Into This River I Drown

Do youbelieve in the impossible? my father’s voice whispers in my head.

I do. I do believe in the impossible.

I believe because high above the treetops, high above the mountains, the clouds have parted and a brilliant blue light is falling toward the earth. The sounds of the world around me are gone. I cannot hear the wind blowing through the trees, causing them to creak as they bend and sway. I cannot hear the sound of the river flowing in front of me, even though I’m only feet away. I cannot even hear my strangled breath, though my chest surely heaves. The world has gone mute, bowing to the blue fire in the sky.

The light moves like a comet, and the trail it leaves behind is almost as bright as the light itself, leaving an incandescent streak that seems to divide the clouds and the stars left above. There is a low hmmmmmmm that floats through the air, as if it’s vibrating as it falls. The light begins to reflect off the river as it gets closer, the waves throw off flashes of blue and white.

Oh sweet God, I think wildly. What… what?

Impossible. Improbable.

As the falling light gets closer to the earth, the hmmmmmm gets louder and the ground beneath my feet begins to vibrate, the river rocks near the edge clacking together, bouncing off of one another. The vibration worsens and my teeth start to chatter together. The light becomes too bright to look at, and I lower my gaze in fear that I will be blinded. The river rocks rattle violently before they rise into the air, floating four feet above the ground. Thousands of them, as far up and down the river as I can see. There’s a crack across the river as massive pine and maple trees groan against the earth, pulled up, their roots snapping underground.

Coming from the previous silence, this destruction is ear-shattering, massive. The world begins to roar around me and I can do nothing but watch. The boulder that my father’s truck had struck, causing him to flip, begins to split, the divide running down the side like a fault line. It breaks in half and both sides rise into the air.

The light is brighter now, and I hazard a glance, terrified, but unable to look away. For the split second I allow myself to look at it again, my mind registers the light for what it is—fire. Blue fire tinged with arcing lightning, snapping and sizzling. The hmmmmmmmmm has become HMMMMMMMM. My teeth vibrate in their sockets, my bones quake in muscle. The noise crawls along my skin, hairs stand on end, my spine straightening as if electrified. I cry out as I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t know how much more I can take, I don’t know how much more I can stand, because I’m about to be blown apart and I’m sure all that’ll remain of me, my only mark on this earth, will be a fine red mist that falls into the river.

It gets worse before it gets better, a cacophony where all my cells and the membranes of those cells are pulsing and screaming and boiling. My flesh is alive as it crawls, and behind the blackness of my eyelids, the blue light penetrates and explodes, at its brightest now, fireworks blasting in the dark.

I hear the light smash into the ground and feel the earth roll underneath me harshly as if absorbing the blow. A second later, I’m pummeled by a hot blast of air that knocks me off my feet, end over end. I cry out as something scrapes up my back, and then there’s another bright flare in the dark. I land sitting upright, my back pressed against the embankment.

Open your eyes, I tell myself, panting.

No.

Open your eyes!

No! Just my luck, that was a f*cking nuclear bomb and there’s a mushroom cloud forming right in front of me and I’ll—

OPEN YOUR EYES!

I open my eyes.

Trees have been uprooted and lay on their sides, their needles and leaves smoking, but not burning. The ground is littered with stones. The river is covered in debris, ever flowing. And across the river, a pillar of smoke is rising just inside a clearing beyond a hill. My shirt is singed. In my right hand, impossibly—

improbably

—is the blue feather. My blue feather. From a dream so far away from now.

A meteor? Was it a meteor? That’s all it was.

But a sense of urgency befalls me. I want to see it, whatever it is. I want to find out what causes the sky to light up blue and fall to the earth. I want to find it first. Others will have seen it. Others will have heard it. Others will come. I don’t know why, but I know I need to see it first.

The nearest bridge is ten minutes away. I won’t make it in time. People are probably already piling into their cars and trucks, wanting to collect themselves a piece of space rock for their very own. Did you see that? they are asking each other excitedly. Did you feel that? Load up, boys! Let’s go see what the f*ck that was! More and more of them will come and whatever it is that fell will be for everyone and not for me. I don’t know why I think it’s important for me to find it first but—

oh someone please help me i can’t do this on my own

—I can’t shake the feeling that I must get there. I must get there now.

No time to cross the bridge.

The river. The river is shallow here. Unless you’re trapped.

I can do this. I can do this.

I strip down to my boxers, fold the clothes, and hold them under my arm, the feather safely tucked inside. I leave my shoes on the bank. The night air should be cool, but there’s heat radiating from across the river. The water is cold, freezing really, still carrying a melted winter down from the mountain. My nipples pebble and my teeth chatter. The water is up to my knees. I pause as a thick tree branch floats by. Heat pulses against my face. The rocks are slippery against my feet. Another step. The water rises to my groin, and the cold against my testicles is mind-numbing, wiping out all thought in a wave of ice and pain. I gasp… but take another step. And then another. And then another. The water is up to my chest. Another piece of tree floats by, a long thin branch reaching out and scratching my right cheek before I can turn away. It stings.

Another step. Mid-chest, halfway, and through the cold, through the thought of pushing toward a light that fell from the sky, and although I have so many memories to choose from in my twenty-one years of life, only one thought occurs here, midway through the river.

I’m standing where my father died.

Pain threatens to rise, and I’m so cold that I almost let it. There’s still heat against my face, but it’s nothing compared to the cold of the river. I think… I think about dropping my clothes and letting them drift away. I think about lowering my arms. I think about submerging myself in the water, the river closing up and over my head. I think about opening my eyes under the water, opening my mouth and lungs underwater. I think about lifting my feet and letting the current sweep me away. I am here now. I am here, having chosen to walk into this river, and I could drown. I could so easily drown. It would be simple, really. It would just take a moment. And then it would be over.

Another step. I take another step and then another and another until I’m pushing through the river as fast as I can, the water spraying up all around me. The current is swift against my legs, trying to pull me back, telling me to stop running, to just stop, but then it lowers from my chest, to my stomach. From my crotch to my ankles. And then I’m on the other side, shivering, the warmth of the fallen light like a blanket. I take a shuddering breath. The knot in my chest releases.

I dress quickly and shove the feather into the waist of my jeans. There can’t be much time left.

Whatever it is, it has to be big. As I jog up the hill to look down into the clearing, I can see the trees that have been uprooted from the impact, having collapsed in an outward circular pattern as if blown out. My breath quickens. My heart races. I reach the crest of the hill. I close my eyes. The air smells of dusty earth. It’s overwhelming and it invades my senses, but all I want to do is inhale the scent until I’m intoxicated from it, till I’m high off of it. Another shudder rips through me. My head is pounding. I feel inside out. Sweat drips down my face. I open my eyes and look down.

The earth is scorched and smoldering, smoke rising out of a small crater in the center of the clearing. Black char radiates outward through the clearing, long streaks of black against the green and brown of the forest floor. Flecks of orange and red flash but don’t ignite. Toward the center of the crater, the scorch marks change, become less random, more defined. The lines across the crater are angled. Each line looks to serve a purpose, like it has meaning, a distinct reason for being. I view each line, moving my eyes faster, only to realize I’m looking at it too small. I’m focusing too closely. My gaze widens. And now I see the full picture.

Stretched out from the center of the crater, charred into the earth, are the imprints of wings, great wings that appear to be fifteen feet in length each. The tips are jagged and sharp, the width greatest at the end, spilling out from the crater, black lines slashed into green. I look down the length of them, toward the center of the crater.

And there lies a man.

Not. F*cking. Possible.

I almost fall down the hill, I’m leaning so far over. I catch myself before I roll head over heels to the bottom of the steep incline. I can’t process what I’m seeing as it’s so far f*cking beyond the realm of possibility, so far f*cking past the idea of probability, that my mind can’t fathom it. Without thinking about why, I reach back and pull the blue feather from my jeans and clutch it in my hand. It feels hot. It feels like it’s shaking, but that might just be me.

Do you believe in the impossible? my father’s voice whispers in my head again.

I don’t. I don’t believe in the impossible. It’s not real. A man did not just fall from the f*cking sky and land in the middle of the forest in Roseland, Oregon. I did not just see this. This did not happen. And even if it did happen, there is a f*cking logical explanation for this. The FBI agent. The government. Of course! They’re testing some weapon. Some kind of flying weapon thing and it just crashed and that is all. The pilot is probably hurt and needs my help.

That’s it, I tell myself. Also, ignore the feather in your hand that came from a dream. Plausible deniability.

I stumble down the hill, half running, half sliding on the grass. I reach the bottom and stutter to a stop, unsure what to do. That wild, earthy smell assaults me and I’m horrified as it makes me hard, going straight to my dick. And it is an assault, because I can’t stop it, and I don’t want it. So much is crashing through my head that I can’t focus, I can’t make sense of anything, and that smell is making it worse. I stop myself from opening my mouth and sucking in as much air as possible.

I walk to the edge of the crater. Even this close, I can still make out the shapes burned into the ground, and it shorts my mind again. But this close I’m able to see the man. My gaze falls upon him and I am lost.

Fiery red hair, cut close to the scalp, almost buzzed short. Eyes closed, dark lashes against pale skin. His nose is flat and angled, like it was broken at some point and not set correctly. There is a smattering of faint freckles across the bridge, dotting to the cheeks. Lips slightly parted. Dark stubble covering his cheeks and chin, above his mouth, like rust. Neck exposed, pale skin that is almost like milk.

Clothes? There’s… something. A vest? A cape? Sleeveless, strong arms spread on the ground. A bronze band strapped around the left arm near the shoulder. Clear definitions of ropey muscle under deep red hair that grows thicker toward his forearms and then thins on the back of his hands. Hands that are twice the size of my own. His legs are exposed mid-thigh down, covered with red hair that looks like fire covering muscle. Feet as large as his hands.

Who is this? What is this?

A groan comes from the red mouth, low and rough.

I scramble back as quickly as I can, suddenly sure that I don’t want him to see me, sure if he does, I’m dead. My mind is screaming at me to run, to run so very fast. Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to follow something that had fallen out of the sky? I turn and plan to do just that, to run until I’m back up that hill and down the other side, until I’m at the river that I’ll cross so fast it’ll seem like I’m walking on water. I’ll get in my truck and get the f*ck out of here and go back to Little House and pretend none of this has happened, that this is all some fever dream that I’ll eventually forget as I get back to my perfectly quiet and mundane existence. It doesn’t matter that I’m clutching a feather in my hand that came from a nightmare, squeezing it so that the bristles poke against my flesh. It doesn’t matter that I’m haunted by something I don’t believe in. It doesn’t matter that I’m drowning in this river. None of this can be real.

Another groan comes from the man (Man? I think desperately. Man?). Even though I’ve convinced myself to run as fast as I can, I hesitate at the low moan, my feet seeming to stick to the ground. Run! I shriek at myself. Run, you son of a bitch! But I don’t. I slow as I approach a tree that has been partially uprooted on the edge of the clearing. It’s tilted at a precarious angle, its thick trunk looking as if it would only take a gentle push to send it the rest of the way down. It’s this tree I stand behind, pressing my back up against the rough bark, hearing the high-pitched whistling sound coming from my mouth. My skin, still damp from the river crossing, feels like it’s crawling with electricity. This can’t be happening, I tell myself. This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming. I’ve fallen asleep at the store and I just need to wake up. I hit the back of my head against the tree. A dull pain. It’s not enough. Wake up. I hit my head again, harder. Wake up. Again, the pain bright. Wake up!

I’m still in the clearing.

Then there’s movement, from behind me.

I follow the angle of the tree toward the ground until I come to the partially exposed roots. I crouch down and peer through the maze of dirt and roots, seeking protection. The shallow crater is visible, and as I watch, the man sits up. Incredibly, the black lines that had been burnt into the ground around him also rise from the ground, as if they’re attached to him. Flecks of scorched earth fall to the ground, like it’s snowing ashes. They look like burnt bones, remains of something that should be glorious instead of ominous. A feeling of dread rolls through me and my teeth begin to chatter. Sure he can hear them even from the distance that separates us, I grab my jaw to hold my mouth still, ignoring the way my hand shakes. My grip bites into my skin and I know I’ll be bruised there tomorrow, but the pain pushes through the fog that had descended ever since I decided to come to mile marker seventy-seven. It’s like a light has pierced through the shadows and covered me completely, to the point that it’s like I’m blazing.

He grunts as he pushes himself up from the ground, looking massive and terrifying. The burnt black rises with him, cascading down his shoulders, fluttering and twitching. He’s big, far bigger than I first thought. He has at least six inches on me and outweighs me by a good hundred pounds. The vest that had been covering his torso falls to the side, exposing half of his chest. Deep auburn hair covers the skin on his pectorals, and I have a brief moment to wonder what it would feel like to touch him before my heart starts jack-rabbiting as he opens his eyes and looks straight at where I’m hidden.

Sure he’s seen me, I freeze, still clamping my hand over my mouth. A tiny whimper escapes me and he narrows his eyes. But then he looks away, over his shoulder, at the black suspended behind him. He reaches up with one gigantic hand and touches the left one (wing, wing, wing) and cocks his head. Then, an oddity: he rolls his shoulders as if working out a kink and proceeds to shake his whole upper body like a dog shaking off water. Another sound escapes me, a short bark of hysterical laughter that is immediately silenced when the burnt black behind him breaks off and swirls up behind him like it’s caught in a tornado. It spins briefly before exploding outward, then raining down and landing on the forest floor.

He looks toward me again. And begins to walk up the side of the crater.

It would probably be a good idea to run, I think to no avail. My feet still won’t move.

He reaches the top of the crater and stands there scanning the clearing before him. He looks skyward and closes his eyes. His lips move and there’s a low rumbling sound coming from him, but I can’t make out the words. I strain to hear because it suddenly seems important that I know what he is saying, that I should know each of the words pouring out of his mouth. My father’s voice whispers in my ear, telling me to listen, that I just need to listen. I lean forward further and my nose brushes against a paper-thin root strand. It tickles. My nose scrunches up. No. No! You don’t—

Too late. I sneeze. It sounds as loud as a gunshot.

I look back up. The clearing is empty.

Alarms begin ringing in my head. Get the f*ck outta here! I scream at myself. Run and don’t look back! I spin around and stand, looking over my shoulder as I begin to run. One step, two steps, three—

I crash into something amazingly solid, knocking me off my feet and onto my back. My head raps against the ground and there’s a bright flash. I groan and reach up to hold the back of my head.

A deep chuckle from above me. I open one eye in a half squint.

The man from the crater stands above me, peering down at me like I’m the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. His head is turned slightly to the left, his dark eyes appearing black in the moonlight that is poking through the clouds. He’s grinning, showing strong teeth, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to eat me alive. Then he speaks and turns my world upside down.

“Benjamin Edward Green,” he says, his voice flowing over me like warm water. He sounds absurdly happy and this causes my stomach to twist in knots. “Twentyone years of age. Born February 17, 1991 under an amethyst moon at 2:32 in the morning. Parents are Lola Ann Green and Edward Benjamin Green.” As he says my father’s name, a brief shadow crosses his eyes, but it’s gone before I can be sure it’s there. I can’t be sure any of this is happening. “Grandparents are Gerald and Linda Green and Mark and Sarah Fisette.” He stops and watches me.

“Uh.” That’s all I can say because my mind has begun to fracture a bit. As much as I don’t believe it to be so, as much as the last twenty-four hours has been surreal (Oh, it goes back further than that, I think, detached), I can’t ignore the man standing above me. I can’t ignore his voice, that voice that I refuse to believe is familiar, but know to be so. It comes from some far-off place, like it’s a dream—

you shouldn’t be here

—that I can’t be sure I’ve woken up from. He’s still watching me, waiting for some kind of response, but I’m somehow at the river in my dream, still feeling his arm wrapped protectively around my chest, his massive body pressing against my back—

you will drown

—like I need to be saved, like I’m precious and need to be held. My eyes begin to burn because—

i cannot allow that to happen

—part of me doesn’t want this to be a dream. Some small, secret part of me wants this to be real, to have him standing above me and be real because it would mean I am not alone anymore, that even though I’m pretty sure he’s going to kill me, I wouldn’t be alone. My thoughts are suddenly getting muddy, a light haze falling over my vision. Too much, I think. This is all too much.

He leans over and his grin widens. So many teeth. “Benji,” he says, and he sounds so f*cking happy that I ache down to my bones, causing me to shudder. He reaches out and touches my right hand, a look of wonder on his face, his dark eyes flashing. I follow his gaze and see the feather still in my hand, bent oddly and ruffled, but still there, somehow.

He looks about to speak again, but then he snaps his head up as he rises quickly, staring off to the west toward Roseland as if he’s been spooked, like he hears something I cannot. I half expect his ears to twitch and stand up away from his head. He’s tense now, his shoulders stiff. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but I don’t dare. That sharklike grin is gone, replaced by a growing scowl.

“What is it?” I hear myself ask hoarsely as my vision begins to tunnel. “What’s wrong?”

“Others,” he snaps, his ire evident on his face. “They’re coming. I can see their threads. It’s time to leave.”

“I’m tired,” I say quietly, and my voice sounds so far away. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can make it back across.” I close my eyes and start to fall.

Before I’m gone completely, I feel strong arms gather me up, clutching me tightly. As I’m swallowed by the dark, I hear a voice that says, “I will take you safely across the river.” And it follows me down until I’m gone.





In the dark, this is what I hear:

Big Eddie says, “By the time we finish, it’ll be so cherry. You just wait and see, Benji. When we’re done, she’ll purr and gleam, and when the sun hits her just right, your heart will jump in your chest and you’ll know what love really is. And it will shine.”

Nina Fisette says, “There was a time that was blue, when the air around me just blew. We knew he was blue, and knew what to do. I see it, all around. What did you do? He’s blue and what did you do?”

A new voice, a strange voice. “Gonna get you across the river and get you away because they’re coming and I can’t tell who they are. Why can’t I tell who they are? Why is nothing working? Oh, Father, can you hear me? I am but your humble servant. Help me protect Benjamin Edward Green. Help me to do what I must to keep him safe.”

A woman says, “This is Janet Tadesco with Channel Four Action News. I’m at mile marker seventy-seven on the Old Forest Highway just outside Roseland. As you can see behind me, emergency crews are working to remove a pickup truck that appears to have lost control and flipped into the Umpqua River. We’re told the driver and sole occupant was forty-seven-year-old Edward Green from Roseland, who was pronounced dead at the scene. At the moment, it is unclear just how long Green was in the Umpqua and whether or not his death was caused by the impact or if the river played a factor. We’ll have more as this story develops.”

My father: “Ten years old already, Benji? Pretty soon, you’re going to be all grown up and will probably be bigger than I am! You’re going to be a big guy and you will take this whole world by storm. Just you wait.”

Pastor Thomas Landeros says, “Into the ground we lower a man who was a husband. A father. A friend, both to us and this community. God’s plan may not make sense to us right now, and it may even make us angry, but rest assured there is a reason for all things, even if that reason is hidden from our eyes. Isaiah 41:10 reads: ‘Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee; Yea I will help thee. I will uphold you with the right hand of my righteousness.’”

A deep voice, a strong voice that is already growing more familiar: “That water was cold! Shit. The truck. Oh, I love that truck. Looks like I’m going to have to drive. Unless you want to wake up and take over. That would be great, right about now. I’m not sure how good I’m going to be at driving. I get the idea, but sometimes things are harder than they look.”

My mother says, “He’s gone, Benji. Oh my God, Big Eddie is gone. I don’t know how it—oh, Christ. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. My heart—oh, how my heart hurts.”

Christie Fisette says, “You can sleep now, finally. We’re going to stay here as long as you need us. Sometimes it’s harder to ask for help the more you need it. So there is no need to ask us. We know what you need. You sleep and let us carry you for a while.”

Big Eddie says, “And then I got down on one knee and—Lola, you stop hitting me! Ha ha ha! Benji should hear this! He’s old enough now! So, as I was saying, I got down on one knee and I said, ‘Lola Fisette, I don’t have a ring right now. I don’t have a lot of money right now. I actually don’t have a lot of anything right now aside from my big dick, but if you promise to marry me, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.’ And you know what she said? She looks me straight in the eye and says, ‘Your dick ain’t that big!’”

Sheriff Griggs: “I’m sorry, Lola. There just doesn’t appear to be evidence of foul play involved. It looks like Big Eddie just got distracted on his way out of town and lost control. There’s just not any indication that he was run off the road, and believe me when I say we looked. I’d not close the book on this matter if I wasn’t 100 percent sure. You’ve known me since we were kids, and Big Eddie knew me longer. We all grew up together, along with your sisters. You know I am a man of my word. I promise you.”

Mary Fisette, overheard: “I know he loved you, Lola, but he worshipped the ground Benji walked on. There is nothing Big Eddie wouldn’t have done for him. But he’s not here and you are. And you need to help him. You’re losing him, Lola. It’s been almost two years since the accident, and Benji is pulling further and further away. You’ve got to do something before it’s too late. He’s drowning, honey, and I don’t know how much longer he can last. You lost your husband, but he lost his father, the only one he will ever have.”

That strong voice: “Okay, how hard can it be? You’ve seen people do this for decades. Just put that key thing into the slot thing and move the stick thing to the ‘D’ thing. I can do this. I am a driver. I can do this. Bless me, Father. Please.”

Big Eddie says, “You are my son, the only one God saw fit to give me.” Big Eddie says, “You must be strong. You must be brave.”

Big Eddie says, “Wake up. You gotta wake up, Benji. He’s come down from On

High because you called him and you’ve got to wake up. He’s been waiting, yes, but you helped bring him here, down to this place. You’ve got to help him. He’s going to act big, he’s going to talk big, but deep down, you two are the same. You must remember this. You are the same. You grieve. You think yourself alone. He will need you as much as you’ll need him. It’s almost time for you to stand. It’s almost time for you to stand and be true.”

I—

Wake up.

Dad, I can’t just—

Wake up.

I miss you so damn—

WAKE UP!

I—





—open my eyes. I’m in the cab of the blue Ford, and we’re flying through the

dark, the engine of the truck roaring as the headlights illuminate the road before us. I’m covered in my dad’s old coat, my skin still slightly chilled.

I look over at the man who fell from the sky, his big hands wrapped tightly on the steering wheel at ten and two, just like I was taught at sixteen. His eyes are wide, his forehead scrunched up in concentration, his lips pulled back in a grim smile. I gasp and reach for the passenger door, trying to put as much distance between us as I can.

“Uh,” I say articulately.

He glances over at me, dark eyes flashing, his smile growing wider. “I’m driving!” he says with an excited rumble. “I didn’t think I could get the hang of it, but I’m driving.” His gaze never leaves my face.

“Watch the road,” I whisper.

He ignores me, his eyes still on mine. “Sure as shit, I didn’t think I’d get it that fast. I mean, I’ve seen you people drive before, and I thought, how hard could it be? I mean, you obviously weren’t going to do it, because you decided it was a good time to pass out.”

“Slow down,” I say.

“I mean, I’ve seen you drive this old truck before, but you never go this fast.

You drive like Abe does in that little car of his—”

“Slow the f*ck down!” I scream at him.

My sudden outburst startles him, and he jerks the wheel to the left and the Ford

follows with a groan of metal and rubber, the rear beginning to fishtail and swing to the right. There’s a moment when all the weight of the truck seems to be on the passenger side and I think we’re going to flip, but then that passes and we’re spinning out. The truck comes to a halt in the middle of the two-lane highway, having spun in an almost complete circle before stalling in the road. The only sounds are the ticking of the cooling engine and our panting breaths.

Then, “You’ve got a loud yell for such a little guy,” he says, arching his right eyebrow in appreciation. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you yell that loud before, Benji. Not even when you were really angry.”

My brain can’t compute this, this intimacy, him speaking as if he knows me. My brain doesn’t seem to be computing a whole hell of a lot, now that I think about it. It’s probably because I’ve completely lost it, I tell myself. I’ve gone completely and utterly batshit insane. It’s the only thing that would make any sense.

“Who. The f*ck. Are you?” I ask, ignoring the waver of my voice

He rubs a hand over the rusty stubble on his face. He appears to be trying to choose his words carefully before he speaks, but seems to be having difficulty doing so. This, of course, only makes it worse. People who choose their words can choose to lie. “Calliel,” he says finally, averting his eyes from mine. “My name is Calliel and I’m the guardian angel for Roseland and its people. And I’m here because of you. You called me, Benji. You called me and I came. Oh, and I’ve always wanted to tell you, because it hurt me to see you so. I’ve always wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your dad. Big Eddie was a great man. He was a great man and I’m sorry.”

I wish he’d lied.





corporeal

So,eitherhe’s certifiable, or I am, or we both are.

That’s the only thing I can think as I stare at him as he starts up the truck again, the grin back on his face at the purr of the Ford’s rebuilt eight-cylinder engine. He straightens out the steering wheel, pulling us back into the right lane. I am astonished when I feel mildly amused on top of everything else kicking around in my head when he keeps the speed below thirty miles an hour, grumbling under his breath that he’s doing Abe proud. He keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes, but he’s trying to be sneaky about it. It does no good for him to try and hide it as I am still plastered against the far door and facing him, refusing to take my eyes off of him.

Him. Calliel.

I’m the guardian angel of Roseland and its people.

And I’m here because of you….

“How did we get back across the river?” I ask finally, unsure what else to say. He stops muttering to himself about speed and starts watching me again until I

remind him to pay attention to the road. “I’m not going to crash,” he says, his brow furrowing. “Have a little faith, huh?”

Faith. That’s funny, coming from a man who claims he is an…. Jesus Christ. This is not a real thing. He is not a real thing. He’s just a man. He’s just a normal—

“I carried you across,” he says. “You’re light and I’m big, so it wasn’t that hard.”

“How come I’m not wet?”

He snorts. “I carried you above the water.”

My eyes bulge out of my head. “You can walk on water?” I whisper.

“What?” He laughs. “Of course not. I waded across and carried you over my head so you wouldn’t get wet.” He laughs again. “Walk on water. You’re funny.”

I didn’t think it was funny. At all. “Why didn’t you just fly over? Angels have wings right? If you were really an angel, you would have just flown over.” Logic wins every time.

He shakes his head. “Can’t seem to pull them out here. I tried. I stood there on the riverbank for a minute or two, but nothing happened. I don’t know if it has to do with me becoming corporeal or what.”

“Cor-what?”

He shrugs. “Physical. Real. Here.”

“Did anyone see you crossing the river?”

“No. I got you back in the truck in time. There were people coming, though. I could hear them. I came down from On High with a crash, so I’m not surprised. I didn’t think it was going to be that loud, you know? Or that bright. We passed a couple of cars before you woke up, but no one tried to stop us. I couldn’t tell who they were like I normally could. I couldn’t feel them. I didn’t want to take any chances. I kept you safe, just like I said I would.” He says this last in a growl, like he expects me to contradict him. I’m too overwhelmed to even really consider his words.

“Oh.” Then, sudden panic, clawing at my throat. “Where is it?” I gasped, rubbing my hands over the seat frantically, my dad’s coat falling off me. “Where did you put it? Did you leave it behind? Don’t tell me you f*cking left it!”

He glances at me, a worried expression on his face. “Where’s what?”

“The feather, dammit! Where did you put the feather!”

“Benji,” he says quietly, pointing at the seat next to him. “It’s here. It’s right here.”

It is. In the dark, in my panic, I couldn’t see it. I snatch it up, sure he’s going to try and take it from me. It warms instantly in my hands. I watch him with wary eyes, wondering how I could have possibly gotten to this point.

“You know where that came from, right?” the man named Calliel asks me.

I dreamed it real. “Just found it outside,” I mutter, looking away.

“Sure, Benji. Okay.” He doesn’t push it, but he’s not fooled.

Silence, for a time. Then, “You’re just f*cking with me, right? This is a joke?”

He laughs, a deep thing that sounds like it comes from the pit of his stomach. “No. No joke. I’m not that big of a joke-teller. I hope that’s okay. But I sure like driving this truck. This is cherry, right, Benji? This ride is so cherry. Isn’t that what Big Eddie used to say?”

I can’t speak.

We drive on in the dark, a hand of ice wrapped around my heart.