by Amarie Avant
“I’m Dr. Abdu.” The surgeon addressed the jumble of nerves, shaking her hand. “… Raven’s stabilized.” The doctor looked back and forth at them, explaining her condition.
“She’s okay?” Charlene’s hands were at her chest.
“Yes, ma’am, given the level of the car accident, I'd say she's doing fairly well. She had lacerations to the head, and we had to clean a lot of glass. Her left ankle is in a cast. She’s resting now.” He led them into her room.
Raven’s eyes were closed as she laid in a sanitized bed with bandages to her forehead. The beep of the heart rate monitor cut through the silence as they crowded around her. It had stopped raining, and the only window cast a dim light from a gloomy day.
“I do have a few things I need to discuss with you.” Dr. Abdu turned to Liam.
“What do you mean to him? I’m surprised you’ve even allowed him in here. He’s not family.” Charlene huffed, pulling the ribbed coverlet to Raven’s neck.
“You’re the fiancé, right?” Dr. Abdu asked.
“I’m—”
“He’s not the fiancé!” Charlene cut in, turning away from her child.
“You’re the baby’s father?” Dr. Abdu looked down at the medical charts.
“Yes.”
“So what this bastard is the baby’s daddy, but he’s not in the picture,” she assured, turning to shoo Liam away. “You can go now. I’m here, family is here!”
“Sir, are you or aren’t you the baby’s father?” Dr. Abdu’s bushy eyebrows crinkled together as he watched Charlene shove Liam. He scanned the chart, saying, “Raven is about … five weeks pregnant.”
Recalling the hotel grand opening, Liam nodded, taking a seat.
Charlene glared at him. “You bastard. Can’t strap it up?”
Ignoring her flair for the dramatics, he asked, “Is-is the baby okay?”
“Yes.” Dr. Abdu name was called over the intercom. “This is urgent. I’ll be back.”
When he walked out of the door, Charlene walked over to Liam. She looked down with disgust. “I want you to leave! If you had any respect for Raven, you’d go, now!”
Head in his hands, Liam’s voice was muffled. “No.”
“It’s clear that you don’t care anything about my daughter, so you need to go.” She tugged at his bicep, but he didn’t budge. “Raven told me all about Camille Kerr, cheating bastard.”
“I never cheated. Camille was just one of many models who get invited to functions to lighten the mood.” Liam paused. He couldn't explain all the calls Camille made to him before and after the event. He'd snuck away to tell Camille to stop. “Besides, Raven did. Raven has some abusive boyfriend hitting on her.” She broke my heart. He probably broke her arm. I’ll break his legs.
“What the hell are you talking about? Raven doesn't have a boyfriend, and if you've laid one hand on my child, she'll be a billionaire soon.”
“I'd never hurt her.”
Charlene chortled. “Oh, so you must mean physically only? Damn right, you've hurt her. She told me about those sluts from the club, I bet there's more. I hope your nasty ass catches something with those sluts you’ve been sleeping with. Oh, and if my daughter gets an STD, I’m beating your ass, then I’m suing your ass!”
He was at his boiling point, but it wasn't the time to remind Charlene what a lousy mother she'd been as Raven grew up.
“Excuse me, Charlene.” Liam stood abruptly and looked down at the psycho. “I’ve loved Raven the whole time.” He'd used a condom on all women besides her, but that wasn't something to tell her mother. Besides, the two women from the club were to console his broken spirit. He had never wanted any other once his eyes set on Raven’s.
Dr. Abdu strolled into the room and handed him an ultrasound picture. Charlene tried to snatch it from him, but he sidestepped her.
Dr. Abdu scratched his shiny beard. “Now, we have a more pertinent matter to discuss. We’re keeping Raven for observation.”
“I thought she was just sleeping.” Charlene sank into the chair. His stance foreshadowed doom better than any costar she’d ever worked with. Liam took a seat next to her, in his own state of panic as she tossed a sequence of questions.
The doctor held up his hand. “We’ve noticed wounds of a self-inflicted nature along her forearm, in addition to old scars across her left wrist.”
Liam massaged his temple.
“Have any of you observed behavior typical of self-mutilation? Wearing long sleeves in the summer? Periods of depression? Have you seen any unexplained scars? She had leather wristlets in her belongings—besides style, that is a prime indicator …” He went on to explain the warning signs.
“Oh, my God! The day … the day that Marcus Weber came to my house,” Charlene sputtered, and then put her hand over her mouth, stifling a sob. “Her hand was cut when she washed dishes. I never put knives in the sink, and I didn’t remember the cut when we went downstairs, maybe … But I’m her mother, I should know these things.”
“I haven’t …” Liam scoured his brain for signs. He’d seen a scar on her calf, but it was old, and she’d been the world’s most adventurous tomboy as a kid. As for her wrists, well, she always wore bangles.
“Dr. Stanton will perform a psych evaluation then we’ll go from there.” Dr. Abdu made for the door.
“This is my fault. I shouldn’t have served her those papers.” Liam stopped pacing to stand in front of Raven. He touched her cheek and hoped she was comfortable in her dreams. “I never apologized for leaving her …”
“No, this isn’t your fault. It seems I’ve blamed you for everything,” Charlene started. Liam opened his mouth to say something, but he was at a loss. “I wasn’t paying attention. And then we went to see Roy Tim—Royland …” Her voice broke, and she told him the story.
Raven had been awake as her mother told of their encounter with Royland, or just what Charlene knew of their encounter. Her mother had such a hard time getting out the words. Raven noticed she didn’t mention Royland’s full name or that Alder was the famous Black Beauty Murderer.
Pain medicine plunged Raven into a dark, shameful sleep.
After humiliating herself in front of Liam, she went home. In her room, the windows were drawn. A blue glow from the paused TV was her only light. The co-anchor’s face was still tilted in a hearty laugh, and the studio lighting caught his chiseled cheekbones. The main anchor that Stork had paid to deliver the sign had a carefree smile. With tear-stained cheeks, she slid onto the floor, holding her beloved tin box.
It had been years since Raven did this. Ironically, the box was one of a few items to withstand the fire. Though she'd long ago decided to never do this again, she'd kept the box. The euphoria started with the accident while at her godmother’s house at the age of fourteen, when she’d wanted to know more information about her mother. The accidental cut while slicing apples for a pie had sparked something inside of her. She’d been afraid of it, in the beginning. It was years later and in a state of chaos before she’d cut again. And now, as she leaned against the wall, feet planted before her, her hands grazed the box.
“I won’t ever let Liam hurt me, again,” she vowed. Slowly, her fingertips went from the top of the box to the latch. She opened it. Taking out its only contents, a razor, she contemplated if she wanted to make this next move. Yes, she felt the numbness that overtook her in her Godmother’s kitchen the first time. She felt nothing, like she’d done so many times before while cutting. Breathing came easy as she watched red liquid pooling around her arm.
It burned when bright light flooded into Raven’s eyes. She lay on a firm bed with her left ankle encased. Through shaded eyes, she watched Liam and Charlene at the foot of the bed, their backs to her. A man with a Middle Eastern accent spoke. When he mentioned pregnancy, she bit her lip so as not to scream.
Raven hadn't been on birth control before Liam. He was her only weakness. During the beginning of their quick, tumultuous relationship, she’d made a visit to the
doctor for birth control.
Then she heard the doctor telling them about the cutting. Maybe it’s a good time to say the kitchen scene after Marcus was an accident? But that would be a lie. After the doctor excused himself once more, Raven listened as her mom brought the conversation back around to Royland. There was tenderness in Liam’s voice. She hated that. For her sake, they spilled their hearts out to each other. He told Charlene how he got a letter from Raven—Elise—that she wasn’t going to keep the child. That was the reason he’d left. He thought Raven hadn’t wanted to see him again. He mentioned a call he’d made about seven months later. Raven tried hard, but she couldn’t remember a call. Then again, she’d chucked her cell phone into the meadow by then. Her heart filled with anger at his words. Here he is trying to make himself sound good in front of my mom!
She blacked out again.
40
All black. A black hoodie, black jeans, and black shoes. Raven determined the person—five yards away, and heading her direction in the corridor—had no face. She craned her neck as she walked with the nurse to Dr. Stanton’s office. The nurse offered a wheelchair, but she needed the practice and opted for crutches. Her five-two stature wouldn’t allow her to fully see the individual giving off ominous vibes. Patients and visitors traveled both ways, further obstructing her view. Gripping the handles tighter, she inched toward the wall and could see a black-gloved hand skim the wood railing as her sociable nurse chattered.
“… we just finished reconstruction of the children’s ward.”
Raven mumbled a reply. Eyes narrowed, she looked harder, but a boy moved in front of the person. Either man or woman—she couldn’t tell. The little boy, guided by his mom, held a “Get Well” balloon that tottered in front of the individual’s face.
“When the construction finished, the children were so happy. That made the chaos worth it.”
“Uh-huh,” Raven murmured. She blinked, but her heart felt unsettled. This was profound, undeniably real. The black-wearing figure zeroed in on her as they continued to near each other; now, less than a yard away. She glimpsed the tip of a nose, peeking just outside the hoodie.
“This way.” The nurse turned left. “By the way, you’re doing well on that ankle.”
The hoodie person stopped as the corridor led to a T and leaned against the wall. A shadow of a face tracked Raven’s gaze as she slowly turned away. When she looked at the ceiling mirror hospital staff used to cart bedridden or disabled patients around the corner, the person in black vanished.
Raven tapped her fingernails on the armrest of the chair, listening to Stanton’s low-key voice. She reminded herself to pretend to pay attention and forget about that hallucination a mere hour ago. After being asked a tense battery of questions about suicide, she wanted to chill. She’d passed the psych evaluation, wouldn’t be held indefinitely for attempted suicide, but something in his tone implied that she wasn’t free.
“We need to reevaluate our relationship. What was occurring is this: you’d see me or call when your tolerance level for anxiety would reach its max.” Stanton pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Raven, I’m only a guide. Consider me a roadmap; there when you need a nudge in the right direction, not when you’re trekking through the desert. One day you’re going to be the master of your own destiny. For now, you need a certain level of guidance.”
Raven squirmed in her seat. She stared at the bandage around her arm, wanting to pull it off and see the wound. I hadn’t meant to cut so much. And I’ve never been fucking suicidal!
Liam sneezed from all the flowers Raven had gotten from Stephen and Melanie, Manna Church, Cassidy and the coffee shop, and more. He stood and stretched, staring at rumpled covers on the hospital bed. Though Raven wouldn’t speak to him, he’d spent the night. He couldn’t see himself leaving her, even if she gifted him with fleeting looks of hatred.
His cell phone buzzed. Another call from Grand-père. Sighing, he wondered when her counseling would be finished. He wanted to stay put, though he needed to answer this call. He walked through the hallways displaying Christmas pictures from the children’s ward. He passed through the electric sliding door to the picnic area and answered just in time.
“Why haven’t you been at work?” Pierre inquired. No hello.
“Raven’s still in the hospital.” He took a seat, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the sun.
“When we spoke yesterday, I thought you said Raven was only scraped up?”
“Yes, Grand-père. Yet she’s still here. This is where I’ll be until she’s released.” He picked at chipped paint on the table. “Aretha is facilitating our next move. Besides, most of the office is gearing toward the holiday season—”
“Liam, inefficiency is an attribute that—”
“I am not slacking off. How about asking how she’s doing?” Noticing a trio of nurse’s gobble hoagie sandwiches, his stomach growled.
Pierre groaned. “Why must you associate with that woman? Miss Shaw is tarnishing our image.”
“How about this? I don’t give a damn how you feel about Raven, but I plan to marry her one day. And I swear on my life, if you don’t know how to treat her once she’s family, then you know what you can do.”
“That’s absurd!” Pierre gasped. “Listen, my son, she’s unstable. In the hospital for self-mutilation! If I can gather this type of information, consider what our enemies are capable of.”
While young, just the mention of “son” from his grand-père made Liam feel loved. He’d rarely hear Jonathan say as much. “I love Raven. I do not care about an image. I’ve hurt her enough. She needs to know that from now on, I’ll always be there. If there’s one thing you’ve taught me as a business man, it’s to be persistent with what I want.” Raven’s the only one I’ve ever wanted.
“My s—Liam, listen to me.”
“Grand-père, do not force me to extend the same curtesy I had to with Elise a few years back.” Liam’s threat was so calm it came off eerie, icy even.
“I do not know what’s gotten into you, Liam, but it’s clear you’re in love.” The severity in Pierre’s tone evaporated. “I shall respect your relationship with Raven, for the sake of our own. Take care of her. I am not a monster; I understand she’s enduring a difficult season. I’ll send Mr. Kerr to oversee the Chicago hotel. When you’re ready, come back.”
“Yes, Grand-père.” He clicked off the phone and leaned his elbows on the table. Rubbing the back of his neck, he had a flashback to when he was fourteen years old and his mother had sent him to France. He mulled over one day in particular. He’d been walking to his grandparents’ bedroom to show Grand-père something that slipped his mind even now …
The door swung open and Pierre hastened out. His hard features softened as he noticed Liam. “Hello, my son. I must take a short holiday. When I return, I’ll take you to the Delacroix headquarters, and we can talk business.”
Liam’s chubby cheeks jiggled a nod as Pierre left. He hadn’t been interested in talking family business, just bonding. As he turned to walk away, an antique vase of flowers soared out of the double doors so close to his nose that he felt the swish. Estella, dressed in her staple ballroom gowns, stormed through, tears streaming down her face, model façade contoured in a mask of murder.
“Pierre—” Her waved fist lowered as she stopped short. “Liam, I’m sorry …”
He was confused. His Nana just spoke English. After all the reprimanding he’d received because he couldn’t speak French, he was speechless.
“I know you're in shock. Yes, I’ve failed teaching you French and you haven’t lost much weight.” Her voice trembled, and she sniffled.
Liam touched her purple cheek. He wondered more so how she spoke English as opposed to why there was a bruise on her face.
“Silly me; forgot to put on makeup.” Estella winced then gave a weak smile. “Please speak French when Pierre comes home.”
He nodded, but all his mind could register was that his Nana spok
e English.
“How about I teach you to make pancakes? It’s the only food I ever learned to cook. An American girl who wanted to be a model followed me around constantly—that was during my prime. Well, I taught her to walk, she taught me to cook pancakes.” Estella paused and gave a feminine laugh. “Anyhow, I’ll let you have one pancake to celebrate your birthday, then we have to exercise and you …”
“I have to speak French,” Liam completed the memory.
That day was captured in the photo that Raven had given him. In his bewilderment about Nana speaking English and not looking at him like a fat slob, he’d forgotten all about the fun they had. He'd forgotten his grandmother taught him to cook the only item he knew how. Pancakes. What if it wasn’t anger or annoyance that she looked at me with while we ate? What if it was fear? What if Grand-père forced Estella to make me speak French—forced her to make me lose weight? “All for the sake of an image.”
He remembered all the times Pierre mentioned image; even chastising Estella before they’d gone to the opera one night. She’s a model. Why would he be lecturing her about her looks?
Then Liam recalled how indifferent Pierre was during the day Elise followed him outside. He’d been on his way to force Raven to keep their baby. His grand-père was the master of distancing himself from controversy. Pierre had promised to send for Raven. He’d promised to speak to a close friend, who was one of the world’s most renowned oncologists, in order to save Otis’s life. None of this had transpired.
Stiff-legged, Liam went inside. On his way down the hall, Liam noticed Annette. She had another elderly lady at her side. The woman was placing her keys in her purse.
Annette wore a look of determination. He expected anger, but her gaze locked onto his with compassion.