Free The Heavens Rise by Christopher Rice Page A

flyers.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Something bad happened yesterday.”
    “Oh?”
    “My mom said no interviews.”
    “And I haven’t said the word once.”
    “We were in Ponchatoula and Anthem wanted to put some up in this sorry-ass little bar. I didn’t think we should go inside but he wouldn’t listen. So he just barged right in and started giving his little speech. Like about how our friend might be lost and she was in an accident so maybe she’s disoriented and wandering around out in the swamp somewhere and doesn’t even remember her name—” Saying the words now made him believe them even less, and remembering Anthem’s pained desperation as he’d said them, studded with pathetic attempts at good cheer, made Ben want to cry. “The bartender went off on us ’cause he thought we were scaring off his customers. But Anthem didn’t give a sh—damn. He just kept at it. So finally the guy ripped the flyer out of his hand and he read the date when they disappeared and said, ‘Sorry, pal. Looks like your little slut walked out on you.’ ”
    “That is unfortunate,” Marissa said.
    “Actually, the unfortunate part was when Anthem broke the guy’s nose and knocked out two of his front teeth.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Seriously.”
    “How old is this Anthem?”
    “My age. But he’s bigger. A lot bigger.”
    “Boyfriend?”
    “Yeah . . .” Then he noticed she was studying him closely and he realized her words might have been some kind of trap. “ Her boyfriend.”
    “I see,” she said calmly. Apparently she would have had no problem hearing that Anthem was Ben’s boyfriend. The idea was absurd, of course, but the fact that she would have accepted it so easily made Ben feel exhilarated and terrified at the same time.
    For a while, they sat listening to the nearby fountain’s gurgle and then the sustained wail of a train blowing its horn as it traveled the Mississippi’s crescent.
    “You can’t blame me for thinking that if you’re chewing me out over a column about Marshall Ferriot, you think there’s some connection between what he did to himself and your friend’s disappearance?”
    “Remember how this isn’t an interview?”
    “I remember. But if you think there’s a connection, I’d be curious to know why you wouldn’t want it made public.”
    Ben looked away, ashamed by his inability to answer. All he could think of was the flask Anthem had brought him yesterday; silver, freshly polished, sloshing with bourbon. There’d been almost no time to savor their quick escape from that awful little bar before Anthem began to drink himself into a full-blown vomit fest.
    Almost as bad as the sudden loss of his best friend was the dawning realization that his next-closest friend in the world was becoming completely unglued because of it and that in just a week’s time, Anthem Landry had been sent the way of his bar-brawling, jail-visiting older brothers.
    “Why are you here?” he asked her.
    “You made an impression today.”
    “And you don’t get a lot of chances to visit the Garden District?”
    She flinched. It was slight, but he noticed it, and even though it wasn’t much, it was more emotion than she’d shown him on the sidewalk that day, even when he was really laying in to her.
    “That’s offensive, Ben,” she said quietly.
    “I’m sorry.”
    She nodded but there was no awkward, placating smile, no real need for her to let him off the hook right away. She wasn’t his teacher or his mother. And there was no denying it; he’d hurt her feelings. But he’d only been able to do that because she’d let her guard down. And if she’d let her guard down that meant her motives for being there were more pure than he’d imagined.
    The idea that she might be genuinely concerned about him left him at a loss for words; worse, it threatened to undam a tide of emotions he’d held at bay for a good four or five hours now. He knew his mother loved him and cared about him, but as