Page 72 of Raven

A flock. I don’t understand why she’s asking me except its obvious connection to my nickname.

“I am the only raven that you’ll ever have to deal with, Maddy,” I say. It’s intended to be a playful threat.

“Good,” she says back almost in a whisper that sounds like a promise. “I have to go.”

Her voice riles me up emotionally but also calms me mentally. It’s hard to explain. I wish we could talk forever, but I can’t be taking more of her time. She might get the wrong idea. Our deal didn’t involve long night-time conversations. But when the line goes dead, I feel an urge to dial her again, ask something stupid, anything really, just to keep her talking.

When I hang up, I pick up my notebook of quotes and write just that:

“Wishful kindness.” —Maddy.

Out of curiosity, I open my phone’s browser and search for the collective word for a group of ravens. Here it is.

A proper collective name for ravens is “unkindness.”

I stare at the word in a stupor…

There’s only one Raven, Maddy. Just one.

I pour myself some whiskey and sit in the wicker chair in front of the open balcony doors, thinking about Maddy and kindness and unkindness and coincidences and killers and the notion of God.

I get online again and order a scooter for the little dude. If he has a faster way to get around the resort, he won’t stalk me and bother me with his conversations.

Maddy is on my mind again. The kind smile she offers others often disappears when she thinks no one is looking, replaced by a haunting look. I’ve watched her plenty of times, and I know that she often sits for long periods either outside the medical center or on her porch in the evenings and stares at nothing in particular.

She is an oxymoron. There’s danger in her, I know that. She’s been raised by it. But there is also that quiet strength that probably comes from the same place. There is gentleness about her, and that contrast fucks me up but draws me to her. I want to know more about her. She reminds me of a flower when she is quiet, deep in her thoughts, when no one is looking.

You see, there are weeds, there is grass, and there are flowers. Just like people. I’ve been sifting through garbage and weeds my teenage years until Mac plucked me out and replanted me. Fresh grass—that’s what I think about when I think about Mac. He never raised his voice at me. Hardly argued. His wisdom wasn’t intrusive. Our late-night conversations were my favorite pastime. Come to think of it, I talked to Mac more than I talked to everyone in my entire life combined. He changed me without trying. Since I met him, I tried my best to pluck out the weeds around me and carefully manicure my surrounding.

And then this flower shows up. M. Maddy. Mayflower.

I feel like being around her is more important than anything else I’ve done before. I don’t know what it is, but it’s scratching at me from the inside, keeping me restless. Maybe she is in my life just like Mac, to give me a different perspective on the future.

I get up for another drink and notice a little clear baggy sticking out of my pocket. I search the web for the NDC number and find the prescription drug that the guard, Ali, takes, then research the medical conditions it’s used for.

The word “unkindness” rings in my ears.

I really shouldn’t care, but I pick up my phone and dial one of my pharmaceutical connections on the mainland and place an order—the prescription medication for Ali Baba.

28

RAVEN

I should’ve known that sooner or later, the monsters will start showing teeth. In hindsight, I should’ve taken precautions. But I’m thinking, well, this is Ayana, protected and surveilled. If I pay more attention to Maddy than needed, people will start taking notice. Archer will. Marlow, too. Bo would start sniffing around and giving me those hostile protective stares.

I don’t think much about it when one evening, only two days after my little bathroom tryst with Maddy, I open her GPS tracker on my phone and see that she is in a Greek restaurant.

We haven’t spoken in two days. I haven’t texted or scheduled a meeting. I really need to cool it with her. I just make sure I know where Maddy is at every day. For her safety. For my peace of mind.

She’s having dinner at a cafe.

Odd, because she’s never been out as often as in the last week, but all right. She is coming out of her shell.

I grill steaks at home, on my patio, then go to my alcove, check her GPS tracker again, and she’s still at the restaurant.

It’s nighttime. And the one thing I don’t like about darkness lately is Maddy going home alone. From work? Fine. It’s a five-minute walk, both her bungalow and the medical center are in the same part of the resort.

But the restaurant she’s at is on the opposite side. That’s a half an hour walk. At night. By herself. Maybe even tipsy.

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