Page 1 of A River of Crows

Prologue

I’ve heard about angels, a tunnel, and a bright white light, but all I see are crows—smears and smudges of crows circling above the water. The same water I’ve swum in, fished in, and studied beside will be the water that will soon flood my lungs. This river has been a part of me for so long, it’s only fitting that I soon become a part of it.

I push against the hands that hold me under, then try pulling instead. I claw and thrash, but it’s not enough. I’ve always been a fighter, yet somehow, I already know this is a fight I can’t win.

When they find me—if they find me—they will say I slipped. No one will pay. No one except me, even though many are guilty. But the crows see my killer’s face. The crows see all they’ve done. And a crow never forgets.

The water is choppier now, and my panic rises with it. My body craves oxygen. My legs kick beneath me; my arms rise above me. The hands push down with more force. Everything is futile. My mouth opens, and water floods my throat, burning into my lungs. My legs stop kicking; my arms stop flailing. I close my eyes as my body becomes limp. The hands above me feel me stop resisting but only shove me down further, as though my surrender is a trick. I can’t blame them for thinking that.

But this is no trick; this is the end. I open my eyes once more. The crows are still there, waiting. I fall asleep and dream of them diving into the water, lifting me with their talons, and laying my lifeless body on the riverbank. Like a bird, I am flying, hovering above my body, watching this funeral-like ritual when one crow, the largest one, flies up toward me. He zips ahead, and I follow. With a clarity that only comes in dreams, I know he is here to guide my soul into whatever comes next.

Chapter 1

Houston, Texas, 2008

Sloan Bevan took her time clearing her desk. The building was empty, but unlike most of her colleagues, she didn’t have anyone to rush home to. She already missed the sounds of laughing students and paper being torn from notebooks. There was nothing sadder than a silent classroom.

Sloan thought about the fifth graders who had filled these empty desks just hours ago. She could usually say with confidence she’d prepared them for middle school but worried this year that her disaster of a personal life had seeped into her classroom.

Picking up a few folders from the desk, Sloan glimpsed the papers she’d been avoiding for three weeks now, Final Decree of Divorce. Even after five months of going through the process, reading the words still hurt.

She and Liam married in 2000. The same year she started teaching. Sloan approached her marriage the same way she approached the start of her career, with unbridled optimism. It was hard to remember the feeling now, eight exhausting years later.

Sloan knew she needed to sign the papers and put all this behind her. Liam certainly had. Of course, he’d put their marriage behind him during their marriage—the moment he met Megan Cooper, to be exact.

As much as Sloan hated Megan, she couldn’t place all the blame on her—even if she was a homewrecker. No marriage is unraveled by pulling a single thread. Just like no family is. Sloan understood that all too well.

Sloan was a child of the ’80s, and growing up, she never considered a world without shopping malls or Saturday-morning cartoons. Never gave thought to a time before she existed, when her parents lived separate lives. She’d been an only child once but remembered little from those two years. In every memory, her brother was there. As a girl, it was impossible to imagine a world unlike the realm of her childhood. It was just as difficult to imagine a different future. Sloan never dreamed of a world where MTV aired more television shows than music videos—or where she carried a computer in her pocket.

She never thought her parents would again live separate lives or that she would become an only child once more. Never expected the river she’d learned to swim and fish in would be the river that claimed her brother’s life. And never in a million years would she have guessed her father’s hands would hold Ridge under the murky water at Crow’s Nest Creek until he stopped breathing.

No, she didn’t see any of it coming.

Sloan’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She drew in a long breath. The number was not Liam’s, but seeing it made Sloan’s heart skip just the same: Noah Dawson. Her voice cracked as she answered.

“Hi, Sloan. It’s Noah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sloan cleared her throat. “Oh, hey.” She tried to sound like she didn’t already know it would be him on the other end of the line. Tried to sound like somewhere along the way she’d deleted his number from her phone, forgotten it entirely.

“Sorry to bother you, but have you checked your voicemail? Cedar Grove is trying to reach you. Caroline left.”

Sloan shot up from her chair. “What do you mean she left? She can’t do that.”

“She can, Sloan. Everything since the psychiatric hospital has been voluntary. She’s in a private facility.”

Sloan paced across the classroom, staring down at the carpet dotted with orphaned pencil stubs, erasers, and a few sparkly hairbands.

Her mom seemed to like the home. She hadn’t complained about it. Not that Sloan had called her much or ever asked for her opinion. Sloan had given up the hope that anyone or any program could help her mother, but at least they had kept her safe and fed. What was she supposed to do now?

“I can help,” Noah said as if he’d read her mind. “She’s back at the house. I can turn the utilities on and bring down the old furniture from the attic. My mom’s gonna pick up some groceries too.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Sloan looked around the classroom. “I have some work to finish up. Mandatory meetings tomorrow, but I can be there Saturday. Let me know what I owe you.”

“Well, I’ve always wanted an explanation.”

Sloan tensed. “Noah. Don’t.”

“Hey, I’m kidding. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry all this is happening. First, your dad’s release date was set, and now this. I wish . . . I wish I could . . .”

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