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It was time to make that ascent, but he could not leave the phone. It was now attached to him by a web of scarring on his hand.
He could see a figure above him in the light and tried to call out, but his throat was parched.
He wandered into the kitchen but could not now remember what he wanted.
It was as he recalled—sterile and empty. The pans hanging on the rack had never been used. The fridge was empty. The countertops immaculate.
The room looked as he felt: hollowed out and hungry.
This absence of life was connected to the button.
But he was too afraid to attempt anything that would stop the hunger.
He was safe down here, broken and in the dark. No, hebelongeddown here, broken and in the dark.
A movement caught his eye, and he laid the phone very carefully on the table and looked up.
The strange contorted figure above him was now glowing.
Ben always glowed, because Benjamin Rider created his own illumination.
Why was Ben not here?
Had he ever been in this house? Aleksey could no longer remember.
The phone was falling now, and when it hit the floor, the soft peat would swallow it. Perhaps it would still speak to him if he listened closely enough.
Why would the universe not send him a sign? He’d been begging it for one since he’d almost drowned with his mother. Perhaps he had drowned, and had merely been dreaming this long dream.
Ben believed in signs and portents, omens and fate.
The figure above him suddenly propelled upwards, into the light, rising fast, wings spread. His warrior angel. He’d always known.
Aleksey then felt himself drifting up but did not want to let go. There was something he still had to do, something critically important.
Hedidn’tbelieve in fate.
He knew you made yourowndestiny in life.
He fought against the irresistible force pulling him towards the light, just as he’d always fought, and stretched out his hand to catch the falling phone.
He pressed the send button.
His life now depended upon a man called Ben Rider.
He had a feeling that Ben might just surprise him.
* * *
When he next opened his eyes, Aleksey was staring up into a wide, blue sky and there was no pain at all.
He felt he didn’t deserve this, but didn’t want to point this out to anyone who might be holding the great book of his life. He was hoping it was written in Russian, and that they would therefore take some considerable time to translate it.
Something glided into the blue dome above him. A single hawk, lazily circling, rising on thermals. And he understood now why Ben had appeared to fly from the constriction of the shaft.
He tried to raise his hand, make a gesture:wait for me.
He did not want Ben to be alone in that soaring flight.
