The Raven's Conjuring: Dreams of Desolation, page 25
part #1 of The Raven's Conjuring Series
“I came to Whispering Pines because of this. Your father’s last will and testament. I would have come forth with it sooner, but your mother filed an injunction almost immediately after his death. She claimed he wasn’t mentally fit when he altered the will,” he explained.
“Why the hell would she do that?”
“Because James named you the primary beneficiary of his life insurance policy, amongst other things.”
“Seriously? How much is it worth?” Morgan asked.
Nathan pointed down at the last sentence on the first page.
“Five hundred thousand?” Morgan gulped.
“Yes, Morgan. He left it all to you, and that’s just his life insurance.”
“What else could there be?”
“He also named you the beneficiary of the shares he had in his firm, controlling sixty percent of the company.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Obviously, the firm is aware of his decisions. While they won’t mind keeping you on the board, they feel you may not know much about the business, so they have offered to buy you out for the grand total of fifteen million dollars.”
Morgan’s skin shriveled with goosebumps. She couldn’t believe her father had left her with almost everything. The inheritance hadn’t crossed her mind once since he died.
“If he left me all this, what did he leave my mother?”
“The house in Kingston and the house in Florida. The cars, the money in their joint bank account—which isn’t too impressive if I’m honest. Other than that, not much else. All you have to do is sign a few pages, and the funds will be wired into your bank account,” Nathan explained.
“Where do I sign?” she asked, grabbing a pen from the counter.
After ten minutes of signing the necessary documents, Nathan Larson left with the same tenacity he walked in with, and Morgan was left speechless. This was something she couldn’t keep to herself. She picked up the store’s telephone and dialed Chelsea’s number. There was no dial tone, but still, a familiar voice answered.
“Morgan?”
“Chelsea?”
“No, It’s mom. You must have picked up as I called.”
Morgan’s heartbeat sped up.
“Uh… yeah. Sorry I wasn’t able to call you back. I just got to work after leaving the hospital. It was a really long day. What was so important, you had to call me twenty-eight times?”
“It’s about your father. Well, it’s nothing too important, really, but don’t be surprised if a lawyer comes to see you. You might remember him actually, the man your dad always played tennis with…”
“Mr. Larson?” Morgan played coy.
“Yeah, that’s him. He’s coming to see you today. It’s about your father’s debt. He’s bringing you some documents to sign. But under no circumstances should you sign. If you sign, lord knows what could happen. We could go bankrupt. I’m doing my best to deal with the situation. It’s been a strenuous process, but you know, it’s just business,” Terry stated.
Morgan couldn’t believe the lies her mother told. Her mouth dried as she stood silent, waiting for her mother’s next move—Terry thought Morgan had hung up.
“Morgan, are you still there?”
“Mr. Larson was just here, mom. I already signed off on the money wire.”
A moment of silence followed before her mother’s unavoidable snarl came through the phone.
“You better be fucking lying.”
“Unlike you, I’m not a liar.”
“Morgan, that money belonged to me.”
“No, mother. That money belonged to dad. And if he left it to me, it’s because he wanted me to have it. Is that why you’ve been so attached to me lately? Calling every night? Sending flowers and food? And here I thought, nothing like a funeral to bring a mother and daughter closer. But you were just after the money. I’m glad he left it to me,” Morgan raged over the phone receiver.
“I can’t fucking believe you. I’m going to sue you for every penny the miserable bastard should have left me. I had to put up with him, not you. All you did was leech off our success. The success you will never have because you’re a mental case. You’re a nut-job, Morgan. I’m so goddamn happy you moved away. You, ungrateful little bitch,” Terry never failed to disappoint.
“Well, I suppose the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, mother.”
“I can’t believe you would do this to me,” Terry yelled.
“Don’t take it personally. It’s just, you know… business,” Morgan said and slammed the phone down.
There was nothing Terry could do about getting the inheritance. James’ last will and testament was ironclad. If Terry hadn’t gone behind Morgan’s back, perhaps Morgan would have considered giving her half. But Morgan realized her mother never wanted to help anyone but herself. Her father lent the money to Chelsea’s mom so she could attend college. Terry refused to help out her own sister, and now, Katrina was stuck in an asylum. Thinking about her mother’s selfish actions, Morgan’s blood boiled, and her heart nearly beat out of her chest. She felt the same rage she felt after her father’s death. The only thing she could do was scream at the top of her lungs as a group of customers walked in. They stared at her, confused and scared.
“What?” Morgan snapped as they turned around and ran back out the door.
The following day, Morgan woke up in her dorm room to the sound of Chelsea snoring. 7:00 am, the sun had just begun to rise. Morgan reached for her bag of toiletries and felt it was soaked.
“Oh, no,” she whispered as she opened the bag and found the potion Mr. Fengári made for her to be empty—she hadn’t fully closed the cap.
She would have to see Mr. Fengári before leaving for Christmas break. She couldn’t go on without it, knowing she would be staying at Victor’s family home for two weeks.
Morgan looked outside, examining the day ahead of her. The sky was gray, and the grass was dying. A light blanket of snow covered the ground, and the oak tree by her window had lost all its leaves. The only greenery left on campus was the pine trees. She shivered at the sight beyond her, for if there was something Morgan hated more than a cold shower, it was winter. Long strenuous months of cold, gloomy weather awaited her—long months of pregnancy and uncertainty. Frigid months, when she would have to figure out how to handle the rest of her life—with or without Victor by her side.
As she stared out the window, she noticed a familiar silhouette on an empty branch of the oak tree. The one-clawed raven stood prominently, waiting to be acknowledged. Morgan tapped on the glass three times, and with a twist of its neck, the raven stared at her. She reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a protein bar, and crumbled it in her hand. She opened up the window enough to slip her hand out and whistled quietly. The raven hobbled on its single claw, closer to Morgan, unsure of the situation.
“I remember you,” she whispered.
The bird stared at her through the glass. It didn’t hesitate and began pecking at the handful of food. The pecks tickled Morgan’s palm. She almost drew her hand back a few times, but she knew this bird would not harm her.
“Do you remember me?” she asked as the bird kept pecking.
“I was on the side of the road. You were the first thing I saw when I came here. You’re the only friend I’ve made,” Morgan felt silly talking to a bird, but still, she asked. “Raven, why don’t you talk?”
“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” the raven replied.
“You can understand me?”
“Of course, I can,” it squawked.
“Are there others like you?” Morgan asked as the bird kept pecking at her hand.
“Of course, there are. Thousands. Still, there is only one like me—like you, in a sense. There are more like you in the world, but none are quite like you. Gifted, by those before you.”
“I have no gifts for the world,” Morgan said.
“Of course, you do. Even after everything you’ve seen, you remain hesitant and weak. Scared of yourself, but lucky for you, Lucky has a plan for us. We work together.”
“Lucky, is that your name?” Morgan asked.
“Lucky, you may not be, but Lucky is always watching, always listening. Carefully crafting our existence.”
“What does that mean?”
“I know as much as you do. After all, I am you. But you… You’re nothing more than the feed.” quoth the raven.
“I’m nothing like you,” Morgan said.
“Of course. You are the only one who can know.”
“Am I dreaming? Is this another nightmare?” Morgan asked.
“No, Morgan. The nightmare hasn’t yet begun.”
“Who are you talking to?” Chelsea asked, waking up.
“The raven,” Morgan said, watching the harbinger of death fly away.
“Victor was here?” Chelsea yawned.
Morgan stayed silent, attempting to make sense of the bird.
Had she imagined it? Had she dreamt of the talking bird? Did it say what she wanted to hear? She turned to Chelsea, scared but tired of hiding the way she truly felt and confessed,
“I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”
Later in the day, Morgan met with Dr. Carrigan in her office, which was too big for a single person, but the doctor had earned it. The final exam was less than a week away, and the events at the asylum left Dr. Carrigan without an alternative.
“Dr. Lansing sent me the report. I’m obviously, very sorry about the patient attacking you,” she said.
“It wasn’t as bad as they made it out to be,” Morgan tried to play it off.
“Your face hasn’t even healed,” Dr. Carrigan sighed.
Morgan wanted to tell her that more than half of the scars were there before entering the asylum. The first bruise she got, after running into the back door of the bookstore, was still visible.
“Don’t worry, this won’t affect your grade. Obviously, this was no fault of your own,” Dr. Carrigan said as she sipped on an oversized cup of iced coffee.
“I have no problem with finishing my evaluation of the subject. I believe if we take some precautions—perhaps I would be able to help the subject break free of her catatonic state,” Morgan said.
“I’m worried about you. I think you would be better off taking the exam, which I know you will ace.”
“I’ll take the test. But you can’t stop me from seeing Katrina,” Morgan said.
“You’re right. I can’t stop you from doing anything, and honestly, I think you should see the patient again. She reacted to you being in her presence, although she’s been in a catatonic state for years. Why do you think that is?”
“Because she’s my cousin, and she’s always hated me,” Morgan thought to herself, but she didn’t say that.
Instead, she said. “It may have been a coincidence or perhaps a type of Wilhelm Wundt scenario,” Morgan said.
“Right place, right time? Could be. Either way, I would prefer you to finish this semester with a formal exam. Next semester, you could continue with an individual study and focus on patient 7860. What do you say?” Dr. Carrigan asked,
“Sure, if that’s what you think is best,” Morgan said, shaking Dr. Carrigan’s hand.
She didn’t want to appear angry and stubborn about going back to the asylum. Besides, Katrina’s condition could worsen if she were to return. For the time being, she would wait and go back after the holiday break.
The last few days on campus were treacherous for Morgan. Her mother called nonstop, threatening her with legal action in every message she left because Morgan never picked up. She called day and night, and even after blocking her number, Terry used different lines from her office. Given no choice, Morgan changed her phone number. She always wanted to be independent of her parents, but her happiness was bittersweet. When she first came to Brixton, she envisioned the perfect college freshman experience. Instead, she was thrown into a den of wolves.
“I can’t believe we’re done with finals,” Chelsea cheered as she hugged Morgan outside of their history classroom.
“Me too,” Morgan tried to show the same enthusiasm.
“Let’s go pack. My mom will be here in the morning,” Chelsea said as she hurried towards the dorms.
Morgan hadn’t told Chelsea much of what was happening, not about her mother or the inheritance. Not about Katrina being a patient at Gray Hill, and definitely not about her pregnancy. She wanted Victor to be the first one to know.
Once inside the dorm room, Chelsea packed a small suitcase with clothes and a few gifts for her family. Christmas was her favorite holiday, and she couldn’t wait to see her family again but noticed Morgan wasn’t packing. She was just sitting on her bed, staring at the picture of her and Katrina on the swings.
“Are you taking that with you?” Chelsea asked.
“No,” Morgan replied.
“Well, why aren’t you packing?”
“Because… I’m not going home for Christmas, Chelsea. I’m staying here.” Morgan admitted.
“You can’t be serious. What about your mom?” Chelsea stopped packing.
“Victor asked me to spend Christmas at his family’s house. He wants me to meet his mother. And as much as I love you, he’s important too,” Morgan said, realizing she sounded cold. “I don’t mean that you’re not important. I know we’ve had the same tradition and exchanged presents in the last few years, but I can’t go back to Kingston. Not now—probably not for a while. You understand, right?” Morgan asked, hoping that Chelsea wouldn’t press on questioning.
Chelsea looked at Morgan and understood her pain. Sure, she wanted to repeat the same traditions of years past, but nothing was the same this year
“Of course. I understand,” Chelsea responded as she packed everything she needed for a three-week hiatus from school.
Even though they would see each other again soon, Morgan didn’t want a sappy goodbye, and she didn’t want to see Chelsea’s mom. She didn’t want to explain once again why she wouldn’t be going back to Kingston for the holidays. When Chelsea went to shower, Morgan left her Christmas present on her bed and took off for the night.
“Morgan, you know what I was thinking?” Chelsea said as she walked into the empty dorm room.
“Merry Christmas, Chelsea,” said the gift tag attached to the package wrapped in bright red paper and a gold bow.
Chelsea smiled as she took the present and unwrapped it, revealing a slender black velvet container. Chelsea shook her head and almost didn’t want to open it. The clamshell could only contain one thing. As she opened it, she laid her eyes on a gold bracelet with heart-shaped charms all around it.
As the night took hold of Whispering Pines once again, Morgan found herself outside of Victor’s Apartment building, with her overstuffed weekend bag under her arm. He was probably waiting for her with candles spread out all over the apartment and a mountain of presents. Still, instead of heading directly into his building, Morgan walked towards Tent City. After stopping by the local bakery and deli, down the street, where she bought some small pastries and sandwiches to hand out, she continued the tradition her father instilled in her.
James took her to the local toy store every holiday season and had her pick out ten toys to donate. The price didn’t matter to him. However, Morgan still thought about the cost. Every present she chose was under twenty dollars. Even with a young mind, she always thought that fairness was greatness.
She strolled through Tent City, observing everyone around her. The children ran around playing tag, Sam running amongst them. Tonight, the bonfires burned higher than ever, with the residents of the shantytown gathering around them. By now, Morgan knew most of the inhabitants and had earned their respect. She handed out small sandwiches and bags of chips to each person standing around as she made her way towards Mr. Fengári’s hut. She observed a group of men tending to one of the power generators, adding fuel to keep it going. It was undeniable they drank too much throughout the night, as they spilled half of the gasoline on the ground and simply laughed about it.
“Merry Christmas. God Bless. Hope you like it,” Morgan repeated kind words towards everyone she handed gifts to.
Giving others what she had in abundance made her feel worthy of the life she was privileged to have, but her heart began racing as she reached Mr. Fengári’s hut. Even in the cold night, she started sweating. Her breath accelerated, and her cold hands shook.
“Morgan,” she heard Shaundra’s raspy voice call out behind her.
“Shaundra, how are you?” Morgan smiled.
“Blessed by those above us, and below. It’s always a pleasant surprise when you drop by,” Shaundra said.
“I wish I could do it more often.”
“I would love that, but remember, the place you are is where you’re meant to be. However, if you’re here to see Mr. Fengári, I’m afraid he’s not here. He always goes to visit an old friend on Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, what a shame. I just came to drop this off,” Morgan said, pulling out a rotisserie chicken.
“Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you step in and leave it in his fridge,” Shaundra said as she heard a familiar cry from the distance.
Sam had fallen while playing tag with the rest of the children. A bloody scrape on his forehead screamed for Shaundra’s attention.
“Come see me before you go,” she told Morgan as she ran to Sam.
Morgan felt conflicted about going into the hut, but one way or another, she needed the potion. She had come to rely on it since Mr. Fengári told her it would bring her clarity, and she needed it now, more than ever. She needed to know why she experienced the visions of being strapped to a hospital gurney after seeing the number 7860 on the back door of Yellowed Pages. Katrina was patient 7860—this was no coincidence. She had seen an unkindness devour a wolf, the same way the corpse of Tim McIntyre was found. His body had been torn apart by the ravenous birds. An act of serendipity, this was not. Morgan’s coming to Whispering Pines, City of Death, inevitably initiated her father’s demise. This was a cause of destiny. Her plans of having a great college experience had gone down the drain, and now Morgan was estranged from her mother, orphaned by her father, and found herself with child.
