Heaven's Keep by William Kent Krueger

door.
    “What do you want?” his son called from inside.
    “To talk.”
    “I don’t want to talk.”
    “We need to. Open up, Stephen.”
    The wait was long and Cork was beginning to think he’d have to assert his parental authority to barge in, but Stephen opened the door at last. He turned away immediately and went back to his desk. Theonly light in the room came from the computer monitor, which was full of pictures from a website, images of a plane wreck.
    Cork sat on Stephen’s unmade bed. “I can’t imagine that’s pleasant,” he said.
    “It’s not supposed to be pleasant.” Stephen looked at the monitor. “Did you know that they’ve changed the instructions for crash position? They don’t want you to stick your head between your legs anymore. Know why? It’s not because you have a better chance of surviving but because there’s a better chance of keeping your teeth intact so they can use dental records to identify the remains.”
    “You found that on the Internet?”
    “Yeah. And worse.”
    “And you believe it. And you think there’s no hope.”
    Stephen pointed to the monitor. “You think there’s any hope in that?”
    “When my father died, I was thirteen,” Cork said. “I was sitting at his bedside. Your grandmother was there, too. We watched him go. The doctors who attended him never gave us any hope. Because they were so sure, I didn’t even pray that he wouldn’t die. I just let him go. And you know what? I’ve always regretted that I didn’t pray my heart out trying to keep him with us. I wonder to this day if it might have made a difference.”
    “What? Like a miracle or something?”
    “Yeah. A miracle or something. Look, Stephen, nobody really knows what’s happened out there.”
    Stephen said quietly, “I do.”
    “Oh? How do you know?”
    “Because I dreamed it,” he said.
    “I don’t understand.”
    The light from the monitor lit Stephen’s face, giving his skin a harsh, unnatural sheen. For several seconds he didn’t speak, and his lips were pressed into a thin, glowing line. “There was this dream I used to have when I was a kid, I mean really little. I was in a big yellow room and Mom was there but way on the other side. I was scared. I think maybe there was something or somebody else in there with us. I don’t remember that part so well. What I remember is thatI tried to run to Mom but she disappeared through a door and the door slammed shut when I tried to follow her. The door was white like ice. I pounded on it but it wouldn’t open. I screamed for her to come back.”
    “Did she?”
    “I always woke up then. You or Mom heard me crying and came in and the dream was over.”
    “You used to have a lot of nightmares,” Cork said.
    “I had this one a bunch of times. It stopped and I pretty much forgot about it. Until today. Dad, it had to be about this, right? I mean, it is this. Only why did I have it so long ago when I couldn’t do anything about it?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Was there something I could’ve done to… I don’t know… stop it? Is there something I should do now? I don’t understand.”
    Tears gathered along the rims of Stephen’s eyes. Anything still unbroken in Cork’s heart shattered, and he reached out to his son, but Stephen shrank away.
    “I want to understand,” he pleaded.
    “Why don’t we talk to Henry Meloux?” Cork said. “He’s the only man I know who understands dreams.”
    “Henry,” Stephen said, and the dim light of hope came into his eyes.
    “Not tonight though. It’s late. First thing tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow,” Stephen said with a nod.
    They sat for a while, silence and the distance of their great fear between them.
    “Feel like joining the rest of us?” Cork finally said.
    “Yeah, I guess.” Stephen turned off the computer and followed his father out of the room.
    Downstairs, the faces of the others were turned to the television screen.
    “Dad,” Jenny said, “check this out.”
    Cork