by TJ Klune
He looks dubious. He kisses me again and steps back. “There’s something I want to talk to you about tonight,” he says. “Something important. Just us two, okay?”
I tell myself I don’t know what it could be, but the heat of his gaze makes me a liar. “Sure,” I say, turning before he can see anything else on my face.
He walks around the counter and stands beside Rosie, who grins up at him. “I’ll take care of you, and make sure you get delivered safe and sound back to Benji. Deal?”
“Safe and sound,” he echoes, looking out the windows, undoubtedly searching for threads. He must see none, because he looks back at me. Calm, Cal. I’m safe and fine. We’re okay. He nods as if he hears.
Rosie puts her arm through his and starts to pull him toward the door. “Oh, before I forget,” she says, her hand against the glass. “Those storms coming in? Supposed to be real bad, from what I understand. You may want to consider putting up some plywood against the windows.”
“You think the storms will be that strong?” Abe asks.
She shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt. Having Dougie do the same up at the diner. I don’t think we’ll be seeing any out-of-towners this year. Probably would get stuck here if they tried. Roads are supposed to close all over the place.”
“No way in or out?” Abe says with a frown. “I don’t know why they just don’t postpone the festival until next weekend. It’s not like it’ll do anything for the economy if no one shows.”
“I thought the same thing,” she agrees. “But you know Walken. A stickler for tradition, that one. Third Saturday in May, just as it’s always been. Eh. The town’s seen worse, and I’m sure the weather reports are being overblown as it is. We’ll survive.”
Cal looks agitated and is about to open his mouth—to say what, I don’t know. “We’ll see you down there,” I reassure him. “Maybe I’ll even close up a bit early. Probably won’t be too many others coming into the station.”
The bell rings overhead as Rosie pulls him out the door before he can protest. She says something that makes him chuckle softly, a sound I can hear before the doors shut and they disappear down Poplar Street.
Abe huffs out a laugh before staring at me pointedly.
“What?” I say.
“Boy, if you don’t know, then I don’t know what to tell you,” he says with a smirk. “I just wonder what Cal wants to tell you tonight.” He starts walking back toward the office, most likely to pick up the old half-finished crossword book he’s been working on since 2006. “I just hope you’ll say the right thing back.”
I gape after him.
It happens sixteen minutes later.
Only a couple of people come into the store after Cal and Rosie leave, grabbing a few last-minute necessities. Soda. Ice. Potato chips. It’s twenty past eleven, and I think I’ll close up the store. Abe is bent over the counter, trying to figure out what twenty-six down is with a clue for an eight-letter word that means a certain angel. He has the first letter G and the last letter N. No wonder he’s been working on this book for six years, I think with a shake of my head as I walk toward the front door, getting ready to switch over the sign to “Closed.” “Hey,” I call over my shoulder. “Let’s head down and—”
A Strange Man stands across Poplar Street, watching me.
He’s different than Dark Man and Light Man were. He’s completely bald and his white skin is luminous in the weak sunlight that appears from behind a drifting cloud. His face is smooth, and for a moment he reminds me of Nina with her sweetly cherubic face. But the Strange Man is nothing sweet. Although I can’t quite place if he actually looks menacing or if it’s just the memory of his counterparts that comes roaring to the forefront of my mind. He’s dressed in the same dark suit and skinny tie over a white shirt. He looks to be a bit taller than I am, and even with the distance between us I can see his eyes look flat and black, like they’re dead.
He’s flickering in and out of view, like he’s a malfunctioning projection. For a split second he disappears, and then he’s there again, on and off, on and off, just like the lights were in the freezer that stored my father’s body so long ago. I don’t know why my mind makes this connection, but it does and my skin feels instantly clammy. For a moment, I wonder if the Strange Man will suddenly flicker out of existence, only to reappear right next to me, his fingers turning to claws, his face stretching into a horrible shape.
But he doesn’t. He continues to flicker in and out and cocks his head, watching me.
Once you catch sight of the Strange Men, Michael whispers in my head, his voice a memory, you will know I have assisted you and that you should follow.
Michael’s sign.
“Abe,” I say, not turning around. “I have to run home for a minute. Do you mind closing the store?”
Silence from behind me. Then he says, “Why do you have to go home?”
The Strange Man holds his hand out in my direction as if silently asking me to take it in mine. “Need to get some plywood to board up the windows just in case.” It’s easy, this lie.
Footsteps approach from behind me. “What are you looking at?” Abe’s voice is hard, as if he doesn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him follow my gaze across the street to where the Strange Man stands, having not yet moved from the same spot. His eyes do not widen. He doesn’t gasp; he does not start to tremble. He looks confused and darts his gaze up and down Poplar Street. He can’t see the Strange Man.
“Why are you so pale?” he asks me quietly.
“Worried about the storm,” I say. “Don’t want anything to happen to the store.”
“And that’s all?”
“Yes.”
He grabs me by the shoulders and forces me to turn and face him. “You’re lying,” he snaps at me. “What is it? What do you see, boy?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Nothing,” I say. “I told you, I just need to go get some plywood.”
“There’s some in the back,” he says, giving me a little shake.
“Not enough.”
“It’s Michael, isn’t it? It’s that bastard Michael. What did he say to you? What did he ask you to do? What did he promise you?”
He told me he would help me find the truth. And I can’t tell you because I need to keep you safe. This is not your fight. This is not Cal’s fight. This is mine. Stay away, Cal. Stay away.
I open my eyes. “This has nothing to do with Michael, Abe. I’m asking you to trust me on this. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“At least tell Cal! Have him go with you!” “ No,” I say, startled at the anger in my voice. Abe flinches. “Leave him out of this.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“Abe….”
He shakes his head angrily. “You can’t lie for shit, boy. You aren’t going back to your house. You see something out there, and by God you aren’t going wherever you think you’re going without me attached to your ass.”
“Abe, just listen to me for a second.”
“No, you listen. The day your daddy died, I got down on my knees and I prayed. I prayed for his soul to rest in peace. I prayed for you and your mom to receive strength. And I made a promise. Do you know what I promised, Benji?”
I don’t know, but my heart already hurts.
“I promised him,” he says roughly, “that I would do my damnedest to watch out for you, to make sure that nothing happened to you. I’ve let you grieve and I’ve grieved along with you. I like to think that you are my own because you are my own. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you walk out that door without me, you can bet your ass on that.” He stops, glaring at me defiantly.
“I can’t risk you getting hurt,” I say weakly.
He nods. “And I can’t risk you going off on your own. Not when I can go with you. No arguments.”
Shit. “Strange Man, across the street.”
Now his eyes widen. Now he gasps. He looks
over again, out the windows. “There’s nothing there,” he says, sounding confused.
“Oh, he’s there. You can trust me on that. Michael told me he would send him.”
“To do what?”
I look back at the Strange Man, who cocks his head again, so like a bird. He’s flickering even more now, as if my indecision is causing his existence to wane. Michael said he would send me a sign, but he didn’t say for how long.
“To do what?” Abe asks again, giving me another shake.
“To show me the truth,” I whisper as the bald man frowns.
Abe sighs. “And Cal? He needs to know, Benji. He needs to know, because if he doesn’t and something happens to you, it’s going to destroy him.”
“No. I can’t risk him. I can’t take the chance. He’s becoming human, and I can’t take the chance.” Stay away, Cal. Stay away. Calm. Hush.
“Human?” he says as he bows his head. “Oh, Benji… he’s becoming human?”
“I can’t risk him,” I say again. Because I can’t. I won’t. Once this is done, I will find a way for him to survive and stay with me forever. I will find a way to keep him with me at Little House and the world—be it Griggs or be it angels from On High— will never bother us again. We’ll live out the rest of our days as everything passes us by.
“He’ll find you. The threads. He’ll see.”
“Abe.”
“What?”
“The Colt .38 Super. In the office lockbox. Get it and the ammo. Quickly. If you’re going, we need to move. I don’t know how much longer Michael will allow the Strange Man to stay.”
He doesn’t move.
“Abe. Now.”
He hurries to the back office.
Stay away, Cal, I think. I can’t let you get hurt. Stay away.
The Strange Man begins to smile.
a thousand needles in your eye
We drive down Poplar Street in the Ford, away from the festival. As we pass
the diner, Dougie opens the front door, having finished boarding up the windows. He sees us and waves as we drive past him, a questioning look on his face. He’s obviously headed toward the festival, and I hope he gets distracted and doesn’t run into Cal to ask where Abe and I are going.
I don’t know where we’re going. As soon as we hopped into the Ford, the Strange Man disappeared, only to reappear farther down Poplar Street, headed toward home. Or Lost Hill Memorial. Or the Old Forest Highway, which would lead to mile marker seventy-seven. I follow him, and when we get within twenty yards, he vanishes and then returns, farther down the roadway again. Every time he reappears, it looks as if his smile gets a little bit bigger.
“Don’t know how much time we’ll have now,” Abe says as he waves at Dougie. “Cal’s going to find out one way or another. You sure about this, Benji?”
Stay away, Cal. “Yes.”
We reach the intersection as the Strange Man disappears again. I stop at the stop sign, waiting to see what direction he’ll lead us, though I know in my heart where it will be. The cloudy sky has taken on the peculiar orangish-reddish hue of an approaching summer storm. I can see rain falling far off in the distance, probably over in the next county. The rearview mirror shows rain falling on the mountains behind us as well.
“Odd storm,” Abe mutters, as if he can hear my thoughts. “Falling all around Roseland but it doesn’t look like it’s getting any closer.”
“Maybe we prayed the rain away.”
We look at each other and chuckle quietly, trying not to let our laughter turn into full-blown hysterics. The world has taken on an impossible (improbable) hue, and I barely recognize it anymore. I try to catch my breath, and Abe continues to huff out his laughter next to me, a high-pitched sound like he’s almost crying.
I wipe my eyes and pretend the tears are from laughing too hard as I look all three directions we can take. Nothing. Should I go left and head to the stone angel where my father rests? I don’t know what going there would solve. There’s nothing there I haven’t already seen. I don’t think there are any clues or mysteries buried with my father.
What about straight ahead? Big House and the house my father built await me there. Could my father have put something inside? Secreted away some journal or evidence that would explain everything completely? My father could have written out a final note to me, telling me he was sorry, he never meant for any of this to happen.
But, of course, that’s not how life works. Life is not a series of hopes and dreams cobbled together to make the shapes fit into the pattern, into a design. No, it doesn’t work like that at all. The Strange Man appears off to our right, heading toward the Old Forest Highway, toward mile marker seventy-seven, where so many things came to an end and so many things had their beginning.
I’m not surprised.
I turn right and follow the bald Strange Man, who disappears and then flickers back farther down the highway. I almost choke when I see him raise a single hand and waggle his fingers at me like he’s waving before he vanishes again.
Abe is staring at me out of the corner of his eyes, a determined look on his face, as if he expects me to stop the Ford and tell him to get out. I consider it, to a point, wondering how I can justify needing to protect Cal but be perfectly willing to put Abe, an old man, right in the middle of harm’s way.
“Don’t you even think about it,” he growls at me. “I have the gun.” He shakes it in my direction, his finger near the trigger.
“You wouldn’t shoot me,” I say, hoping that’s true.
“If it meant saving your sorry ass, boy, I wouldn’t bet against it.”
I expect the Strange Man to stop or even disappear completely as we approach
mile marker seventy-seven, so I’m surprised when he continues to disappear and reappear farther down the road, past the mile-marker sign. I slow and think about stopping completely (to do what, I don’t know), but the Strange Man beckons me again, this time almost frantically. He glances over his shoulder as if looking for something and then turns and waves to me again. A visible tremor goes through him, and he grimaces as if in pain. His movements become more staccato, his flickering more rapid. With a sideways glance at the river below where my father drowned, I press down on the gas and continue up the road, which rises up a hill into the Cascades.
“Where’s he taking us?” Abe asks. “Do you know?”
“No,” I say, watching as the Strange Man appears again, this time with his mouth wide open like he’s screaming as he bends over, holding his stomach. “Something’s wrong with him, though. It’s like he’s in pain.”
“Didn’t Cal say they didn’t have souls?” Abe asks, squinting ahead as if that’ll bring the Strange Man into view. “I didn’t think they could feel anything.”
I shudder at the memory of fear in their eyes and voices when Cal had opened the black hole back at Lone Hill Memorial. “They can feel things,” I say quietly as the Strange Man’s mouth stretches wide again before he disappears.
We round an almost blind corner. The Strange Man stands just before the Oakwood Bridge, a steel monstrosity that crosses over the Umpqua River churning angrily some fifty feet below in the gorge. The bridge itself is one lane each way, and a hundred feet long. Cement walkways line either side of the bridge for tourists to stop and take photos, blocked off by metal girders. The roadway is blacktopped, a dotted yellow line running down the center.
The Strange Man is now in the center of the bridge, jerking his arms at his sides. He looks as if he’s having a seizure, still upright but shaking violently, snapping his head back and forth. His white skin has started to redden, as if he’s heating from the inside. He rocks his head back, opens his mouth wide, and a little tendril of smoke rises from his throat into the air.
Any remnants of the sun have disappeared behind the approaching clouds. Even inside the cab of the truck, the air from outside feels electric, like the storm is ready to break open at any moment and plummet toward the ground. It feels more like dusk than m
idafternoon. I flip on the headlights and the Strange Man is illuminated briefly before he disappears in an intense flash.
And reappears, stock still, on the other side of the bridge.
He waves. And smiles.
Headlights are coming down the mountain road behind him. They hit him briefly and he is cast in shadow before he disappears. We approach the bridge at the same time. It’s another truck.
“Someone coming in for the festival?” Abe asks.
“Maybe.” I frown. The truck approaching seems to be a newer model, its headlights a bright blue LED. I can see a bar of the same LED lights across the top of the cab. A metal grill guard wraps around the front. The truck looks black. The windows are tinted, and given that, and the distance between us, and the lights in my eyes, I’m unable to see anyone in the cab.
Suddenly, everything feels wrong as we drive onto the bridge
I look down at the speedometer in the Ford. Thirty-five miles an hour. I glance in the rearview mirror. No one behind us. The Strange Man has not reappeared. It’s all wrong. Cal, it’s all wrong.
Everything goes to hell when the light bar across the top of the approaching truck abruptly flashes on and the truck shoots forward. We’re already a quarter of the way across the bridge and I can’t go left or right. I have a moment to decide whether to hit the brakes and try to reverse or to plow forward. I press down on the gas. The Ford gives a loud roar and I think about my dad, how he was so proud to find that V8 engine, how he hadn’t let the guy screw him over with the price, because that’s not how we do it around here. The Ford sounds like it’s alive, and it is angry. Big Eddie would have loved that sound.
“Oh my Jesus,” Abe breathes, beginning to brace himself for impact as the black truck crosses halfway over the center line, barreling down the road.
“Trust me,” I say through gritted teeth as I move over to meet it head-on.
As the trucks race toward each other, an eerie calm befalls me, belying the sweat that drips down my back. I can’t hear the wind outside or the scream of the engines. I can’t even hear Abe shouting next to me anymore. All I can see is the light, and it is so blue, everything is blue, and I think of Cal and everything I should have said. I think of everything I should have confessed to him. I open my mind as widely as possible and think Cal. I say Cal. I scream Cal.
