clip before pushing it back home. He then drops to his knees and presses the barrel against Abe’s left temple.
The knife. I have to open the knife. The back of my hands are pressed together. I grip the knife between two fingers on my left hand and attempt to grab the blade by pinching it with the knuckles on my right hand.
“Who else?” Christie demands.
“No one,” I grind out, the knife slipping again.
Griggs digs the gun into the side of Abe’s head. “Who did you talk to?” he snaps.
“There’s no one else!” I shout, holding the knife steady again.
“Look away,” Abe says, his voice calm. “Look away, Benji.”
“You hush,” I say hoarsely. “Please. Please just let him go. There’s no one else. I swear. I would tell you if there was. I swear.” My knuckles catch the blade, and I pull. It doesn’t open.
“You’re lying,” Christie says, taking a step back. “You want to watch him die in front of you?”
“Benji,” Abe says. “Look away.”
“Please. Oh, God, please. Please believe me. I wouldn’t lie. I can’t lie. Christie, you know me. Please. You don’t want to do this. I’ll do anything you want.” I pull on the knife again, and it opens.
“Who else knows?” Griggs snarls. “The ATF? The DEA? Your mom? Nina? Mary?”
Christie’s eyes grow dark at the mention of her sisters, but she doesn’t stop him.
“No,” I croak. “How could I tell them what I don’t know? Take me instead. Please.”
“Benji,” Abe says softly. “Listen to me.”
I look at him as my eyes start to burn.
“They won’t believe you, no matter what you say,” he says steadily. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. They’re too far gone to pull back now.”
Michael! God! You fuckers! Help me!
“Don’t hurt him,” I whisper. “You just can’t.” I pull the knife all the way open and hold the handle between my fingers. I curl my hand up until I feel the blade poke against my wrist. I twist it until it touches the plastic of the zip tie.
“Tell us what we want to know!” Griggs shouts, digging the gun into Abe’s head again. “I’ll kill him right now if you don’t fucking tell us!”
“Please,” I try again. “I didn’t. I swear it. Please.”
Christie sighs. “I think he’s telling the truth.”
“The fuck he is,” Griggs snaps. “He’s just like his fucking father.” “Benji,” Abe says. “It’ll be okay. You know why?”
I shake my head, tears falling on my cheeks. I turn the knife until the blade is flat against my wrist and slide it up between my skin and the plastic. I cut myself, and blood trickles down my wrist.
“It’ll be okay, because I’ll see her again. My life. My love. My Estelle. I love you, boy, but I’m tired. I think I have been for a while. I’m ready to go home. I know I promised you, but it’ll be okay.”
“No,” I moan. “You can’t leave. You can’t leave me here alone.”
“Last chance,” Griggs says.
“You are never alone,” Abe says. “Your father has always been with you. And you know Cal has always been with you. Always. When I see that boy of yours, I’ll tell him you’ll see him soon. And when you’re ready, we’ll be waiting with open arms.”
“Who. Did. You. Tell,” Griggs says quietly.
Nothing I can say to Griggs matters, so I say the only thing that does matter. “I love you, old man.”
“I know,” Abe says with a strong smile. “Look away, Benji. For me. Please. Close your eyes and look away.”
The knife falls to the ground behind me. I look away as my chest heaves.
“George, wait,” my aunt says, sounding unsure.
“No,” Griggs says. “This ends now.”
“I’m coming, Este,” Abraham Dufree says with relief in his voice. “I’m coming home. I’ve missed you, Lord knows I have. Our Father, who art in heaven—”
“George, don’t—”
“—hallowed be thy name—”
“I’m done fucking around!”
“—thy kingdom come—”
I squeeze my eyes shut and scream.
“—THY WILL BE DONE—”
The gunshot is flat in the shack. It does not echo above the rain.
memories like knives
On the third day after my father’s death, I awoke from a difficult sleep. I felt
groggy, my eyes gummy and stuck together. I groaned out loud. I was thirsty. My stomach rumbled. My mouth was sour. And then everything hit me at once. He’s gone.
The thought was like an explosion in the dark, and I gagged, just once, only then remembering being sedated three times in the last three days—each time I’d awoken, screaming. Ranting. Raving.