The River

I closed my eyes, pulling in a long, deep breath. Silent darkness encompassed me and a frigid stillness prickled my skin. I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar, hollow face with sharp bony cheeks and deep, empty eyes set in ghostly pale skin. His long white beard trailed down his torso, flowing like his black robe with no hems and no edge. His clothing just flowed down forever into the blackness of the space, rippling and waving like the river which babbled by in perfect harmony through the featureless void. The water reflected everything, though there was nothing to see but the man and his river.

"You have returned," the man whispered. His raspy, airy voice penetrated deep in my chest, causing my heart to tremble.

I nodded, unsure what to say.

"If you will pay the price, extend your hand into the river."

A shiver worked its way up and down my spine, icy fingers plucking at my vertebrae like the wooden bars of a xylophone. I reached for the river, thrusting my open palm into its current. Instantly the hot, furious flow tugged at the flesh on my bones, pulled and burned until I was sure my skin would peel away, pulling muscle and tendons along with it. I cried out, clenching my jaw and straining my arm, waiting for the bones to snap. The old man watched on impassively, the black void of his eyes gazing at me with indifference. Slowly, gradually, the river's waters slowed between my fingers. The current churned angrily against my palm but reluctantly cooled before finally coming to a frosty rest.

I threw my eyes open and glanced around, my heart pounding from the hit of adrenalin throbbing in my veins. A .45 caliber bullet had barely exited the barrel I was staring down. I took a long, relieved breath and began assessing the situation. Two masked gunmen had just burst through the door. Splintered wood hung dramatically in mid air several feet from where the door frame had given way. A fiery cloud of hot gasses created a beautiful plume that burst from the barrel of the gun and flared out into a brilliant flower of burning death. The man holding the recently discharged firearm had charged in directly behind the man whose shoulder had forced its way into my home, overtaking him in order to thrust the gun into my face.

I winced at the intense, stinging pain in my arm that persisted even with my eyes open. I had to move quickly. The gunman's vacant eyes had zeroed in on me with icy, professional precision. I leaned slightly to one side, giving just enough room for the bullet to graze safely past my head and I began to reach out to grab his hands. Closing my eyes again, I balled my hand into a fist, gradually allowing some of the waters to flow by. The frozen world around me thawed slightly and I forced the man's hands down and behind him, catching him off guard and aiming the weapon at his companion. I jammed my finger into the trigger guard with his and the weapon fired again.

Spreading my fingers wide I felt his hands grow cold in mine and once again everything was still. No movement, no entropy, no heat. Every atom outside of my body completely devoid of energy. I shivered as the heat radiating from my skin was sucked mercilessly into the dead nitrogen and oxygen atoms wafting precariously in the void left by the tiniest movements of my muscles.

One of my attackers would soon be dispatched. I looked at the man whose icy hands I clasped. His eyes were wide with horror, his frozen expression full of shock. So someone had sent them to kill me without warning them what I was capable of? I had questions. Perhaps this man could answer them.

Moving with purpose I quickly unlaced his boots and tied the cold, stiff laces together, massaging them until they were pliable enough. I worked the painfully cold gun free from his fingers, closed my eyes, and prepared to take several quick steps back. My forearm and fingers writhed with searing pain, the stinging pressure sending blindingly bright signals to my brain. I withdrew my arm and pulled it in close to my body, nodding gratefully to the old man before opening my eyes and stumbling backwards. I watched the masked man collapse hard onto the floor as I maneuvered the gun in my hands and trained it on him. The previous shot slapped into his companion's flesh and his lifeless body hit the ground with a dull thud, blood oozing from the gaping hole left behind by the bullet.

The man on the ground scrambled to get to his feet, crying out in shock and cursing like a hardened military man.

"Freeze!" I yelled, my wavering voice cracking as it rushed through dry, tense vocal chords.

He looked up at me, his eyes bulging with horror, kicking his tied feet desperately.

"Hands where I can see them!"

He extended his hands out, resting on his chest with his face on the ground.

"Who sent you?" I screamed, trying to sound tough. At four foot eleven and barely a hundred pounds, I knew my dainty form wouldn't inspire fear, but I hoped that holding a gun would lend a little oomph to my powers of persuasion.

He shook his head, apparently rubbing his nose in my carpet and laughing softly. "He thought you might let one of us live for questioning," the man sneered. "Guess my buddy drew the short straw." He looked back at the body in the doorway.

"Who sent you?" I demanded again.

The man craned his neck and looked up at me, raising his eyebrows and grinning sadistically. "You mean you don't already know?" He clicked his tongue in disappointment, slowly shaking his head again. "Come on Angie, you know who sent us."

My heart jumped and I gasped. How did he know my name?

The man on the floor laughed heartily. "You really don't know? He said you'd know for sure."

"Tell me now or I'll shoot!" I yelled, my face and ears burning hot. I could feel sweet soaking into the armpits of my shirt. My stomach churned and boiled.

"Hey! I don't know, OK? He never told me his name! He just said you'd know who he was!" The man held his hands out, extending them away from his body like a sky diver in freefall. "I never even saw him," the man cried. "He just kind of... spoke to us, you know?"

"Huh?" I sputtered. "What are you talking about?"

"The guy was a shadow, a mirage. I never got a good look at him. Creepy guy. Always behind you. You seriously don't know who he is?" He looked up at me with worry on his brow and pain in his eyes.

Suddenly I felt a hot, bony hand on mine, squeezing me until the trigger pulled in and the gun went off, jumping out of my hands. I gasped and glanced around frantically. Something at the edge of my vision moved, and when I looked there was nothing there. I looked back to the man on the floor. The bullet had gone right through his head. He was dead.

My heart was pounding. "Who's there?" I called with a shaky voice, bending over to pick up the gun while scanning slowly around the room. Outside I heard sirens in the distance.

A distant, wispy voice sailed smoothly into my ears from just behind me. I jumped without catching what it said.

Whipping my head around I struggled to catch my breath. "Who are you?" I stammered.

"Ask the old man at the river," the voice whispered directly into my ear. It was a solid, deep voice that left heat on my neck, but when I turned there was nobody there. My heart raced out of control just as the flashing blue and red lights pulled up in front of my house.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Once again I let myself fall into the blackness where the man and his river always waited. The hollow gaze of the old man regarded me with tired patience.

"Who was that?" I cried frantically.

The old man's long, stringy hair shifted slightly, the silver strands of his beard twisting as he gently cocked his head. "Who are you?" he challenged.

"You know who I am!" I replied indignantly. "Who was the man... or thing that just spoke to me?"

"Who am I?" he replied conversationally and slowly, almost as though it should be the answer to the question.

"Was it you?" I asked, horrified.

"You know not the powers with which you meddle. You have not walked the length of the river as we have. You do not see it for what it truly is."

"I know enough," I said. "But I don't understand who that man was, the one I couldn't see."

"You must learn to see him. You have much to learn. You do not understand the debt you must pay for thrusting your hand into the river."

"I understand!" I challenged. "I understand I'm losing some of my own time, but it's a small price to..." She froze.

The old man was shaking. His head was bowed and his body was bouncing slightly under the black cloak. He was laughing.

"What are you laughing about?" I demanded, suddenly worried.

"Child, your debt is not paid with time. Go. Walk the river. Learn from it. Understand it." He began to turn away, drifting as though he would step out onto the flowing waters and walk across the river.

"Wait!" I yelled. "Which way do I go?"

He looked at me over his shoulder, his thin, pale lips pulled tight into a devious smile. "It does not matter," he said. Then he turned his back to me and faded into the blackness, leaving me alone with the gently murmuring river. I stared at it, blinking and struggling with a million questions, fears, and doubts.

"Hey!" a man yelled, shaking me by the shoulders.

I opened my eyes and rattled my head around, letting my gaze settle on a tall, fresh-faced police officer looming over my petite frame.

"What happened here?" he asked, exasperated.

I didn't know what to say, so again I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to plunge my hand into the river.