The Raven Effect

BOOK ONE Heat Stroke The August sunrise blazed through greasy curtains thinned by age and careless hands. Maureen moaned softly, ground her palms into grit-caked eyes and crawled off the sofa bed, careful not to wake the man sleeping next to her. She snatched her clothes from the floor and locked herself in the bathroom. Her head hurt and her body ached. She shivered, scrubbing her bare arms with her hands. The face in the mirror was pale. Not just pale: old. Bloodshot eyes, craving sleep, stared back at her, begging for relief. Or was it rescue? She leaned into the mirror and probed the skin along her jaw. It was puffy and loose. Another disappointment. Her fingers trembled. She was surely coming down with something. Or getting over someone? She shut her eyes tight, longing darkness. She needed a shower but couldn’t stand the thought of the spray rasping her flesh. She settled for brushing her teeth- without turning on the tap- without opening her eyes. Not yet on speaking terms with her reflection. Sitting on the toilet she brushed her hair, pausing often to rest her head between her hands. If she barricaded herself in here- how long before they’d leave? How long before she’d have her room back, her solitude returned like a favorite sweater salvaged from the Lost & Found. But they wouldn’t. They needed her. They’d gone miles out of their way to find her. Billy would break down the door if he had to, to prevent her from abandoning them. She thought of slipping away- they were both still asleep. Maureen opened her eyes and stared at her dismal reflection. Hadn’t she done enough? She’d showed Billy the Raven’s hideaway. Let him take her on; let him be the hero. That was in his job description- Big Time American Environmental Activist- not hers. Just quit Victoria and go home to Vancouver; hadn’t Helen and Anne begged her over and again? Today was as good a time as any to start cleaning up the mess. She’d made a damn fine one these past two weeks; it would take months- years- to fix things, to get back on track. But which track? She stood back from the sink, unsteady on her feet. Her hand slapped the wall, struggling for balance. Which life could she reclaim? The one she thought was her own was now on life support, and the remaining options weren’t great. Her legs wobbled as she stepped into her clothes, rumpled khaki shorts and a cotton tee shirt that stank of cigarettes. She tossed her toothbrush into a cosmetic case bulging with shampoo and hand lotions and make-up and eye liners- stuff she had no use for, anymore- and opened the bathroom door. Josephine was awake and sitting up in the double bed, her spine pressed against the flimsy, painted plywood headboard. She glanced at Maureen, sniffed, picked up the remote and turned on the television. “He’ll fuck anything with a hole and a heartbeat.” “You’re speaking from experience?” Three steps for Maureen to skirt the sofa bed. Billy slept naked, on his stomach. Maureen picked a rumpled cotton blanket off the floor and flung it across his back. She retrieved her suitcase from the corner beside the motel room door and tipped it over. “Where’s my boots?” Josephine watched the procession of channels as she stabbed the remote with her thumb. “End of the bed,” Maureen said. She tugged on the sloppy bureau drawers and dumped her clothes into the open suitcase. No folding, no arranging, just a pile in the middle heaped to overflowing. “Leaving, Cage?” Josephine crawled the length of the mattress to fish her boots out from beneath the bed. They were black, sharp-toed and dusted with a fine, white grit. She used a corner of the top sheet to polish each one. “Why do you care?” Josephine spit on the leather, rubbing it angrily with the sheet. “Just making conversation. We’re the ones what barged in here without an invite.” “Billy told me. About what you tried to do. I’m sorry. That it didn’t work out, I mean.” “So am I.” Josephine slipped her right foot into a boot. Intricate stitching outlined a large bird on the outside panel, its wings outstretched, sharp beak gaping. Thunderbird. She pounded her heel against the carpeted floor to force in her foot. Billy flinched with each thudding blow. He rolled over but did not wake. “What burns me is they’re going to lie through their teeth.” “You got nothing in writing?” Maureen crouched over her suitcase, clenching her teeth at the knot of pain in her hip. Josephine snorted. “Nothing. Not even a napkin. They shredded everything.” “Email?” Josephine shook her head. “No chance. It was all arranged by phone. It’s like none of it ever happened.” “Billy said you got them to agree to an inquiry.” “Before it all went for shit. Let’s drop it, ‘kay?” Josephine tucked her jeans neatly into her boot tops. “I found the Raven,” Maureen said. “I showed Billy.” Josephine stood. She unwrapped her braid and dragged hooked fingers through shiny plaits. “Show me.” “Want a brush?” Maureen unzipped her cosmetic case and stood to hand hers to Josephine. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “I’m going to jail,” Josephine said, taking the brush and plunging it through rafts of black hair salted with grey. With each stroke her hair glistened, as if it, too, was emerging from slumber. “If I can’t get official answers I’ll get my own. This bitch knows.” “Leave it to Billy. Or the RCMP- Legare wants her too.” “No.” Josephine tossed the brush at Maureen. “We need the truth. Not just those families, all of us. It’s our story now, and it needs an ending, not a line in a police report or on some bigoted, lazy-ass newspaper editor’s by-line. Then the Tse Wets Aht can move on. We always do.” Josephine’s lips formed a thin, bloodless scar that ended beneath the deep hollows of her cheeks. The hot, white light of morning deepened the folds that radiated from her upper lip and at the corners of her eyes. Scalpel-thin lines etched into her skin. She looked older than her thirty-eight years. Maureen hesitated, tapping the back of the hairbrush against her leg. She dropped it into the cosmetic case, snapped shut her suitcase and dragged it to the door. So much for the early ferry to Vancouver. “I’m finished in this business,” she said, sweeping her cigarettes off the table. She shook a smoke from the deck and offered it to Josephine. “So am I when they catch me.” The Chief of the Tse Wets Aht cupped her hands around the match Maureen struck. Her palms shone like warm honey at the verge of match light. “I’ve lost my job, my house is next. The RCMP thinks I’m a criminal. I’ve broken every blood oath and promise I made to myself.” Maureen plucked a smoke from the pack and waved it in the air between them. “Look at me! I smoke, I drink. Christ! I slept with him and I’m older than his fucking mother!” “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Cage. Makes you more pathetic than you are.” “Screw it.” Maureen grit her teeth. She blew a plume of smoke into the air above her head and stuffed the deck into her shorts. “There’s a place near here we can get coffee to go,” she said, and her thoughts fled back to when this nightmare began, and where she’d gone so wrong.