The Raven Four Books 1-3 - Jessica Sorensen Page 0,66
was funny.”
“And you like to be funny?” He seems confused by this.
I shrug again. “I like to be a lot of things, but yeah, I like being funny sometimes … Why do you seem so confused about that?”
He lifts a shoulder, staring at me like he’s completely mystified. “It’s just that you … I don’t know … You seem … happy?”
“And that’s confusing?”
He shrugs again.
The boy really likes to shrug.
“Well, I am happy sometimes,” I inform him. “Just like I’m sad sometimes. And angry. And scared. That’s totally normal.”
A crinkle forms between his brows. “Not in my world.” Then he sighs loudly. “Look, I can’t name my raven anything or else my dad will get mad at me.”
“Really?” I ask, and he nods. “Your dad’s really strict then.”
“Yeah, he is,” he agrees in a hollow tone.
I get the feeling his dad is a really mean guy. No wonder he looks so sad all the time.
I find myself wanting to make him happy, like I am sometimes.
An idea comes to me then. A pretty awesome one, too.
“Well, maybe you can give it a name without him knowing,” I suggest. “Like how I named my cat Cat.”
He gives me a funny look. “You think I should name my raven Raven?” he questions. “Like, after you?”
I give an innocent shrug, pretending like that just occurred to me. “Well, you really don’t have to name it after me. It could just be a weird coincidence that we have the same name.”
He sinks into silence again, giving me a suspicious look. But then the look fades. “I’ll think about it.”
I nod, smiling to myself. For a crazy second, he looks as if he’s smiling, too. But the look swiftly erases and fills with panic as an intercom inside the room clicks on.
“Kid, stop fucking around and do what you’re supposed to,” a male’s voice floats from the speaker.
Kid swallows hard. “I’m sorry,” he whispers then steps toward me.
My heart rate quickens, and I’m not sure why. Then he touches my arm and I hear the flapping of wings—
I gasp, my eyelids popping open.
“Holy shit,” I breathe out as I sit up in bed, my scars and fresh wounds throbbing as the images of the dream linger in my mind like a bad hangover.
My stomach churns just trying to think about it, so I get up and run to the bathroom to vomit. But my stomach is empty, so I spend the next few minutes dry heaving. Then I sink down onto the floor, my skin damp with sweat, my body and soul hurting for reasons my mind won’t allow me to comprehend.
What was that dream? Who is this Kid I keep dreaming of? I’m not sure, but I’m having a really hard time convincing myself that it was just a dream.
With him having that scar … and the nickname Kid … and a pet raven … could my forgotten memories be resurfacing?
But that leaves me with a ton of questions. Like, why am I suddenly remembering Zay? And, does he remember me? If he does, why didn’t he say anything? And what the hell happened in that room that had—and still has—me feeling like I’m going to throw up?
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. “What the fuck happened to me?” I whisper, trying to dig out the full memory from my mind. But, just like when I killed my parents, it’s like a door slams shut and locks, refusing to let me in.
Refusing to let me see the truth.
A truth that I have a feeling is horrifying.
I lie in bed for quite a while, just staring up at the ceiling and thinking. I have no plans of moving anytime soon until I hear the strangest noise coming from outside. It almost sounds like a fire is crackling.
Confused, I get up, tiptoe over to the window, and peer outside, surprised to find that, yep, the noise is indeed exactly what I thought it was.
A fire is crackling in the middle of the field beside my house. A man stands beside it. A man who looks an awful lot like my uncle. And what's even more creepy is I can make out a few silhouettes of some people standing behind him and the shadows of birds circle his head.
What the actual fuck?
I watch from the window as he throws something into the flames then steps back. The silhouettes move, too, walking into the darkness until I can no longer see them. Soon after,