, presses the call button, and puts it to her ear. “Walken,” she says after a moment. “They’re here. No. No. Traynor’s dead.” She glances over at Abe and me. “I’m surprised, too, but he always was a little sociopath. We’re better off in the long run without him. No. Yes. Cal Blue is dead. No one could survive that fall.”

My anger rises again, as does my heartache. It’s like poison traveling through my body, and I allow myself to settle in it. It feels like fire.

Christie turns and continues to talk on the phone. As soon as her back is turned, Abe raises his head off my shoulder and nudges me sharply. I look at him and his eyes are narrowed. He nods down at the space between us. I widen my eyes slightly and shrug. I don’t know what he wants. He makes sure my gaze is on his, then very pointedly looks down between us. I glance back at Christie, who is arguing softly into the phone. Griggs is still preoccupied with the radio. I look down between us.

Clutched in his left hand is a pocketknife, the blade closed. Estelle’s gift from so very, very long ago, somehow missed by Griggs and Christie.

I love you, my husband. Forever, Este.

I nod. Not much time.

I move as close to him as I can get, keeping my eyes on Griggs and Christie. They’re still distracted. Abe grips one side of the knife, pointing the closed blade at me. I move my arms behind me toward him, ignoring the pain that snarls in my shoulder. My fingers brush against the metal. I extend my thumb and forefinger and—

Christie turns to look at us, frowning. I glare at her, staying still. She turns back to the phone, saying, “I don’t
care
what you think—” and I grasp the blade between my fingers. My fingers are wet and the blade slips before I can get a good grip on it. I grab it again. Slip. My hands are starting to sweat, and we don’t have fucking
time
for this and—

“She’s
what
?” Christie snarls. “Fucking Lola! Dougie didn’t talk to her before I got to him, did he? Shit. Fine, put her on the phone.”

I stare at her, the knife all but forgotten. Perversely, she turns to me and brings her finger to her lips, winking at me as she shushes me.

“Lola!” she says into the phone. “I’m fine, love. Don’t worry. No. No, I forgot something up at Big House and drove back to get it, and by the time I got here, it started raining cats and dogs!”

I shout against the gag, the sound muffled but still carrying in the small room. My aunt narrows her eyes and pulls my gun out of her coat pocket. She says, “Hold on a moment,” into the phone and puts it against her shoulder as she takes five large steps over to where we sit against the wall. I only have a moment to brace myself, but it’s not enough, and galaxies of stars explode across my vision as she smashes the gun against the side of my head. The pain is so overwhelming and bright I’m unable to make a sound. Through the haze, I hear Abe spitting around his own gag, trying to put himself in front of me. My vision clears momentarily, and she pushes Abe back against the wall, pressing the barrel of the Colt against his forehead. Her words, however, are for me.

“Make another sound,” she hisses, “and I’ll put a bullet in his head right now. We clear?”

I nod, feeling fresh blood trickle down my neck.

She puts the phone back to her ear. “Sorry, sister. No, it was just the TV, the volume got loud suddenly. Must have been from the storm. What?” She frowns down at me as she lowers the gun, taking a step back. “Benji? I haven’t seen him. The station’s closed? No, he’s not here. Are you sure he’s just not over in the Shriner’s Grange? I can’t see Little House clearly through the rain, but I don’t think his truck is there. No. Abe and Cal too? I’m sure they’re fine, honey. I’m sure of it. If they are all gone, then that must mean they’re all together. They’ll be okay.” She smiles at me as she says, “Anyway, Cal is such a big guy. He won’t let anything happen to them, I just know it.”

Bitch,
I say with my eyes.
I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking rip your head off.

“Just stay in the church with the town until the storm passes, okay? I’ll stay here at Big House where it’s nice and dry. Call me when the rain lets up and I’ll meet you. If they’re not back by then, we can go looking together, but I promise you they’re fine. Don’t worry so much. Okay. Okay. Love you too.” She sighs and disconnects the call. She stares down at her phone for a moment. She shakes her head and slips it back in her pocket.

She looks over at us and brushes her hands over her face. I’m pressed tightly against Abe and hope she can’t see between us. Abe has pressed the edge of the pocketknife into my hand again, and I’m pulling at the blade with my fingers after having stretched them to the point of pain to dry them on my shirt. My head is pounding but I’m trying to push through it to focus on the knife.