Into This River I Drown

No one replies.

This doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

Cal stirs fitfully, and I think he’s about to wake. I put my hand to his forehead. He’s burning up. His skin is slick with sweat. He jerks beneath my hand, his face contorting in pain.

“Hush, brother,” Michael says. “Not yet.”

As if that’s all it takes, Cal stills. He sighs deeply but doesn’t wake.

I hear my mother moving until she’s standing in front of us, as if she can block Michael from Cal and me. If I know anything about her, she’ll try. I can’t allow that to happen.

“What an odd place this is,” Michael says again to the town. “On the outside, it looks like everywhere else. You go through your lives, day by day. Some of you pray. Some of you don’t. Some of you have damaged faith. Some of you have too much. Some of you have lied and stolen. All of you have hurt someone unintentionally. Some of you have done so with malicious intent. There is deceit and heartache and anger and selfishness. There is rampant sin. There are actions that go against my Father. I know, because I have looked. Since I have become aware of this place, I have looked. This place is no different than anywhere else in the world as far as I can see. There are secrets here that would destroy others if they got out. But you still all live here. In this town. This… Roseland. What is it about this place? And about this boy?”

His gaze rolls over the crowd. “One day, all of you will stand before your Creator and you will be judged for how you lived your life. On whether or not you showed kindness and compassion. On the purpose of your being and how you fit into my Father’s design. I wonder, though… here, now, if this will be your defining moment? Prayers are always heard, whether they are answered or not. Every day. Every person. Every single one. They aren’t all answered, not even the majority of them. But there’s a fundamental difference between saying a prayer and praying. One is recitation, the other comes from your soul. And in this church… I heard nothing but souls. Every single person here, and on the street outside, did not pray for themselves. You did not make personal requests. You thought about those of yours who you have loved and lost, and you bowed your heads. You prayed for an angel and a boy. For them to never be parted. Why is that?”

“Because they’re ours,” a voice says, sure and strong. I pull away from Cal and look out onto the nave. The crowd sighs as it shifts, the whispers picking up again.

Nina steps forward until she reaches the small steps to the altar. Michael looks down at her, a curious expression on his face, his white wings twitching as he stares down at the small woman before him.

“Are they?” he asks her kindly. “And why is that, child?”

“Because we’ve been the ones who have tried to hold them together when they started to break,” Nina says.

Rosie steps forward. “We’ve been the ones who held on when they shattered anyway, trying to hold the pieces together as best we could.”

Doc Heward raises his voice. “We’ve been the ones who swept up the pieces and put them back together.”

My Aunt Mary moves to stand by her sister. “And they did the same for us. Every day. They did the same for us. You asked why. The answer is because we could. We chose to do it.”

“Not all of you,” the archangel says. “Not all of you chose this. Some of you chose a dark path instead. Some of you chose pain and anger. Some of you chose yourselves over the good of your people.”

“And they’re all gone now,” Nina says, hanging her head. “Even Chris

tie.”

“Even Christie,” Michael echoes. He steps off the altar, toward Nina. The crowd takes a few steps back, pressing into one another as they try to move away from Michael. They’re in awe, yes, but they’re also scared of him. I can’t blame them. He’s accused them all of sin while also telling them they’ve done something he’s never seen before. It’s intimidating.

He stands before Nina and brushes the knuckles of his right hand over her cheek. “You know,” he tells her, “none of what happened was your fault, child.”

“Then whose fault was it?” she asks, her voice cracking. “If your Father is who you say he is, then why does he let such things happen? Why does he let us hurt? Why would he take people away from us? Away from each other?”

Michael doesn’t answer her. He’s waiting for something. He’s waiting.

For me.

“Sacrifice,” I say. The crowd turns its attention back to me. “It all comes down to sacrifice.” I step toward Michael. My mother immediately goes to Cal’s side. She holds onto his arm as he starts to jerk again.

“Yes,” Michael says, still watching my aunt. “Always.”

“Well, then, there is only one explanation,” Nina says.

“And what is that?”

She pulls her shoulders back and narrows her eyes defiantly. “Your Father is a bastard,” she says. “He takes what he wants, and he’s a bastard for it.”

The crowd moans. Mary tries to pull her sister away, but Nina shakes loose. She crosses her arms over her chest and refuses to move.

Michael looks amused. “Is that so?” he asks.