—what it means, I know the red is truth and the blue feathers will be nothing more than memory. Even as I think this, the feathers begin to melt, leaving behind droplets of blood that mix with the rain and reflect the menacing sky above.
Things change further. There’s a whine of an engine up on the road. I turn, but I can’t see the road from my position. There’s a crash of metal against metal, a breaking of glass, and it sounds so familiar that mile marker seventy-seven disappears around me and I’m—
stuck upside down in the Ford and am I still in there? Is this all just a dream? I hit my head, maybe. Maybe nothing that followed is real and we’re still in the truck and that’s why I can hear the crashing in the dream because it just happened to me and Cal is still okay. He’s still fine and I can stop him from dying. I can stop him from getting shot and leaving me. I can end this now. I
—look up as there is an even greater collision, and a red truck flies over the embankment, almost all the way to the river. It smashes into the ground and clips a boulder. The truck flips and lands in the middle of the river, its back end angled up toward the sky. Lightning arcs again, and the rain falls. Brakes squeal from up on the road and a shadowy figure appears, staring down at the truck in the water. I can’t make out who it is. I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. They stand in the rain, barely moving until they reach into their coat and pull out a small object. It lights up and is put to the figure’s ear. The voice is garbled, as if coming from underwater, and I still can’t tell the sex of the voice. It says, “It’s done. He never made it out of the county.”
I’m in the river. The water is cold. I’m drenched. My teeth chatter uncontrollably. The truck groans against the current. I look back. The dark figure is gone. Time has passed, though I don’t know how much. I don’t know if it matters. I take another step, and the river mud sticks to my feet, sucking them down. A thought runs through my head—
cal’s gone he won’t be able to pull me out of the river —but it hurts too much to think, so I push it away as I submerge myself under the water.
The silt and grit feel harsh against my open eyes. The truck is vaguely outlined in the river. I push up from the riverbed and kick harshly. I’m propelled toward the truck. I expect to see my father’s—
dead
—arm hanging out the blown-out window, but the window is empty. There is no blue feather. I swim closer. The current is strong.
Just float, the river whispers. You could stay here and float forever.
But I can’t. Not yet. I have to see my father’s face.
I get closer. I touch the truck. Do I need to go up for air? My lungs don’t hurt. My chest doesn’t burn. I’m not choking. I’m okay.
You don’t need to go up for air, the river says. Just open your mouth and inhale down here. It’s easy to breathe underwater. All it takes is that one… first… breath.
It’s trying to trick me. It’s trying to mess with my head. I can’t let it.
I pull myself along the edge of the truck. I swim as close to the riverbed as I can to look inside through the busted window on the door. I reach the door and grab it, anchoring myself to the truck. I’m pressed against the river bottom and the weeds tickle my stomach, the rocks scrape against my skin. I look inside the truck.
It’s pitch black. Like darkness has fallen inside the cab and nowhere else.
But don’t I hear voices? Yes. Yes, I do. They are muffled. I can’t make them out. I need to hear them, because the cadence, the timbre, to the voices sounds familiar. It causes me to ache because I know who they are now.
I close my eyes, and pull myself into the truck underneath the river.
Into the black.
This is what I hear in the dark:
“Am I already dead?” my father asks.
A response, strong and kind. “Almost. You’re almost there.” Cal. The angel Calliel.
“Dad!” I try to scream.
He doesn’t hear me. “Will it hurt?” There’s fear in his voice.
Calliel doesn’t hesitate. “No, Edward, Big Eddie that was. It will be like going to sleep.”
“What if I don’t want to sleep?”
“There is an order to things. A design. A pattern.”
“Fuck your design!” Big Eddie cries. “I don’t want to go!”
“I know,” Calliel says, his voice shaking. Something’s wrong. “And I wish it wasn’t this way. But I was given a test. I had no choice. I’m sorry.”
“Why?”