Into This River I Drown

We’re seated at the table, his mood suddenly shifted toward happiness again

(which might or might not have to do with the Lucky Charms in front of him). My stomach growled as I got dressed and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since the previous day, and it was now almost noon. Trying to keep it light and from sounding like a question, I asked him if he ate food. He was still glowering at me after I made him put a shirt on while he told me that he consumed a “sort of energy” around him when he was On High (I started singing “Angels We Have Heard On High” in my head for the hundredth time). I told him I was flat out of “sort-of energy” and told him I had cereal. He scowled at me as I placed a bowl of Lucky Charms in front of him, poking at it with a finger until I told him to stop it and use a damn spoon. I thought he was going to chuck the silverware at my head or shoot me with some kind of angel laser death beam. He did neither, instead gripping the spoon tightly, scooping up a green clover, and touching it with his tongue tentatively. He licked it a few times before he finally put it in his mouth. The look on his face and the sounds that followed suggested he had either never tasted anything so wonderful, or he was literally having an orgasm in my kitchen. This unfortunately led to a billion more questions in my head, wondering if angels could have orgasms, and if it would be like some kind of celestial goo. Then I realized what I was thinking about and immediately put a stop to it.

“God,” he moans now, milk dribbling down his lips to his beard. “This sure is good. I think I would like some more, please. Can you just give me the green ones this time? I think I’d like a bowl of just those. The other ones are getting in the way of the green ones on my tongue.”

“I don’t think they make Lucky Charms that way,” I say, somewhat disgusted by the way he’s eating, but still unable to turn away. It’s a sugar disaster in the making.

“They should,” he says seriously, grabbing the box from my hand and then peering inside. He reaches in and snags a handful and proceeds to pick out the green clovers. One sticks to his lip as he chews and the look he gives me is one of such pleasure that I can’t help but chuckle at him. He flicks his tongue out to snag it and I stop chuckling.

No . No f*cking way that’s going to happen. I’m not even going to— He stills, then jerks his head to the left. His jaw twitches. His eyes are wide as he stares out the kitchen window to the front of Little House. “Pattern,” he whispers. “Shapes. Design.”

I’m alarmed. “Cal, what is it?” I look out the window but can’t see anything, not that I should be expecting to. Even with my doubt, for a moment I think maybe I’ll see threads falling from the sky, woven intricately with a shining material that causes the heart to ache. But there’s nothing. “What’s going on?”

“He’s coming here,” Cal growls. “He’s coming here and he should stay away.”

“Who? Who’s coming here?”

He glances over at me, eyes hard. “You let me handle this,” he says suddenly.

I snort nervously. “Like hell. I don’t think you’re quite ready for visitors just yet.”

“I’m your guar—”

“I was just fine before you got here,” I remind him, even though we both know it’s a lie. “I don’t need you speaking for me. Not when I can speak for myself. Who’s coming?”

He doesn’t need to answer—I can hear a car now coming up the drive. It passes by Big House. It stops next to the Ford near the porch, the sun reflecting red and blue off the lights on the top. Sheriff Griggs opens the car door. Cal stands quickly, tipping over his chair.

“Shit,” I groan. “What the hell is this, now?”

“George Griggs,” Calliel spits out through gritted teeth. “Fifty years of age. Bastard. Born May 4, 1961 under an emerald moon at 7:45 at night. I must not be blasphemous. Parents are Brian and Jennifer Griggs. I must not decide the definition of sin. Grandparents are Gerald and Molly Jackson. I am a guardian. I am a servant. I am not the judge. I am not the jury. I am not the executioner. I do not decide fate.” He’s snarling by the end.

And little blue flashes are starting to appear around him, growing in brightness, here on a spring afternoon in Little House.

Sheriff Griggs pulls himself out of the car, looking back toward the main house.

I stumble over to Cal, nearly tripping on his overturned chair. I stand in front of him, pulling the curtains shut over the kitchen window while the sheriff’s back is turned. I reach up and cup Cal’s face in my hands, like Nina had done. His red stubble is rough against my palms. His lips are still moving, saying something that I can’t quite understand. I can’t even be sure it’s in English. I pull on his face until he looks at me, and I almost reel away. There is fire in his eyes, but it is so much more. It’s as if he is burning from the inside out, his body ready to explode. The blue flashing lights get brighter and begin to take their shape behind him, a shape now becoming familiar. If I don’t stop this now, it’ll only get worse from here. The sheriff will be able to see the heavenly explosion occurring in my kitchen and I won’t have words to persuade him otherwise.

“Do you see me?” I ask Calliel, not knowing how much time we have. He growls at me, the outline of wings taking shape.

“Do you see me!”

“I see you,” he snarls into my face.

“Then you need to calm down. You need to stop this.” I drop my voice lower as I continue, hearing the sheriff’s boots crunching in the gravel as he walks toward Little House. “If he sees you like this, we won’t be able to explain it away. Do you understand me? He’ll try to take you away. You’ve got to calm down.”

“He can try,” Cal snaps. “I can make it so he goes away. I could do it if I really wanted to. Send him to the black. Send him in deep.”

“You are not judgment,” I whisper harshly, throwing his words back at him. “You are not jury. And you are not the executioner. You are the protector.” I breathe a sigh of relief as the blue lights begin to fade, as the fire begins to die in his eyes.

“I am the protector,” he says to me. He reaches up with one big hand and places it over mine still holding his face. “Benji, I am the protector.”

“You are. But you need to let me handle this, okay? I need you to trust me. Can you do that? For me?”

He nods as the blue lights disappear. There’s a knock at the door.

“Stay here,” I tell him as he looks at me like that is the stupidest idea he’s ever heard. I’m not surprised to hear him follow me as I walk to the front door. He pauses in the entryway to the kitchen and I almost snort with laughter as he puffs himself up, trying to look as big as possible. He scowls at me.

I open the door, blocking Cal from view, leaving the screen door between us. “Sheriff,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Two times in two days. Beginning to think you’re stalking me.”

“Benji,” he drawls. “Stopped by the store to speak with you. Was surprised when Christie told me you had the day off. Good for you. Late night last night?”

“No later than usual,” I say evenly.

“How about you open the screen so we can talk?”

“Aren’t we talking fine the way it is?”

“Benji,” Sheriff Griggs says, shaking his head as if he’s disappointed. “There’s no need to have an attitude. You know I’m an old friend of the family. I’ve known you since you were born. Hell, I knew Big Eddie since we were both four years old. Thick as thieves, we were.”

“Funny, that,” I say, my voice hardening. “Especially since my father’s not here to say otherwise. I guess I’ll just have to take your word on it, huh?”

He changes tact suddenly. “What were you doing out near seventy-seven last night, Benji?”

He’s trying to catch me off guard. “I never said I was out there.”

He narrows his eyes. “Mayor Walken swears he saw your truck hightailing back toward town on the old highway.”

Dammit. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to have gotten back unseen. “Does he? And what was our illustrious mayor doing out there so late?”

“Surely you’ve heard by now,” he scoffs. “Lord knows this town is full of busybodies who have nothing better to do than talk.”

“Slept in this morning, Sheriff. First day off in long time, remember? I just got up. No one has told me anything.”

He’s watching me, looking for deception. I stare right back, unwavering. I might not know what the hell I’m doing and I might believe this man to be the ultimate liar, but he’s still only Griggs and he doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest. “A light,” he finally says. “Fell out of the sky.”

Calliel finally breaks, emitting a low growl that causes me to shiver. Oh crap, I have time to think before the door is ripped open the rest of the way. He maneuvers himself so that he’s put himself slightly ahead of me. I should be annoyed at this (and maybe I am, a little) but it’s almost worth it to see the look of surprise on Griggs’s face as he takes a step back at the sight of the big guy before him. Cal is scowling at the sheriff and still growling, the rumbling in his throat getting louder.

Griggs recovers from his surprise and stands upright again, imposing but still shorter than Cal by an inch or two. Cal is obviously not impressed with the man before him. I elbow him sharply, keeping my eyes on the sheriff. Cal ceases his rumbling and throws a glare my way before looking back at Griggs.

“And you are?” Griggs asks curiously. I don’t miss the way he raises his hand subtly to his side, flicking off the leather strap to the holster that houses his service pistol. I try to push my way back up in front of Cal, but he raises a big hand and presses me back, trying to force me behind him completely.

“I am Calliel,” he says flatly. “Benji is my friend. Your tone is not appreciated, Griggs.”

The Sheriff looks bemused. “Christie mentioned Benji had a new… friend,” he says snidely. “Cal Blue, was it? From California?”

Goddammit, Christie. Keep your f*cking mouth shut for once!

“Whereabouts in California you from, Cal? Or is it Calliel?”

“Not your concern,” Cal says, starting to growl again.

“He’s just visiting,” I say, pushing past him again. “He’s a friend from out of town. Not that it’s really any of your business, Sheriff.”

“So he was the one driving the Ford last night, I take it?” Griggs asks, already knowing the answer. “I had wondered why the mayor sounded confused. To tell you the truth, it scared him out of his mind a bit.” The sheriff chuckles, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Says he thought it was Big Eddie driving the Ford again, coming out of the dark like a bat out of hell. Isn’t that something?”

Cal tenses next to me, and I bend my arm behind my back, grab his hand, and squeeze. The growling subsides and he squeezes back. We say nothing.

“Where you boys coming from last night?”

“Just a drive,” I say.

“That so,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “And you didn’t see any lights?”

“Oh sure,” I say. “I saw plenty. It’s called lightning. Quite the storm last night, right, Cal?

“Quite the storm,” Cal repeats.

“Well,” the sheriff says, “whatever hit the ground caused quite a show! I saw it from all the way in town, so I’m a bit surprised you boys didn’t see it. You know, just driving around in the dark.” He spits off the side of the porch. “Made quite the racket when it landed too. Blew the hell out of the ground, knocked down a bunch of trees.” He looks me in the eye and says, “Right about where your daddy died, Benji. Just yards away.”

I’m about to launch myself through the door, but Cal tightens his grip on my hand to the point where I’m sure my bones are going to snap, the pain clearing the fog of fury that has settled around my mind like a gray haze. It’s what the sheriff wants, I know. He wants to get under my skin, to cause me to lose control, to lash out and give him just cause to arrest me. He wants something from me, but I don’t know what.

But Cal holds me back, the tightness of his grip telling me if I won’t let him lose it, then the same goes for me. The sheriff sees his hand on me, the glare on Cal’s face. Griggs’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of us. A small smile forms on his face as he takes a step back. “Cal Blue,” he says slowly. “Cal Blue from California. I’ll have to keep that in mind. Well, since you boys obviously didn’t see anything last night, I best be on my way.” He raises his hand and tips his hat toward me. “Benji, as always, it’s been a real pleasure. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. Maybe I’ll stop by the store.” It comes out like the threat he means it as, and a chill floats down my spine. He turns and walks down the steps.

“Agent Corwin,” I suddenly say.

He stops, but doesn’t turn. “How’s that now?” he says, his voice soft.

“An Agent Corwin stopped by the store yesterday,” I say. “Said he was with the FBI. Asked about my dad. Wanted to know how long he’d been dead.” I pause for effect. “Asked about you too. Seemed surprised you were still the sheriff. Told me to call him if I thought of anything interesting. Town gossip, you know. Spreads like wildfire.”

The sheriff leans over to spit again and I can see the sweat on his brow. He takes another step toward his car, running his fingers over the Ford. “Man, Benji,” he says, his voice light. “I sure do hope you know what you’re doing. I’d certainly hate to see something happen to you. Or to your ma. Or the Trio. Nina’s so trusting, isn’t she? She most certainly is. Why, I bet she’d get in a police car if she was asked. Such a sweet, sweet lady.” He taps the hood of the Ford, the ring on his thumb scratching against the paint.

“If you touch her,” Cal says quietly, “I will take you and yours into the black. If you touch any of them, darkness is all you will see.”

The sheriff laughs. “Well, how about that!” he says, slapping his knee. “Boy, you wouldn’t be threatening a county sheriff, would you?”

“The black,” Cal promises him, shutting the door slowly. He turns back to me and I have to fight myself from taking a step away.





a meeting of the minds

Most people don’t realize that being hunted is just one step away from being

haunted.

It’s this thought I have when I wake in the dark, struggling to catch my breath. I sit up in the bed and look at the clock. Just after midnight. I shake my head, trying to clear the dream away. But something feels different. Off.

After the sheriff left, it had taken a while to calm Cal down. I could tell he was just one word away from bursting through the door and hunting down Griggs to tear him apart piece by piece. His dark eyes had grown darker, and he ground his teeth together. He clenched and unclenched his hands repeatedly.

I was unsure what to do, as he ignored my entreaties to move away from the door, to stop glaring out the window. Griggs was long gone, I told him, and besides, didn’t he want to go back to the kitchen and have more Lucky Charms? I picked out all the green marshmallows for him. He ignored me.

And since I didn’t know what else to do, I just stood near him, hoping my presence would be enough to calm him. There was a tentative moment when I touched his back through the old white shirt he’d found in a drawer that pulled tight across his shoulders. He said nothing and I began to rub my hand in a slow circle at the base of his spine. Eventually he sighed and I felt the tension bleed from him and he bowed his head.

“He’s just talking,” I told him quietly, meaning the sheriff. “He’s made empty threats before.”

There was a flash of fury in his eyes, and he turned and gripped my shoulders. “He will not threaten you while I stand before you,” he snapped. “Do you understand me?”

“Cal….”

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

He scowled at me and turned to look out the window.

We spent the rest of the day on opposite sides of the house. Cal had still been at the window as night had fallen, but I’d heard him making his nest outside my closed door right before I’d dropped off to sleep.

And now that I’m awake, in the middle of the night, Little House feels different. It feels emptier.

I move from my bed and open the door. His blanket is there. His pillow is there. He is not.

He’s not in the spare bedroom. He’s not in the bathroom. He’s not in Little House. Sunrise is still hours away, but I tell myself I have one last place to look. I open the door and climb up the ladder.

There is no one on the roof.

I will take you and yours into the black.

I slide down the ladder as quickly as I can, my heart starting to thud in my chest. He wouldn’t do that, I think. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.

But, I realize, I don’t know a damned thing about him. I don’t know what he is capable of. I grab the keys to the Ford off the table near the door. I slip on my work boots and grab my father’s coat from the rack on the wall. It smells of earth, of feathers. I shut the door behind me and head out into the night.





Poplar Street is dark as I drive through town. I pass the station as it sits silently.

No one’s out this late. Some shops have low lights that reflect in the front windows. The banner for the “Jump Into Summer Festival” glows briefly as my headlights hit it, but then I pass under it and it is dark again. I leave the main drag behind, turning onto Old Valley Road, which winds up through the hills that surround Roseland. I’m trying to remain calm, but not knowing where Calliel might be is doing nothing for my nerves. I almost expect to get to the sheriff’s house and see it razed to the ground, Calliel standing above it like some dark avenging angel.

I’m a guardian, he whispers in my head. I guard.

Yes, but he also protects. And he’s found someone he’s deemed a threat. I switch off my headlights as I round the final corner, familiar enough with the

road to drive it in the dark. The house is not destroyed as part of me had anticipated, but rather is lit up, as if someone is still awake this late on a Tuesday. I pull the truck into a copse of trees off to the side of the road well away from the house, hiding it in case someone passes by.

I hurry up the side of the road, feeling slightly ridiculous at being crouched over, but I need to make sure nothing has gone horribly wrong, or at least find out what happened. I cross a ditch rather than head directly up the driveway, then cut across the yard. The lights inside are bright in the dark, but still muffled by curtains pulled across the picture windows, three cars in the driveway. One I recognize as the sheriff’s SUV. The other two I don’t know. There’s enough visibility for me to see a floodlight attached to the front of the house. I go toward the rear in a wide arc to avoid setting the light off. There’s another light on in the house at the back. The ground around the house drops off. There must be a cellar, a rarity in Oregon. The light at the back is coming from a window just overhead that I can’t see into, but it’s propped halfway open. I smell cigarette smoke.

Then I hear voices.

“I told you to blow that shit outside,” Griggs rumbles. “I don’t know why you

gotta smoke inside my house.”

“What can I say,” a male voice I don’t recognize says, “it’s an addiction.” Laughter. Several voices. All male.

“I don’t care,” Griggs says. “Blow it out the window.”

“Someone’s in a mood tonight,” another man says. “This has really got you

spooked. I don’t think I’ve seen you like this before. Not even when Big Ed—” “I told you not to mention that around me,” the sheriff snaps, cutting him off.

“Look, I don’t know how much of what he said was bullshit. Nothing has come

through the police station, and the field office in Eugene and Portland said they

haven’t sent anyone out this way.”

“Would they tell you if they had?” the smoker asks. “Seems to me if they were

investigating, they wouldn’t tell you a damn thing.”

“I’ve got a guy who owed me a few favors,” Griggs says. “He called around,

checked some stuff out. Nothing.”

“We still going to move operations?”

“I don’t know yet,” Griggs says. “I don’t want to, but if someone is poking

around, we may have to.”

“What is your timeline, then?” a new voice says. That one I recognize. Mayor

Judd Walken. My mouth goes dry.

“Give it a few weeks,” Griggs says. “If need be, we could do it on the day of the

festival, when everyone is distracted. I hate to lose our position now, though. It’s

prime f*cking real estate. No one even knows about it. But it’s whatever the boss

wants.”

“This whole thing has bad mojo written all over it,” the smoker complains. “First

the guy in the river. Then that f*cking meteor thing falling right near there. Jesus,

Griggs! It’s like the universe is telling you to get the f*ck out, and you’re saying we

need to wait?”

“Now, now,” the mayor says over the sheriff’s angry growl. “It’s just a bunch of

random occurrences. Let’s not assign this to some higher cosmic power. I’ve already

reached out to the community to assure everyone that it was just that, a meteor that

fell and that the science department at the University of Oregon has already come to

pick it up. People seem to be excited that such a thing happened in our little town.

They won’t question it.”

“That’s great and all,” Smoker says. “Just one thing: there was no f*cking

meteor.”

“Bah,” Walken says. “Semantics. That’s what it could have been regardless. It

could have just burned up upon entry and then fell apart when it landed.” “Or, it could have been one of those drones they’ve got along the Mexican

border,” Smoker says coldly. “You’ve supposedly got an FBI agent in town out of the blue, and then something falls out of the sky on the same day? I’m not a believer

in coincidence, Walken.”

“A drone, you say.” Walken laughs. “If that’s the case, it must have gone the

way of the meteor, then, wouldn’t you agree? I assume a drone would have left

debris.”

“Unless that kid got to it first,” Smoker snaps. “You were the one who saw his

truck.”

“I can’t be sure of what I saw,” Walken admits. “It looked like the Ford, but I

was in such a hurry. And besides, it didn’t look like Benjamin driving.” At hearing my name upon his lips, my blood freezes.

“It could have been that other guy,” Griggs says. “That big f*cker that tried to

start shit at Little House.”

“What did you say his name was?”

“Blue. Cal Blue. Or Calliel or some shit. Supposedly from California. Still

waiting to hear back from the DMV to see if there is any record of him on file there.” Oh, Jesus. Cal. F*ck, what if he sees my thread? No. Stay away, Cal. In my fear,

I try to push Cal as far away from my thoughts as I can.

“And if there’s not?” Walken asks.

“Then obviously he’s lying,” Smoker says. “Which means he has something to

hide. And this close to a moving date, I don’t deal well with unknown variables.” “Speculation, all,” Walken says. “He’s probably just Benji’s ass buddy. Lord

knows that boy has been alone for so long. Maybe he’s just found someone to give

him attention. Big Eddie’s death was hard on him.”

“F*cking faggots,” Smoker spits.

“Quite,” Walken says, sounding amused. “We’ll keep an eye on him, and this

Cal Blue. Actions can be taken if necessary. I’ve sunk too much money into this…

venture… to let it fail.”

“I say we just take them out now,” Smoker snarls. “Kill the f*cking faggot

before he goes any further with this. He’s already—” He’s cut off suddenly, a gurgle

coming from his throat.

There’s movement above me from the window, and, for a moment, my panic is

bright and all-consuming; I’m sure I’ve been spotted, that people are staring down at

me from above. I snap my gaze upward and see the back of a balding head pressed

against the window sill, a hand wrapped around his throat. I recognize the mayor’s

ring as it flashes in the dark, a gaudy ruby on his pinkie finger. The hand is squeezed

tight, but no one is looking down at me.

“You seem to forget, Traynor, that you are operating in my town, with my

permission, which makes me your boss. You would do well to remember that. I’d

hate to think that you’d do anything outside the scope of your employment.

Remember, while you are here, I own you. Do you understand this?”

Smoker—or Traynor, I guess—nods, unable to speak.

“Good,” the mayor says as he releases the other man’s neck. Traynor takes in a

gasping breath. “Besides, I’d hate to think of what my boss would do if you acted

without authorization. Doesn’t seem like a good idea for any of us. I will say, though,

that if there are any… issues with the boy, I believe getting permission to hunt him

down won’t be as hard as we all think. Until then, we watch. Is that understood?” “Yes, sir,” voices rumble in agreement.

“And you,” he says, though I can’t tell to whom he’s speaking. “I expect you to

keep a close eye out. Are we clear?”

A grunt of consent.

“Now, then, shall we check the maps? I’m sure there are plenty of places we

could look at should we have to move. Sheriff, would you do the honors?” The voices and footsteps fade as they start to move away. I release the breath I

hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

And then I run.





I don’t turn on the headlights until I’m almost back to Poplar Street. I consider,

for a moment, still trying to find Cal, but he could be anywhere. He could be gone, for all I know. If he’s going to come back, he’ll go to Little House and I need to return anyway to make sure no one else is there.

I pull up the driveway at almost two in the morning. Big House still stands. My mom’s little car is parked out front. I know the Trio’s vehicles are parked in back. The house is dark, no movement. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. I stop in front of the house, consider knocking on the door and waking them up, but then decide against it. Much, I’m sure, can be seen on my face at the moment, and I haven’t had time to process any of it. I put the truck in drive and head toward Little House.

The lights catch a flash, like animal eyes, on the roof.

Cal.

I release a trembling breath and grip the steering wheel, trying to ignore the

overwhelming relief I feel at finding him safe and sound. With so much else screaming through my head, I can’t even begin to understand why I feel such relief, or why I have to stop myself from tearing out of the Ford and demanding he stand before me so I can make sure he is okay. This is something I don’t yet comprehend, but it seems to be growing stronger.

I switch off the truck and open the door. I can feel his eyes boring into me as I lock it behind me. I glance up at him; his body is tense, his dark eyes bright with something I can’t quite make out. He seems rigid. His gaze follows me as I move to the ladder. I take a deep breath and start climbing. I look up when I get halfway. He’s not there, waiting to pull me up with him. I sigh and climb the rest of the way.

He’s perched at the edge of the roof, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. If he got them from the house, then they are my father’s old clothes. The muscles of his arms strain against the sleeves of his shirt. The red stubble on his head and face looks dark in the starlight. I walk the few steps it takes to reach him, unsure if I should touch him in some way. Surely he’s aware of my presence. I decide against it and sit down on the roof, a few feet away. I’m suddenly very, very tired. I have to be up in a few hours.

We sit in silence for a while. Then, in a deep-throated grumble tinged with anger, he says, “Where were you?”

“Looking for you. Where did you go?”

He doesn’t look at me. “A thread called to me. I had to follow it to make sure I did my duty. When I returned, you were gone.” This last comes out as a harsh accusation.

I’m getting angry. “When I woke up, you were gone,” I snap. “I thought you’d gone away. What was I supposed to do?”

“I have a job to do, Benji,” he snaps. “Even if I am here for you, that doesn’t mean I can neglect my other duties.”

“I never asked you to. I was just… worried. I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“I am fine,” Cal says stiffly. “Except for when I returned. You were not here and I could not find your thread. I panicked. There is still a lot I can’t remember about the day you called, or even the time before. I don’t know why I can see certain things and not see others, why I can remember pieces but not the whole.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know why I feel so ashamed.

“Do you know what I did, Benji? Do you want to know what I did when I could not find you?”

“What?”

He finally turns to look at me. Much is said in that look, but I can’t decipher any of it. “I prayed,” he says. “I prayed for the first time since I’ve been here. And you know what response I received?”

“No.”

“None. I didn’t receive a response. It was like no one heard me. It was like my Father wasn’t listening. I prayed as hard as I could, asking for help to find you. And no one answered my prayer. It feels like I’m being tested. Or being punished, but I don’t know why. I can’t remember why. I can’t remember what I did. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. All I know is I prayed and he didn’t answer. When I was watching Roseland from above, I would pray and he would be there. Even at my loneliest, I would get a response. Now? Now there is nothing.”

“But… maybe you did get an answer,” I say slowly.

He looks at me sharply. “How do you mean?”

“I’m here, right? With you? We may have gotten separated, but I’m here now. Maybe you were heard after all.”

Calliel looks like he wants to argue with me, like I’ve completely missed the point he was trying to make. Instead, he sighs, then chuckles to himself as he shakes his head. “You are here,” he agrees quietly.

“And can you see my thread?” This is the weirdest conversation of my life.

He nods. “I can see it well.” The relief in his voice is a palpable thing and it almost knocks me flat.

“And you’re okay, and the person you had to help tonight is okay, right?”

“Yes, Benji. She is fine.”

I want to know who it is and what he did, but it doesn’t feel like it’s my place to ask. “Okay, then.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Are you okay? Where did you go tonight?”

For a moment, I think about telling him everything, just to see what he says, or what he thinks. I want to see if he knows anything. If he’s the guardian of Roseland, then he might have an idea about what happened in the sheriff’s house tonight. The worst he could tell me is that he can’t remember. I’m about to ask, but then I catch the worried spark in his eyes, the way he starts to frown. He’s got too much on him already, I realize, probably something more significant than I could ever understand. To him, my problems would be nothing because, in the reality of the cosmos from which he comes, I am nothing.

“I’m okay,” I say, my voice steady.

He starts to say something, but then shakes his head.

So we sit there, on the roof, he and I. Every now and then, I feel his hand graze against mine. Eventually, my head starts to bob, my eyes heavy. I don’t protest when a strong arm wraps around me and pulls me over. He is so warm, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, smelling earth. He keeps his arm around me as he rubs his chin on the top of my head. Eventually, I drift off to sleep.

I do not dream.





Sometime later, I awaken to a gentle voice. “Benji. Benji. Open your eyes.

Open your eyes and see.”

I do. He’s staring down at me, cradling me in his arms, a small smile on his face. “The sun is about to rise. You must see this. It is a beautiful thing.” He looks toward the horizon.

But all I can see is him.





a man about town

I make him shower before we leave (a scowling “I don’t think I’m going to like

this” turns into a loud “Hey, this is pretty neat!”). He dresses in the same clothes he had on before, the white T-shirt and jeans, pulling on an old pair of work boots. I tell him with no small amount of dread that while I’m at work he’s going to need to go shopping for some new clothes.

“Why?” he says, looking down at what he’s wearing. “Is there something wrong with this? I don’t think I’m going to like shopping.”

“You know, you say you aren’t going to like anything, yet you end up liking everything,” I remind him. “I haven’t yet steered you wrong, right?”

“Do you like shopping?” he asks innocently enough.

I’m unable to stop the look of disgust on my face. I try to hide it and say, “Sure. Well, some of the time.”

He nods. “I wish someone had told you that you’re a terrible liar so I wouldn’t have to be the first one. I feel bad now.”

“You don’t feel bad at all,” I growl at him.

Cal’s eyes dance. “I do,” he promises. “But I’m not going to go shopping. I will stay with you until it is time to leave. But if there are any threads, I will follow them and then come back.”

“You have to go,” I sigh. “You can’t keep wearing that.”

“Why?”

I struggle with the answer. “Those are… my father’s. It’s just… weird for me. To see it.”

His eyes go wide as he looks down at himself. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding wounded. “I did not think. Benji, please forgive me.” He starts to lift the shirt over his head, and I catch a glimpse of his stomach, wonderfully muscled under the auburn curls. I almost think about letting him continue, but that probably makes me a bit of a pervert, so I stop him, pulling the shirt back down.

“It’s okay for now,” I assure him, even though he’s trying to unbutton the jeans. I slap his hands away. “It can wait until you’re done shopping.”

His face turns red and he looks down at the ground and mumbles something.

“I can’t hear you,” I tell him.

He speaks up. “I don’t have currency,” he grumbles, glancing up at me before looking away. “I can’t buy things without it, right? That’s how it always is. You need money and I don’t have any.”

“You mean God doesn’t pay you?” I tease.

He looks horrified. “No! All I do is for him. He is the Creator; he is my father. His will is word and I must follow for he is divine—”

“Right, okay,” I cut him off before he goes into a sermon. “I’ve got money, no worries.”

He looks miserable again. “I haven’t a way to pay you back.”

I shrug. “We’re friends, right?”

He hesitates, but then he nods.

“And you’re going to be sticking around? At least for a while?”

He nods again, quicker this time. I ignore the relief I feel.

“Well, then, my friend, you’re going to need new clothes. And since you are my friend, there is no need to pay me back.”

He looks suspicious. “I don’t know,” he says.

“I’ll let you drive the truck into town today.”

His eyes light up. “You will? Wow. That truck sure is cherry. You’ll let me drive it and all I have to do is take your money that I can’t repay and go shopping, which I’ll probably end up hating because you don’t like it, to buy clothes like the ones I’m already wearing?”

Jesus Christ. “Uh. Sure.”

He grins. “Alright, hey, that’s great! Thanks, Benji. I sure do love that truck. It’s so cherry, right?”

I smile back. “So cherry.”