Page 47 of Raven

My hands slightly shaking, I open the R-letter and find the picture of a common raven.

Little strokes it with his finger. “‘That raven?”

“Yes,” I say quietly. “A raven is any of several larger-bodied bird species in the genus Corvus,” I start reading, trying to keep my thoughts together.

Even around this little guy, everything is about Raven. Somehow, Raven is weaving his way into every part of my life.

And I wonder if that was his true intention from the beginning.

18

MADDY

Mathew Levi.

Twenty-seven years old.

Orphan.

Multiple foster homes.

Juvenile detention from age fifteen to eighteen for the manslaughter of a former foster parent by stabbing. GED credential received a year later. Medical records have reports of multiple broken bones throughout earlier years, as well as a partial amputation of two fingers on his left hand at the age of eighteen.

I go through Raven’s files with a grim realization that his childhood was nothing less than traumatic.

I don’t know much about him, and every opportunity to learn gives me bits and pieces, including the mysterious man named Mac who changed his life. Raven himself is a mystery on this island. Also, he is someone most people would rather not talk to.

The other day, Andrew Skiba came for a routine check. And while I filled in the paperwork, I inquired about Raven.

“You are on Raven’s team, right?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

He narrowed his eyes at me with a peculiar curiosity. “Define like.”

I shrugged. “He is a powerful man on this island.”

“Sure.”

“You spend any time with him outside work?”

“Not really. He likes his privacy. Doesn’t talk much about his girls.”

Girls? Like in plural? “Girls?”

“The current one, Siena.”

I stared at the computer screen, trying to focus on Skiba’s file, as my blood simmered at this new piece of information.

“They’ve been together long?” I asked, not meeting his eyes.

“Don’t know. It’s an in-and-out kinda scenario, I guess.” He chuckled, the sound of it low and somewhat bitter. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Just wondering. I like to know my patients.”

And I didn’t like Skiba. There was something abrasive about him—the way his eyes glided up and down my body, the way he narrowed them at me like he was trying to figure out how his words affected me. I see him here and there. Surprisingly, he occasionally hangs out at local restaurants at Ayana.

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