by TJ Klune
“Nothing bad happened while you were gone. Not really.”
“Oh. That’s good. I hoped.”
“Cal?”
“Yes, Benji?”
“Why did you go?”
“I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“No, that’s not the—Look, that’s in the past. It’s done. You’re here. I’m here.”
“Are you?” There’s a rustling against the door, like he’s rubbing his hand against it.
“Yeah. I am.”
“I was getting scared.”
“You? Scared? I didn’t think you were scared of anything.”
He laughs. “There are a lot of things I’m scared of, Benji.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “Why were you scared this time?”
There’s a pause, and for a moment, I think he won’t answer. I chide myself again for pushing, but then he speaks. “I was scared… I was scared because I could feel your anger. You were mad at me, and it scared me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such anger before. Not since I’ve known you.”
He means longer than two weeks, and we both know it. “Cal—”
“Hush, Benji. Please let me speak.” The recrimination in his voice is soft. I wait.
“I was scared, and that in turn made me angry. I told myself that you were being a child, that you didn’t understand at all what it meant to be lost. I hated myself for thinking it. It was petty. I didn’t think I would ever know what pettiness felt like, and jealousy. I shouldn’t have felt that way.”
“Why did you?”
“Because of your father.”
“Big Eddie? I don’t understand.”
“Benji, do you know who my father is?”
“God?”
“For lack of a better word, yes. The one you know as God is my Father. Do you know the last time I got to see my Father?”
Never met him. I’m pretty far down on the totem pole.
“You haven’t,” I say, feeling like my chest’s being crushed. “You never met him.”
“Right. I’ve never met the one who created me. I just know he did because that is what I am supposed to know. I was created and I do what I’m told. Or at least I did.”
“So you were jealous?”
“Yes. As much I hate to say it, as much as it tears me apart, yes. I was jealous of you because you had what I never could. I was jealous of him because he had you. I’ve seen many people in my lifetime, Benji. So many people, even in a little place such as this. But I can tell you that there has never been such a man as your father.”
“I know,” I say, because I can’t say anything else lest my voice would break.
“You do, don’t you?” he says, sounding surprised. “You do know. You know what you had; you know what he was.”
“The greatest man in the world,” I say.
He laughs. “In the eyes of many, you speak truth.”
“I miss him.”
“And you will. Every day for the rest of your life, you will miss him.”
“Like you do? With your dad? Your Father?”
“Yes. But please don’t think I’m blaming you or Big Eddie. For anything. That is not my intent.”
“Don’t you get to talk to him, though? Your dad.” I swallow. “God? Or whatever?”
“I thought so. I guess. I don’t know. There are times I don’t know if I ever did. If I’ve ever really known him. Not like I thought I did.”
“But… isn’t he always there for you? You are one of his.”
His voice grows harder. “I am. Or so I think. I can’t remember the last time I heard him, though. It’s lost in the fog. There’s still so much that I can’t remember. It burns, Benji. It’s like a fire in my head and I can’t put it out. It makes me angry. I shouldn’t be angry.”
“To be angry is to be human,” I say, gooseflesh prickling up my arms.
You know that that is not possible, the dark man whispers. Why you have chosen to take this risk is beyond comprehension.
You know what is happening to you even as you stand here, the light man croons.
Cal ignores me. “So I left, because my anger was growing. My ire. And I couldn’t handle it, not when it was… not when it was directed towards you. I left, because I needed to find my thoughts. I left because I needed to find a way to not be. I left to speak with Father. For days. For all those days in the trees, I waited. I prayed. I screamed. I asked him why. I asked him why he had forsaken me. I demanded an answer. I demanded to know why this was happening to me, why I had been tested again and again and again. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Who was he to do this to me? I’ve given him everything. I’ve done everything he’s ever asked of me. I’ve done all that I can. I’ve made mistakes, yes, but every living thing does. But what was it that I’d done wrong that caused him to ignore me? I was his son and he’d abandoned me, cast me aside as if I was nothing. I was alone in a place where no one knew who I was. At least when I was On High, I was alone because I was supposed to be. I’m tired of it, Benji. I’m tired of being alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I say, my voice cracking. “You’ve got me. Right?”
“While I was ranting, while I was raving about being alone, about being left behind, screaming that it wasn’t fair, that I’d given everything, you know what happened, Benji?”
“What happened?” I ask, sure he’s going to tell me God answered him. My own anger is growing, but not at the angel on the other side of my door. No, my anger is growing because of God, that bastard God who I am sure is the one who has taken everything from me and Calliel. He’s the one who took my father; he’s the one who caused Calliel to doubt himself. He’s the one who has caused me to doubt myself, to drown in a river I am no longer sure I can keep my head above. It was him, and he finally answered his son who was screaming his name.
But that’s not the answer I receive.
I hear Cal take a deep breath. “You happened. It was you, Benji.”
“I don’t think… I don’t understand.”
“Your thread. I saw your thread for the first time in five days, and it lit up the sky so brightly I thought the sun was rising. I thought it was the sunrise, but it was you. It’s always been you.”
“And you came for me,” I say, realization dawning. “You came for me because you got your answer. God answered you.”
“Yes,” he says. I can hear the quiet smile in his voice. “When I was at my darkest, when I was sure I’d be torn apart, your thread exploded for all the world to see. But then I realized it was only for me to see. I was the only one who could see it, and it meant he was listening to me. It’s not always going to be with words. I won’t always hear his voice in my head, and I don’t know if I ever really have. But he spoke to me, just the same. He showed me the way, and it led to you. I don’t think I’ve ever moved as fast as I did then.”
I chuckle, wiping my eyes. “You were very fast.”
“Wasn’t I?” he says, sounding pleased.
“They didn’t stand a chance.”
“Michael’s husks,” I hear him growl through the door. “They are nothing compared to me. I don’t know why he thought they could do anything. They are abominations. I don’t know why they are allowed to exist. Soulless creatures who do not serve anyone but him.”
“Will they come again? The Strange Men?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs. “Maybe, after a time. Not right away. He’ll have seen what I am capable of. And I’m sure he’s got much more to worry about than just me.”
“Are you… getting sick?” I ask, the blood roaring in my ears. “They said you were weaker. They said you shouldn’t stay here.”
“Lies,” he says firmly. “Just words. I am fine. I am strong.”
“You sent them away. You sent them into the black.”
“I know,” he says, sounding pained. “They… they were threatening you and I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t see you hurt.”
“You are not the
judge,” I remind him, allowing my words to harden. “You are not the jury. You are not the executioner.” And I cannot judge you. I can’t. Not when….
“I know.” Barely a mumble.
“You do not decide fate.”
“I know.”
“What did my mother whisper to you?”
I don’t think he’s going to answer. But then: “She told me I have to protect you. That you’ve been alone for so long you may not remember how to live. She wants me to show you how.”
“And you promised her that?” I ask, heart sore.
“Yes. Always.”
“Cal….”
I hear him shift on the other side of the door, rising up until I’m sure he’s standing above me. I wait.
Finally: “Benji?”
“Yeah?”
He’s hesitant, almost shy, his words like a staccato beat. “Can you open the door now? I’m sorry if you’re still mad at me. I just don’t want to be alone anymore. Okay? Please?”
I close my eyes. So many things are still unsaid between us, but I no longer have the heart to bring them out. For all that I have suffered, it’s nothing compared to his grief. I had my father. For sixteen years, I knew joy. I knew complete happiness. I saw the sunrise every day because I saw the man who created me every day. I knew the weight of his arms on my shoulder, the rumble of his voice, the sound of his laughter. I knew love because I was loved. I was my father’s son.
No. I am my father’s son. My father would not have allowed another to wallow in anguish, to drown himself in a river. My father would not have allowed despair if he could have helped it. My father was the greatest man who ever lived, even with all his faults. He would know what to do. He would know what was in my heart.
“You gonna leave again?” I ask him gruffly, opening my eyes.
“Only if you make me,” he whispers. “Please don’t make me.”
My heart breaks and I jump to my feet, flinging the door open. He’s standing so massively tall, the shadows from the dark dancing across his face. He’s breathing heavily, and the glitter in his eyes knocks the breath from my chest. The red stubble across his face looks wonderfully rough. He looks almost feral, like he’s poised to attack, but still he waits.
But I can no longer deny him, or deny myself. He spreads his arms as I leap at him. He catches me deftly, crushing me into his chest. The scent of him invades me, threatening to tear me apart. His lips find mine as he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as my tongue meets his, tangling as he takes a lurching first step. I want to push into him further, until he can feel my thunderous heart breaking against my chest, until he can see that my sorrow is not so different than his. We are the same, I think as he grips the back of my neck with one gigantic hand, holding me steady so he can kiss my lips, my cheeks, the tip of my nose.
“You are not alone,” I whisper hoarsely against his face, moving my lips across to kiss his closed eyes. “You are with me.”
“I know,” he says, his voice cracking. He buries his face into my neck then, latching his teeth onto the skin, and swirls his tongue over. He walks further, carrying me against him, until he pushes me back. I land on the bed and he looms above me, so big he blocks out everything else. Only he exists; he’s everything. It feels critical, this moment, like we’ve reached a precipice and we either have to jump or fall back the way we came. I don’t want to fall anymore. Not now. Not again.
I reach up and put my arms around his neck, and that’s all the permission he needs. He falls against me, so heavy I almost can’t breathe. He reaches one hand down and lifts up my shirt, tucking the cotton up under my chin. He rubs his beard against my flesh, leaving trails that burn. He bites gently at my stomach, soothing the sting from his teeth with his tongue.
It’s only later, with his mouth on me in ways I never expected, that I can truly feel his need. I am necessary to him. I understand that now, and the realization threatens to crush me more than he ever could. But it’s a weight I will carry gladly. Even as I tell him he is not alone, that I am with him, I can see it’s the same in reverse. There’s a bright light rising from deep within me, like the morning sun breaking over the mountains. It warms me from the inside out, even as he slips a wet finger into me. I call out his name, my muscles trembling, pleasure exploding.
When he enters me again, it’s with a careful motion, pressing one hand down against my chest as he watches my face, hooking my leg above his shoulder with his other hand. He leans down, kissing me as he pushes in until his hips are pressed against me. I rock my head back, and he trails his tongue down my neck.
“Faster,” I whisper. “More.”
He growls against my neck but then he begins to snap his hips against me, slapping his balls against my ass. He takes me in hand, my cock like iron against his calloused hand. It only takes a few strokes before I’m spilling over, spunk on his hand and my chest. He grunts above me and I’m filled with great heat as his shoulders tremble. The muscles of his chest constrict, the cords in his neck stand out. He’s still shaking when he drops down onto my chest.
I cradle his head against me, rubbing my fingers through his hair, feeling him still move within me. He’s pulling me back together, piece by piece. The shapes may not fit the way they used to, but there is a pattern there. A design. Slowly but surely I am being put back together. I’m not whole yet, not completely, but I am getting there.
He sighs contentedly, his breath warm on my skin. He turns his head and places a gentle kiss to the place where my heart beats. The action is one of such singular beauty that I’m annihilated. If this is what he can give me, then I will take it all.
And I will give it back just the same.
adrift
That night, I’m chest-deep in the river again. The rain falls overhead, causing the
water around me to splash up in tiny droplets. Occasionally feathers impede my progress, forcing me back. Sometimes the river mud sucks up around my ankles, pulling me down. River water pours into my mouth, choking me, but I break the surface.
There is the metallic screech of the upside down truck as it scrapes against an unseen rock on the riverbed. The sound makes me grind my teeth. I take another step as I look over my shoulder. A dark figure stands on the side of the road, watching. I can’t make out who it is, can’t see a vehicle stopped on the road. The angle is wrong, the rain too heavy.
A large wave hits the side of my head and I’m submerged again. For a moment, I stay there. The sounds are muffled underwater, the raindrops a soothing, drumming sound above me. I have enough air. I’m not choking. I’m not drowning. I’m alive.
I open my eyes.
Silt and grit sting. I squint and make out the faint outline of the truck ahead. I bring my arms up in front of me and kick off the river bottom, taking a slow, lunging leap toward the truck.
The front left side is smashed from its impact with the boulder near the river’s edge. There’s a metallic groan up the driver’s side of the vehicle, starting at the fender, going across the door and to the rear of the truck. It could be from the boulder as well, though—
it’s from whoever ran him off the road
—I can’t be sure. The red of the truck is like a bright beacon that calls to me. I take another lunging step. Do I need air? I can’t remember the last time I took a breath. I can’t remember how long I’ve been hiding in the river. It doesn’t matter. I feel okay. I don’t feel like I’m dying. I’m not drowning. I’m fine.
I’m fine until I see the driver’s window is broken. I’m fine until a flash of white floats out of it. I’m fine until I realize it’s an arm. I’m fine until I see it’s an arm and it—
is my dad oh god that is my father
—floats up and down gently, the fingers extending in the current like it’s waving me over, beckoning me to the truck. The skin is white, so white, much whiter than my father ever was. It’s—
dead he’s dead it’s all dead
—enough to make me open my
mouth. I inhale to scream, but river water pours in and I begin to choke. I kick for the surface, but it’s too late. I’m stuck under the surface, stuck in the mud and silt and current, and I can’t move. I can’t breathe, and I am drowning in this river and I—
A strong arm wraps around my chest and pulls me away. I awake as the bed shifts, pulling me from the dream. It’s still dark, far too soon for us to head to the roof to watch the sunrise. He is moving quietly, as if to avoid waking me. He pulls on his jeans over his naked form, his skin illuminated by dim blue flashes that begin to swirl around him. A chill strikes me that has nothing to do with the sudden loss of warmth next to me.
“Where are you going?” I ask, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. He stiffens for a moment, then turns to me, the top button of his jeans still undone, the auburn fur on his stomach disappearing into the denim. He reaches down and grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling me up to kiss me deeply. I wrap my arms around him, trying to pull him back down into the bed, to cover us both deep under the comforter where we can hide until sunrise.
But he won’t come, he won’t follow me down. He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against mine. “A thread calls,” he says roughly. “I must find it.”
“You’re going to come back?” I ask, hating the way I sound, unsure and weak.
Calliel smiles at me so brightly I have to kiss him again. “Yes,” he says. “I will come back. And then we can watch the sun come up, and I will have some green marshmallows while you tell me I should eat other things because the marshmallows aren’t good for me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” The blue lights began to flash brighter, and I can see the faint outline of wings. “They come easier now,” he tells me. “I think I might be able to call them without seeing threads first.”
I’m relieved, because I can tell myself it means he isn’t getting weaker, like the Strange Men said. Wings mean strength. Wings mean health. Wings mean vitality. He is an angel. He is not weakening.
