Page 18 of The Raven
The Raven
Mason didn’t bother checkinghis apartment when he made ithome. Notthathe would have seen me, I made sure to stay well hidden. The man needed to sleep, and as much as I was riddled with questions about what I’d seen through his eyes, I knew they’d have to wait.
He crashed face-first onto his bed without undressing, and withinseconds, light snores erupted from him. I watched him sleep, entranced by the gentle rise and fall of his chest, while enjoying the peace washing through methatonly Masonseemedable to bring.
Evenwhen I’d been reliving his memories, the pain didn’t consumeme. Instead, there was an odd comfort in knowingthathe was with me, anchoring me to the present.
Needless to say, my curiosity about Detective Mason Roberts had grown toepic proportions.
After several hours, I decided to take a look around his apartment to see if Icould find any clues about his life. He had been the first person to find me after the Vipers fled the crime scene, and I wondered ifthatwas why I felt the strange pull to him. But something inside me said it wasn’t. It went deeper than himjustbeing with me as I took my dying breaths.
Heading into the kitchen, my attention snagged on the papers spreadacross the breakfast bar. I scanned my eyes over the mess, quickly realizingthatit was a collection of case files related to my investigation.
A lump of dread formed in the pit of my stomach.
The corner of a glossy photograph caught my eye, and unable toresist, I picked it up, a piercing agony shooting straight through my chest when I took in the image.
The picture was a close-up of the fatal wound across Eric’s neck.The blood had begun to congeal, and the cut was so deepthathis vocal cords were exposed.
Bile crept up my throat, and anguish so powerful it felt like it wouldswallow me whole seeped into the marrow of my bones.
Dropping the picture, I picked up another photo lying on top of thepapers. This time, it was an image of a woman, her face black and blue, and so swollen, you could barely make out the person underneath the injuries. A tube was down her throat, a machine breathing for her.
Breathing for me.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I tore my gaze away, unable to look any longer.Mason’s memoriesthatI’d witnessed earlier in the night began playing in my head, and I watched them as if I were hovering above the scene, reliving the nightmare as he saw it.
Mason kicks the door in, pulling his shirt up over his mouth and nose whenhe’s hit with a faceful of smoke. In the other hand, he holds his gun.
He charges through my apartment, pausing for a fraction of a second whenhe takes in the mess of my living room, and Eric’s body lying in a pool of blood.
“Raven!”His panicked cry reverberates around the room when his gazelands on my body, and he leaps over Eric’s body to reach me, ripping the bag covering my face open.“No, fuck no, you’re not dying, Raven!”
He pinches my nose and tilts my head back, placing his mouth over mine andblowing. My chest rises as he transfers breath into my lungs before they slowlydeflate. He does this once more before he interlocks his fingers and starts pressing up and down on my chest with ferocity.
“Come on, Raven. Fucking breathe,”he urges, desperation in his voice.
He pumps up and down before blowing more air into my lungs, seeminglyoblivious to the smoke growing thicker behind him.
“Fuck,”someone else says from the doorway. A uniformed cop standsfrozen, his face draining of all color as he observes the mess. Snapping out of it a second later, he bursts into action.
He presses the button on his radio and starts talking into it, asking for‘moreunits,’and‘ambulances.’The whole time, Mason continues pumping my chest.
With a tear leaking down my face, the scene in my mind changed.
Paramedics hover over me, placing two paddles on my chest.
“Clear,”one says. Everyone moves so they’re not touching me as themachine the paddles are connected to fires a shock into me, my body lifting off the floor.
The machine lets out a longbeep, the screen showing a linethatonly spikeswhen the machine delivers a jolt of electricity.
“Again,”the paramedic instructs as Mason towers over the paramedics,tears streaking down his anguished face.
Helplessness crawled through me, and my fingers released the photo. Itfluttered back to the bar, landing on a paper reading,‘Autopsy report for Eric Mills.’I didn’t need to read it. I knew how Eric had died.
I surveyed the rest of the documents, and my interest piqued whenmy watery gaze landed on one titled,‘Final investigation findings.’I snatched it up, a mixture of hurt and fury rampaging through me as I read over the final paragraph of the report.
Conclusion-
