Rosie and her shotgun aren’t the only ones that show. After she arrives, more
townsfolk start pouring into the store, word of the attempted robbery spreading quickly. Their faces are filled with concern, which quickly turns to anger that such a thing could happen in Roseland. This is such a safe place, they say. Things like that don’t happen here. What the hell is going on?
Sheriff Griggs arrives the same time my mother and Christie do. “Benji,” my mother gasps as she pushes her way through the crowd, wrapping me in a hug. “Christ, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice muffled against her shoulder. She pulls away, and as mothers tend to do, checks for herself, not satisfied until she knows I haven’t actually been shot.
She asks what happened just as Griggs walks into the door. He looks around the store wearily before announcing loudly that the store needs to be cleared. Roselandians grumble but comply. They gather out near the one gas pump, whispering excitedly.
I tell the sheriff and one of his deputies the same thing I would have told my mother. The guy had come in, demanding money. I’d attempted to give him everything out of the register, but he wanted more. The bank, I say, picked up the funds from the safe the day before as they do for all the businesses on Poplar Street. The robber had flashed his gun around, and it’d gone off accidentally. We didn’t see where the bullet had gone, but there didn’t appear to be any damage. Maybe it misfired, I say. I didn’t know. But the shot seemed to scare him. He fled.
“That so?” the sheriff says. “Sounds like you got lucky, Benji. You and your friend Cal, here.”
Cal keeps his face blandly schooled and says nothing.
“Very lucky,” the sheriff repeated. “You got a security setup here, don’t you, Benji?”
“Eh, sorry, Sheriff,” a voice says from behind us. Abe walks out of the back office and down the aisle to where we stood. “Just went back to check the tape myself and there seemed to be a malfunction. The tape is completely blank. Didn’t record a darn thing. You should really get that checked, Benji. Hate to think something could happen again and there’d be no evidence of it.”
The real tape is out behind the store smashed to pieces and buried in the trash, but the Sheriff doesn’t need to know that.
Griggs frowns. “Well, isn’t that just something. Awfully convenient that happened. A shame there’s no video to back up what you’re saying.”
My mother scowls. “You sound like you don’t believe him,” she accuses Griggs. “What the hell else would have gone on here, Sheriff? My son was just attacked and you’re making it sound like he had something to do with this!”
Griggs shrugs. “Just asking questions, Lola. You know I have a job to do. If it makes you feel any better, the guy was caught very easily. Apparently someone saw him ditch the gun a few stores down and one of our very own residents made a citizen’s arrest. He’s heading over to the station as we speak.”
The words chill me, but I show nothing on my face because Griggs is watching for any reaction. “That’s good,” I say. “I’m glad he was caught so easy.”
Griggs laughs. “I bet. He’s also shooting off his mouth like you wouldn’t believe!”
“Oh?”
“Yep. Seems to think there was a monster in the store.”
“A monster?” my mother asks, sounding flabbergasted. “What on earth?”
“One of my deputies radioed me on my way here, letting me know that he’d packed the guy into the back of a squad car. Seems he’s shouting to anyone who’ll listen that there was a monster in this store. That the big guy here had grown wings and was going to kill him.” He sounds strangely amused, as if it is the funniest thing he’s heard in a long time. He glances over at Cal. “Well, how about it, big boy? You sprout some wings?”
“That’s ridicul—” I start until the sheriff raises a hand to silence me.
“No, sir,” Cal says quietly. “I don’t have wings.”
“You sure about that?” Griggs asks. “Seems the guy saw something.”
“I think if you’ll take a blood draw, Sheriff,” Abe says coldly, “you’ll find he was high as a kite. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t know what he saw. Seems to me we’ve got a drug problem in Roseland. He’s not the first one I’ve seen lately. I doubt he’ll be the last.”
“That so, old-timer? Well, I may do just that.” He cocks his head at Abe. “And you make sure you call the station if you ever see someone with drug problems. I’ll be sure to take care of that for you. The streets of Roseland are no place for tweakers and burnouts.”
“You do that,” Abe replies flatly.
“You’ve caught the guy, Griggs,” my mother says. “Plenty of people saw him running from here, or so I’m told. That should be enough for you. I’m closing the station and taking Benji home.”
“And what about Cal?” Griggs asks. “Gonna take him home too?”
Cal looks unsure until my mother steps in. “Of course. He’s staying at Little House. I’m going to take care of both these boys, you can count on that.”
The sheriff nods, tipping his hat in our direction. “Well, then, I’ll take my leave.” He looks me up and down, his gaze staying on my feet for a moment, then looks back up at me. He turns to walk out the door. He stops before stepping outside. “Say, Benji,” he says, looking over his shoulder, “you wouldn’t happen to wear a size nine boot, would you?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Funny thing, that. Found some size-nine boot prints outside my back window a few nights ago, like someone had been prowling. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I laugh, though my stomach is sinking. “Sheriff, I would think between running the store and everything else that I wouldn’t have time to be paying you a visit. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who wears these boots. It’s all they sell at the hardware store.” My heart thuds in my chest.
“Is that all, Sheriff?” my mother asks icily. “Seems to me you have a suspect to go speak to.”
“That I do,” he says with a grin. “I’ll let you know if I have any other questions. And, Benji, watch yourself out there. Seems like you’re attracting all kinds of attention these days.” He winks at us and walks out of the store, the little bell ringing overhead.
“Mom, I’m fine,” I tell her in Big House as she tries to check me over yet again.
“I’m just worn out. I think we’re going to head to Little House to take a nap, okay? I just want to put today behind me and start over again tomorrow.” She looks like she thinks that’s the most ridiculous idea she’s ever heard, but I’m already standing, motioning to Cal to follow me out the door.
“You’re getting that security system upgraded,” she says, standing to poke me in the chest. “I don’t care how much it costs. You know better than that, Benji.”
I sigh. “I’ll start researching first thing tomorrow, okay? We’ll see what we can get and how soon.”
She narrows her eyes.
“I promise,” I say. “Cross my heart.”
“Hope to die?”
“Stick a thousand needles in your eye,” I say gruffly. “Cal, let’s go.”
He follows but I feel his absence behind me as I reach the door. I turn and see he’s standing in front of my mother. She’s looking up at him, unsure about his presence so close to her. I think about calling out to him, but I wait.
He reaches out and touches her shoulder. “Lola Green,” he says quietly, “I know you are worried. I know sometimes things can seem scary. And maybe sometimes they are scary. But I will tell you this, okay? I will watch Benji. I will protect him. I will keep him safe. This I promise you. I will keep Benji safe. It’s my job.”
My mother gasps quietly, bringing her hand to her mouth, her eyes growing bright. She makes a little strangled noise from behind her hand and shakes her head. “Who are you?” she whispers. “You come out of nowhere and you stay here and you say things like that to me? Who the hell are
you, Cal? Why are you here?”
For a moment, I think he’s going to open his mouth and spill everything, and I think about what that would do to her, what that would mean. There would be surprise, I’m sure. Shock. Disbelief. Confusion. And if she believed him? If he did something to prove what he would say is true? There would be anger. Rage. Fury. She would demand answers I’m not ready for. She would ask him, if he was a guardian as he claimed, then where was he the morning Big Eddie died? Where was he then when he was supposed to be protecting the people here?
He would tell her that he couldn’t remember, that pieces were still lost to him. He would tell her that he was like a puzzle that had yet to be made whole. He would tell her how sorry he was, but he just couldn’t remember.
And it would sound like a lie.
Instead, he says, “I am Cal Blue. I am here because I care about your son. I care about all of you, but I care about him more. I am here to protect him, and I will do my duty.”
She trembles, tears welling in her eyes then spilling over onto her cheeks. She sniffs and brushes her face angrily. “Then you better do your job,” she says bitterly. “If something happens to him, I am coming for you. Do you understand me? If anything happens to him, I will hunt you down and make you pay.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less,” he says, squeezing her shoulder.
She glances at me, her expression unreadable, and then she turns away, leaving the kitchen. I hear her going up the back stairs and wait until her door slams shut. He stares after her for a time before I call his name, my voice rough.
He seems so big when he walks toward me, as if there are parts of him, just under the surface, that add to his mass. For a moment, I think I see the faint outline of wings stretching out behind him, the tips dragging along the floor. A flat disc of metal feels like it’s burning a hole in the jeans pocket I placed it in earlier. My skin feels electrified. My heart pounds. I don’t know what all of these events mean, but it feels like things are changing and I can’t do anything to stop it. I don’t know that I want to even if I could.
He towers so far above me that it seems impossible. His eyes are like pools of oil, liquid in the way they shift. He reaches down and takes my hand in his and carefully pulls me out of Big House and toward home.
He takes me to the bathroom in Little House and turns on the shower, telling
me to strip. I do, trying to decide if I should be shy in front of him. My shirt goes up and over my head. I hesitate when I reach the fly to my jeans, but the earnest expression on his face is not mocking me, nor is it filled with any kind of deep hunger. I take off my boots and flip the buttons on my jeans and drop them to the floor. Something stutters across his eyes then and there’s a quick flash as he looks me up and down just once, and I think I hear a sharp intake of breath, but I can’t be sure over the noise of the shower. He parts the curtain, closing it behind me when I am under the water. I can see him through the plastic as he picks up my clothes and folds them, then puts down the toilet seat lid and sits. Waiting.
The water scalds my skin. The steam is heavy in the room. I feel detached, like I’m above myself, looking down. This moment feels almost like a dream. I lean my forehead against the tile, the water cascading down my back. I close my eyes and I’m tired, suddenly exhausted. My knees feel weak, and I open my eyes, my vision tunneling. I inhale, but I choke on the steam. It’s hard to catch my breath and I just want to lie down. I just want to close my eyes and not think. It’s not a bad thing. I know that desire to want to escape, to not have to worry about the things I no longer have control over. So I let go. The release is almost shocking in its simplicity. I let go of all of my confusion and jumbled thoughts because I just want to float on my back and look up at the sky and go wherever the river will take me. I let go and fall.
But before I fall completely, strong arms wrap around me, holding me tight. A worried voice says my name. Lips brush against mine, and in my secret heart (crossed, hoped for death, a thousand needles stuck in my eye), I know I’m safe as I disappear into the dark.
There is no seventy-seven in this place. There is no river. There are no crosses,
no trucks that crash down embankments. No voices call my name, no shadow figures standing on the roadway above. It smells of earth and there is only peace because all I have is blue.
Consciousness creeps in slowly. I don’t want to wake up, but I feel that I
must. I’m warm, and comfortable. I know I’m in my own bed even before I open my eyes. I crack open my left eye and it’s dark in my room. The sun has set since I passed out in the shower. Moonlight is soft through the window, splaying shadows from the trees onto the floor.
I am alone, and I try to ignore the ache that causes. I’m not too successful. The bedroom door is shut and I hold my breath for a moment, trying to hear anything in Little House, to see if he is somewhere near or if a thread has called to him and he is gone. I don’t hear anything. Little House is quiet. But don’t I feel something there? Isn’t there something, just beyond the door? All I have to do is open the door and he will be mine, because isn’t something there?
There is, and he calls to me. My blood sings, the cells almost boiling. My skin prickles. I feel like I’m vibrating and my teeth chatter. I sit up and put my feet on the floor. I’m wearing only my usual sleep shorts. I try not to think how I got into them. “Things are changing,” I whisper frantically, my voice hoarse.
Things have already changed, is the reply.
I stand and take a step toward the door and it’s—
blue
—easier than I thought it would be, as is every step that follows. The floor is cold against my feet, the air in my room cool against my hot skin. My nipples pebble as I reach the doorknob, and I give myself one last chance to stop this, to stop all of this. I could. I could crawl back into my bed and pull the covers up and over me and hide there until morning, when things would make more sense, when things would be rational and I wouldn’t have to—
I open the door.
Calliel has made his nest on the floor outside my room, a pillow under his head, a blanket covering his waist and legs. He’s still wearing the same white T-shirt from earlier in the day, or so I think. For all I know, he could have any number of white ones. I rake my gaze over the muscles visible in his stomach and chest even below his shirt. They seem to go on for miles, and it’s all I can do to keep from falling down on top of him to find out just how far they go. His neck is strong, the rusty stubble beginning just under his Adam’s apple. The small cleft on his chin. The parted lips, full and pale. Those dark eyes.
He’s awake and looking back at me, his eyes glittering in the dark.
We’re silent, for a time.
Then:
“No threads tonight? No one to go save, Superman?” I say this lightly.
He shakes his head, a twitch to his lips.
“I’m sorry,” I say, unable to think of anything else.
“For what?” he rumbles up at me.
“Falling asleep.” I think I mean to say something else. I don’t know.
“You were tired.”
“Yeah. It’s been a… strange day.”
“These are some strange days,” he agrees, arching his back. He looks like he’s stretching, but his shirt rides up his stomach and I see the red fur there, the hard planes of his hip bone jutting in sharp relief.
I tear my eyes away. “Cal… I—”
“You need your rest.” He looks toward my bed. “Go back to sleep, Benji. We can speak tomorrow. You’ve been through a lot today.”
Disappointment tears through me, and it’s harsh. “Okay,” I say in a small voice. I reach out to shut the door, but then I don’t want to. I don’t want it closed. It’s a barrier between me and the outside world. It’s a barrier between him and me and I don’t want it there anymore. I push it open even further so that it’s against the wall and I glance down at him defiantly before I move back to my bed.
He say
s nothing.
I climb in and lie on my side, facing the open door. I can make out his faint outline, the red hair on his head and face, the tip of his nose, the part of his lips. I can’t tell if his eyes are open or not. His chest rises and falls, and I wonder about things I’ve never thought before, like if he needs air to live like I do, if he breathes wherever it is he came from. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt his heartbeat. Does he have one? Is there a pulse in his neck, hidden under the red stubble? I want to find it, I think before I can stop myself. I want to find it with my tongue.
Logic sets in then, along with my dismay at having thought such a thing. Angels might breathe, and their hearts might beat, but how can they want someone the way I do? And even if they—
he
—could, why would it be someone like me? I am nothing. I am no one. I am a small-town hick who will always be a small-town hick because I’ll never leave this small town. I will live here and I will die here. I won’t ever be someone he could want. I could never be enough for him.
But I want to be. I’m scared, but I want to try.
When did this happen? When did this start?
“Cal,” I say, my voice stronger than I thought it would be.
He sighs, like his name on my lips is something wonderful to him. He moves until he is lying on his side, facing me. I can see his eyes now, the whites reflecting back at me. My breath catches in my throat. Even in the dark, I can see how he’s not human. There’s something about him that feels far older than I could possibly imagine. Again I think I’m insignificant, nothing more than a fleck of dust flung far in a gust of wind. Before it can overtake me, I push the thought away.
I don’t reach out to people, not anymore. I don’t even let most people come to me. I push them away so I can remain buried in myself, in my own pity.
So I push most all of them away. The ones allowed in are only trusted because they have been here with me since Big Eddie died. They understand my pain even if not its depths. I don’t know how deep their own pain goes, but I know it’s nothing compared to my own. Selfish, yes. I know. I know that through and through. But pain is selfish. Grief is selfish. It demands attention, and the more you focus on it, the more it wants from you.