Scrivener’s Tale

‘She needs a sense of safety and to be around a therapist she trusts. I’m not sure anyone you’ve chosen so far is providing the confidence for her to open up.’ They walked over to Angelina, who was now ignoring both of them. ‘She’s an intelligent person and needs respect.’

‘Don’t lecture me, Gabriel,’ Reynard snapped. It was the first time Gabe had seen anything but the genial personality of the man. ‘We’re dealing with a girl who can’t express herself in —’

‘Wait. I’ll stop you there,’ Gabe said reasonably. ‘Reynard, you should know that Angelina has spoken to me.’

He watched the colour drain out of Reynard’s face.

Gabe continued. ‘She speaks as easily as you and I are conversing now.’

Angelina was dressing in her warm clothes as she stared outside, entirely unisinterested in the pair of them. He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he was hooked.

They were still standing by the door, blocking any run for freedom she might suddenly decide to make. ‘Reynard, why are you so scared of Angelina?’ he said, softly enough for their hearing only.

‘Scared?’ Reynard growled, cutting him an incredulous look.

Gabe realised he needed to temper his approach. ‘Perhaps I should say that you are overly anxious for her. Talking briefly with Angelina today she seems, um … “airy” for want of a better word, but not insane and certainly not dangerous.’

‘Then you are seeing a different Angelina. She believes herself threatened by some outward force and would rather kill herself than be hunted down.’

‘How has she told you this?’

‘She wrote it.’

‘Wrote it?’

‘Not once, Gabriel, but hundreds, thousands, maybe a million times. She wrote it on paper, her walls, her floors, her clothes, her skin! She even wrote it on a hamster, a pet of one of our patients at the clinic. She never stops writing it. The girl is unbalanced and definitely suicidal.’

Gabe shook his head, absolutely certain of what he was about to say. ‘She is not suicidal. I assure you.’

‘You have no —’

‘Reynard, you asked for my professional opinion and now you have it. What you do with it is your business. I have done what you asked. In my reckoning, Angelina is thinking clearly and not about death. However, she is moving in a world of her own. I don’t want to call her delusional because it smacks of crazy. She is convinced of a threat, but not the one you think, and she is no danger to herself, let me reiterate that.’

‘I cannot believe she is speaking with you.’

‘Believe it. I’m not shocked. Many youngsters choose their moment to reveal themselves. Sometimes it’s with the most unlikely partner. She obviously feels safe here.’

Reynard stared at him. ‘And your advice is?’

He shrugged. ‘Bring her back. I was on the brink of learning more when you interrupted. Let me have a second session with her and see what can be achieved.’

Reynard looked tired and old suddenly. Gone was the pleasantness and confidence of the previous evening. Now he looked intense and worried.

‘It’s entirely up to you. If you want me to see her again, I will. But I won’t push.’ Reverse psychology, Gabe thought.

‘All right. When?’

‘Thursday. It will have to be the evening. I’m sorry that I can’t offer more convenient sessions.’

‘I understand. In two days then.’

‘Seven okay?’

Reynard nodded. ‘We’ll be here. Remember my warning, though, Gabriel. It is not given lightly. Come then, Angelina.’

She drifted over to them like a child with her attention riveted in her own thoughts.

‘Why don’t you say a proper farewell. I gather that you can,’ Reynard said with only a hint of sarcasm.

She looked at him with loathing. A quick glance was all Gabe was given but it was enough. He saw only humour in it.

‘Thank you,’ Reynard said to him, trying to smile but failing. ‘I can’t be sitting out in a draughty hallway each time,’ he added.

‘Well, you could just trust me with Angelina,’ Gabe replied.

Reynard pulled Gabe aside and dropped his voice. ‘It’s not about trusting you, Gabriel. It’s about not trusting her.’

‘There you go again. What are you so frightened of?’

‘She will bring you harm,’ Reynard hissed in warning as they watched her hit the lift button.

Gabe shook his head. ‘Not on my watch, she won’t.’

‘Well, see you Thursday,’ Reynard said.

Gabe was tiring of him. ‘You can read the papers or just people-watch in the café across the street. No interruptions this time. You must trust me.’ He looked at Angelina. ‘See you soon.’ He watched the light flash to say the lift was imminent. ‘Ah, wait. Hold the doors,’ he urged, dashing back into the apartment to grab the pastries, which he threw back into their bag. He returned just as the lift doors opened. ‘Take this for a sugary hit later,’ he said, winking at Angelina and noticed the glimmer of a smile touch her eyes.

He wondered briefly if he should charge a fee for this work. He decided he wouldn’t. He would regard it purely as a favour and then he owed Reynard nothing — they were square. Gabe closed the metal doors and watched the lift jerk before its captives began their descent.

He turned back into the apartment and was surprised to see a crow seated as still as a statue on the tall tree that reached up to his apartment. Its winter-bare branches clawed the air but provided good purchase for the crow. He’d never seen one in this neighbourhood previously; they tended to show themselves in and around the main tourist traps. He stepped closer to the window. It didn’t so much as blink.

And it had a lightish grey end to its beak, not at all like the highly glossy beak of the crows he was familiar with, and it was smaller. It seemed to be staring through his window and right into his soul.

He clapped his hands. ‘Shoo!’ he exclaimed. He stepped forward and banged on the window.

It jumped into the air at his yell and with an almost slow-motion beat of its wings, effortlessly dragged itself away from his building. The winter light caught its feathers and he saw a purple glow shine off its back, which was oddly beautiful. His interest piqued, Gabe immediately opened his laptop and searched the net for ‘crows’, unexpectedly becoming fascinated by the family Corvidae.

He finally found what he was looking for. His spy had not been a carrion crow as he’d first thought. He was now sure that the visitor was a raven, which had feathers that were described as iridescent. His bird’s beak was definitely curved, as the information said it should be, and it certainly had shaggy plumage at the throat. He’d noticed the bird’s feathers at the low point of the neck were pale, near enough to grey. Yes, definitely a raven.

Odd that it was alone, for apparently these birds moved like wolves, with certain laws of the pack guiding their lives. Perhaps it was a sentinel? His reading told him that while others trawled for food at lower levels, a few of the birds stayed higher in trees to keep watch.

And yet this one seemed to be watching him, not its companions, if there were any.

Gabe lost himself in an hour of research on ravens, strongly attracted to these mysterious old-world birds, once commonplace in Europe during the Middle Ages, now less so. He noted in particular their place in myth and legend, especially their association with death as escorts to the departing soul.

It never occurred to him to recall the death dream.

FIVE