Page 5 of A River of Crows

Sloan flopped to face the wall. She was almost asleep when she heard Ridge stirring. “Go to sleep,” she said without turning around.

“Sorry. Just have one question.” He flipped the lamp on. “Do you ever wish Mom and Dad would get married?”

“Not usually at 10:30 p.m.,” Sloan said but rolled over to face him. “It’s the eighties. Moms and dads don’t have to be married.”

Ridge’s brow furrowed. “But I want them to stay together forever.”

“They will. They aren’t old-fashioned, Ridge. Mom said they don’t need some piece of paper or ring to prove they love each other. Plenty of moms and dads sign pieces of paper only to rip them up.” Sloan scooped up a stuffed animal from the floor by her bed. A blue jay named Blue that Ridge used to carry around everywhere. She threw it at him. “Now go to sleep.”

Ridge dropped the bird on the floor before flopping down on his pillow. Sloan knew if she hadn’t teased him for sleeping with it a few months ago, he still would be. “Night, Lo. I love you.”

“Love you too, dummy.” Sloan reached for the lamp but froze at the sudden crash across the hall.

Ridge jolted up. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure,” Sloan said, but every muscle in her body went rigid.

Tears filled Ridge’s eyes. “It’s happening again.”

“Maybe not,” Sloan said, but her mother’s wild scream confirmed their fear. It was happening again. Twice now in one month. Sloan jumped out of bed. The floor felt even colder than usual. “Let me handle this. You stay put.”

“But—”

“No buts! Do as I say!” Sloan realized she was yelling, too, further frightening Ridge. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” She grabbed Blue off the floor and handed him to Ridge. “If you go, it’ll only make things worse. Do you understand?”

He nodded, squeezing Blue against his chest.

Sloan walked into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

“Jay, wake up!” her mother cried.

Daddy was talking too, but his words made no sense. It was all gibberish.

Sloan cracked the door to her parent’s room. “Mom?”

“Go, Sloan!” Mom pleaded. “Call Walt!”

Sloan pushed the door the rest of the way open. Her parents were on the floor between the bed and the window, Daddy on top, pinning Mom to that cold, cold floor.

“Daddy, stop!” Sloan stepped into the room. Her father didn’t get up but looked over his shoulder at Sloan. His normally sparkling eyes dull, his wavy blonde hair drenched in sweat.

“Sloan, no. Get the phone. Call Walt,” Mom repeated.

Sloan ran for the phone in the hallway. She misdialed twice before she steadied her hand and called Walter Dawson.

“Hello?” a sweet, sleepy voice said.

“Mrs. Dawson, it’s Sloan. We need Walt.”

That seemed to wake up Doreen Dawson. “Walt, wake up,” Sloan heard her say. “Is it your daddy again, Sloan? Are you okay?”

Sloan still heard her mother crying and her dad mumbling. She turned back down the hallway and noticed her bedroom door open. She hadn’t left it that way.

Sloan felt like she was moving in slow motion back down the hallway. She peeked into their room, but Ridge was gone. She saw the camouflage sheath on his bed and winced. Their father gave Ridge that hunting knife—a knife he had refused to use until now, apparently.

She turned toward her parents’ room and watched Ridge tiptoeing toward their parents. His grip was so tight on the knife that his hand was white. “Ridge, no!”

Ridge dropped his hand to his side. His lips and chin trembled. “He’s choking her.”

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