Michelle offers to drive and lights the joint while starting the ignition, handing it over to Corvus as she leaves the parking lot, ignoring all of her blind spots with complete bliss. Changing lanes, she speeds in total control and inhales. The radio plays Death Grips and Corvus knocks her head back and forth, weaving her hands in the air, tapping the roof of the car as she takes a happy puff. They bounce in their seats, rocking the car along the highway, a little too reckless.
Michelle drives to the rock cliffs overlooking the ocean, where Tim had taken Corvus a few months earlier. Other than being briefly transported back in time, imagining herself standing next to Tim, Corvus doesn’t give him another thought as she leaves the car. The wind is even worse here, but the waves are thrilling: all the colors shimmer together.
Michelle says, Married, in a singsong way, holding Corvus’s hand. She’s carrying a picnic basket.
Corvus smiles and says, Thanks for surprising me with a playdate.
Michelle reaches and gently grabs the back of her neck and says, Babe, I’m always going to be here for you. I know you.
I know you, too, says Corvus, feeling a little faded.
Did you drink at work? asks Michelle.
Corvus snorts through her nostrils and says, Yeah, it was Wow-you’re-fucking-married Day. My manager took out his nightly bottle of brandy. And it was dead anyways. Morning shift.
Right on.
The water glitters and glows in the sunset; the waves have a feeling of slowness to them, Corvus thinks.
Michelle gives Corvus a pair of chopsticks and takes out trays of sushi and bottles of beer from the basket. She even takes out a small ice-blue glass bong. I don’t have a blanket, but I have this huge-ass sweatshirt, she says.
The ocean turns dark, purple then slowly moving black waves tapping and colliding against the rocky shore. Bits of earth and sand go back and forth in the tide.
I love that sound.
What? asks Michelle.
The water. Listen, Corvus says.
After they finish the beers, the wind gets even more severe and they start to shiver. They take a few rips each from the bong in the cold and Michelle starts laughing maniacally.
What’s the craziest thing you’ve done for love? asks Michelle.
Corvus laughs and snorts again. I got married. How about you?
I ate fucking scrambled eggs with ketchup. This dude, she says.
Corvus continues to laugh and her face can’t stop smiling. The black ocean keeps making the sound she loves so much.
Michelle starts screaming, I hate fucking scrambled eggs with ketchup. This dude made me do this. Fuck this dude. What the fuck, ketchup.
It’s a thing for people, Corvus says. It’s a thing. I’ve done it myself once or twice.
After dropping Michelle off at her place, Corvus nearly falls asleep at the wheel, and pulling up slowly to her street, there are no other cars on the road. For the last few blocks or so, she stops playing music and starts listening to talk radio. In only a few seconds, she feels a wave of dread. The labor of the entire day comes rushing back and she feels as though there are not enough hours in the day, catching the light dying along the horizon. She waits at a red light, almost home, and there is a large crowd of families crossing the street. Corvus tries to look at each individual face but realizes it’s impossible. She wonders what kind of family she and Perry will have, if they could handle having children, and the light turns green with people still in the crossing. She feels the long life ahead.
Corvus feels more drunk, stoned, and faded than she has in a long time and she starts to see spots of color. The steering wheel feels smooth and unreal. She presses the garage door remote and speeds a little too quickly into the garage. Corvus hears a sharp snap from the car, and a horrifically crisp yowl. She opens her driver’s side door and Pretzel is caught—stuck and very much dead underneath her back wheel, a single stream of blood running downhill toward the garage door. Corvus screams as her garage door starts to automatically close on a timer.
Feeling as though the nerves in her arms are pinched, Corvus holds on to the wooden railing of the steps leading into the house. She gets as far as the kitchen, dropping her jacket and keys to the floor, before collapsing into a chair. She is hyperventilating and sobbing. There is some blood on the tips of her fingers from having tried to free Pretzel from the back wheel of the car before she had to stop. Corvus spends a few moments crying with her hands folded against her bouncing lap and taking slow breaths. She walks to the bathroom and washes her hands, splashing her face with cold water. She gets water everywhere but there are no towels in the bathroom for some reason. She walks to the bedroom with her face and hands still wet. Her limbs ache as she guides herself through the dark, not wanting to wake Perry. But he’s not there.
The house appears spotless, the floors are mopped and the air is somehow cleaner. No dust. He always does this, she thinks, cleaning without me. The bed is made, and all of their books are organized. Corvus starts breathing normally again, wanting to see and touch Perry. She needs to tell him about Pretzel.
Corvus turns on the lights and opens the door to the basement and walks down. Expecting his voice, she hears nothing but the floorboards creaking under her feet.
At the bottom of the stairs, the bones in her hands immediately chill, as does her skin, as does the blood in her chest. Corvus starts to hyperventilate and shake again. She can see Perry hanging from one of the water pipes along the ceiling, his feet dangling in the air as though levitating, a tight noose wrapped around his neck. Her mouth opens slowly, and everything falls down a hole, everything, everything she has goes down a cold hole. She doesn’t remember screaming as she falls to her knees. Her teeth and gums hurt as she spies a note a few feet away: I’m so sorry, baby. A few words are scratched out in pen. His pale bloody wrists are wrapped in towels.
CHAPTER 8
AFTER THE FUNERAL, CORVUS DISCOVERS THAT HER BODY can move on its own. She can move from room to room, building to building, function to function, without much thought or feeling. There is a fog that takes over. Letters and bills have been piling up in her mailbox, which she has stopped checking: past-due notices, growing debt, and colorful advertisements. She answers the door and the phone but can barely recall any of it. Words and faces and condolences all wash over her. Gravity pulls.
She has not heard from Michelle for weeks and Michelle did not attend the funeral, but Corvus remembers a bouquet of daisies with a card simply signed Michelle.
Corvus has stopped going to the movie theater and Dick has stopped calling. Louis and Mary have stopped calling.
The biggest event of her week for the past month has been going to the store for cigarettes and simple groceries: potato chips, peanut butter, bread, toilet paper. Her appetite wanes and turns into the need for sleep. The bed—their old bed—is this deep, precious space, the only thing she wants. She listens to whatever tape recordings she has of Perry, never changing her clothes, never wanting to leave the small comfort of their old sheets, her few yards of sanctuary.
When Michelle finally reaches out, it’s six months after Perry’s death and Corvus notices it’s a beautiful sunny day as she opens the front door and somehow makes tea and coffee for the two of them.
Michelle says, I can’t be a friend to you right now. I just can’t. She is wearing a tight dress and a flashy leather jacket as though ready for a long night out on the town, which, for the first time in their relationship, disturbs Corvus. On the other side of the patio table, Corvus is wearing Perry’s old sweater and feels a sinkhole in her chest.
Michelle lights a cigarette for Corvus and finishes the last of her coffee before rushing off.
Corvus remembers a kiss on her cheek, and a gentle hand rubbing her neck, and never sees Michelle again. That’s really it. The sensation of touch barely registers. Her cigarette ashes over. The open front door brings a draft into the room but she doesn’t bother to close it.
Some slights change
your life. Some betrayals knock you so deeply out of sync that you question how you can ever recover. Corvus decides Michelle is simply dead to her. You’re fucking dead to me, Corvus thinks. If Michelle ever comes up in conversation, she is simply dead. The door is closed, the book is shut, the fire burning the bridge will burn forever.
Corvus says, Okay, okay.
A foggy, wasted year passes after Perry’s funeral. One afternoon, Corvus finds Tim’s wrinkled business card in her pocket. After a single ring, Tim picks up and things go foggy again. It is as though he knew she was going to call and there is no emotion in his voice. There is no point in feeling, she thinks. Returning the same void of emotion, Corvus says, Okay, okay. He offers her a plane ticket and a job. She smokes her last joint in the house with the patio doors open and packs her backpack sparingly, occasionally taking a moment to cry in Perry’s old basement. Her brain feels soft, her nose runs and runs.
Although she’s slept most of the day, most of the week, Corvus feels so tired she can no longer feel her feet on the ground.
XXX-XXX-XXXX.
Corvus waits for her bus to the airport at the transit station. The sunshine stings her eyes before it starts to feel good again. The warmth spreads to her cold face, to what coalesces into a face. The hunger she feels is unlike any hunger she has ever felt. She walks over to the McDonald’s next to the transit station and orders a number one.
She feels a tap from behind her, and when she turns around, it’s a deranged woman standing there, possibly homeless, dressed in a tattered sweater and worn old jeans. The woman looks at Corvus with bloodshot eyes and points at her with shaking hands.
She says, I was hit by a car this morning. I was hit by a car this morning.
Not knowing what to say, Corvus takes the woman’s hand in her hand and they wait in line together. Corvus says, I was hit by a car too. This makes the woman smile and she embraces Corvus. The woman smells like urine and she starts to tap Corvus on the shoulder again. The woman points off in the distance, toward the glass double doors, and Corvus can see that there is nothing there. Only the transit station.
The woman says, There is a man out there talking to me. Like he knows me.
She goes on, I was hit by a car this morning. Her eyes get more bloodshot as she lets go of Corvus. She leaves the McDonald’s right as her order number is called.
PART THREE
ALL GOLD EVERYTHING
CHAPTER 1
IT STARTS WITH A JOLT: AN ELECTRIC FENCE VIBRATES. Corvus wakes up sore and parched on a straw bed, locked inside a metal dog kennel. The dark room smells like wet dog, barely illuminated by a hanging ceiling light. She feels as though she hasn’t seen light in days, and her eyes squint shapes into view. There are roaming pit bulls in one cage, Corvus and Amber in the other. Looking up from the cracked concrete floor, she can see a sign posted on the wall with a lightning bolt and a sad face. Corvus hears her own voice inside her head: don’t touch the cage door.
Trapped inside the same rusty cage, Amber is still out cold. She has a raw wound on the back of her head, but the bleeding has stopped. Corvus kisses Amber’s unconscious face and raises her arm from the straw bed: they are bound together with gold handcuffs.
Amber? she asks. Amber?
Corvus gently taps her cheek to try to wake her. She turns around and breathes in and assesses the room.
Through the metal cage door, the dogs have started barking. They bark but keep their distance from the electric fence. Marco is the only dog roaming free, not in either cage. When he sees Corvus, he starts to whimper. He’s smart enough to come only close enough to not get shocked by the fence. She can see the very sad look on his face. He wants to be closer.
She says, Marco. With a deep fear in her voice, she says, Good boy, Marco.
Behind the loyal animal, there is a table set not too far away. Fine linen, unlit tall candles, and shiny china. A door opens upstairs and Corvus pauses. Hearing footsteps descend, she quickly collapses back on the straw bed and pretends to be asleep. Marco, not giving her away, goes to the stairs and, despite the other dogs’ constant barking, does not make a sound.
Camila and Tim appear, holding hot plates: roasted chicken, mussels, and whole lobsters. Camila even has a bottle of champagne. Through her closed eyelids, Corvus notices they don’t even appear to look her way. She breathes very slowly through her nostrils and acts like a stone.
Hug me, Camila demands.
Tim does. He sits down, scoots his chair in, and places a napkin on his lap. He pulls a greasy leg off the chicken and starts eating right away.
Camila goes to the back wall and takes out a large saber from a chest, its sharp blade longer than her arm, and removes the leather sheath swiftly and smoothly like a dance. The sight nearly causes Corvus to utter a sound, but she stays calm. Her breathing skips back to normal.
To the start of a new fiscal year, Camila says. Her smile is calculated. She looks eager for the future.
Tim says, Hear, hear, his mouth still greasy, taking no pause from the chicken. He looks bored. Marco wags his tail, sitting patiently next to the two of them.
Camila slides the blade up against the neck of the bottle and slices off the cork: POP!
They pour what champagne doesn’t get onto the floor into their thin glasses. They clink their glasses together, drink, and proceed to eat the entire meal without saying another word to each other. Camila, by far, eats more than Tim, taking her time cracking open each and every lobster. She sucks the meat from the shell and looks to be in another place.
Tim asks, Did you transfer more money into my account?
This morning, she says. More than you asked for. Should last you the better part of the year.
Her eyes look bloodshot. Camila says, I want one hundred films. I want one hundred sixty-minute films by the end of the year. She claps her hands once, and the dogs stop barking. Camila turns to look at Corvus, who is still pretending to be dead asleep in the cage.
I want to expand, Camila says. I want another island.
Tim says, I just want a little revenge. He uses his bare hands as a napkin to wipe his mouth and touches the new scar on the back of his head.
Camila says, Whatever. I don’t care, as long as I get one hundred films. They’re already yours.
Camila burps into her napkin and smiles as though pleased with herself. She waves her hands like a fan at her face.
Breaking his discipline, Marco starts to whimper at the remains of the food.
I’m going to let him out, Tim says. He leads Marco upstairs and shuts the door before returning.
Tim stands next to Camila and picks up the empty champagne bottle.
This is good, he says. He taps the label.
It’s my favorite, she says.
Mind the glass, Tim says. He swings the bottle against the back of Camila’s head and she falls to the concrete floor, her chair and the table toppling down with her as the dishes break. The dogs locked inside the kennel start barking again, now even more loudly, and Corvus jolts slightly, lying there with her eyes still closed, trying not to give herself away.
Tim spins and catches the champagne bottle in the air. He says, Huh, it didn’t break.
He goes over to the wall and turns off the electricity and comes closer to Corvus’s cage. All the dogs continue to bark, some of them jumping against the metal fence now that the electricity has been turned off, all of them snarling and showing teeth.
Tim stands there for a long time while the dogs bark.
He kicks the fence with his shoe. He kicks it again.
Are you awake? he asks.
Are you awake?
CHAPTER 2
IN BROAD DAYLIGHT, TIM PREPS A SMALL BOAT ON THE shore of the island. Pebbles and white sand get stuck to his shoes and shins. The water is blue, clear, and calm. He removes Amber’s and Corvus’s handcuffs, but Corvus still does not move, never giving herself away. She looks dead to the world and her mask does not waver. He carries them up the stai
rs to the boat, Amber first, then Corvus, while Marco paces the shore with his tongue hanging out. The boat is cold and wet from the morning dew. It rocks gently back and forth as Corvus lets in more light through her eyes. Tim looks annoyed but resolute, as though performing a simple household chore.
Around the lake, the ravens talk in the trees.
Corvus looks through her eyelashes as though looking through a pinhole angled toward hell. This day will not kill her, she thinks. Clenching her teeth, in the black of her eyes, in the back of her mind, she repeats in her head, This day will not kill me.
Tim looks back at the mansion and the clouds overhead and starts the motor. He unties the boat from the dock and Marco jumps into the hull as Tim speeds off.
Marco starts to lick Corvus’s face, but still she does not budge. Marco whimpers and goes over to Amber and begins almost desperately licking her face. The boat cuts through the water, the sunlight reflects in the spray on all sides. The motor hums and Corvus can feel the vibrations through the hull of the boat.
Amber starts to shiver and her face spasms. The life appears back in her face and her eyes open, her chest rises up and down.
Marco runs over to the side of the boat and barks and barks. He can see the pod of hippos splashing in the shallow water just on the shore. Valerie is rocking his head violently up and down before he starts to run on the sand toward the water. The pit bull is the only one that notices Valerie, and he barks like his whole body is being torn apart from the inside. The motor is louder than his bark but he keeps barking. The dog knows what blind rage nature is bringing.
Tim holds the saber in his hand and says, Good morning. He shakes the saber at Amber. Do not move, he says. Or move and see what happens.
Amber rubs her face with her hands and licks her lips. My head, she says, wincing in pain. What the fuck is going on?
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