A Nesting Raven

Mapleview, North Carolina.
April 12th, 1955.
4:31 P.M.

Raven was having a delightful time in the mid-1950s.

After Sam left to go to work—leaving her alone in his home—she spent a lot of time merely looking around at everything in his house before she saw to any of the tasks she wanted to do. Beyond the front door and to the right was a rather large and clean living room, with a large television placed across from the couch, a TV with a surprisingly small screen, and there were two standing ashtrays on either side of the couch, as well as a third over by the recliner. The wallpaper was a light blue color, and the walls were decorated with paintings of the Smoky Mountains as well as enlarged old family portraits of Sam alongside his parents.

To the left was the hallway that led to the two bedrooms and the bathroom—and past the wall of the living room was the kitchen, one entrance to it wide open and perfectly visible from the front door, and another entrance at the far corner of the living room. In the center of the kitchen was a round table, a mounted rotary phone on the wall beside a small board with several phone numbers scribbled on it. A small metal basket sat on the floor near the fridge, and the fridge itself was a double-doored one of a pea-green color, beside it a rather large gas-powered stove, cabinets above, and a closed pantry at the end of the elongated counter.

Raven poked around until she found something in the house that made her smile; a radio and a record player sat side by side on the table beside the living room window, and she searched around the tall bookshelf that stood against the far wall until she found Sam’s vinyl’s, placing one of the records on the needle and nodding along to the music.

Next, she spent a lot of time hovering at the board on the wall of the kitchen, trying to decipher Sam’s handwriting in order to determine which phone number to use to call a taxi. What took even longer was fidgeting with the rotary phone until she finally managed to make a phone call.

A little later in the day—when the taxi cab rolled up the driveway—Raven walked out of the house with her small backpack slung over her shoulder like a purse, smiling contently as she climbed into the back seat and politely asked the driver to take her to the nearest grocery store, which he obliged.

It was all strangely peaceful, arriving at the grocery store—a place called Janie’s Market—and simply strolling about the store and doing some light shopping.

Raven felt like an entirely different person, venturing through the store and pushing a cart around, collecting fresh potatoes before moving to the dairy section and getting some cheese. Once she got everything she needed for Sam’s requested dinner, she began looking around for things she wanted for herself, though she found herself getting a bit stumped as she perused the items on the shelves, seeing brands and names that she didn’t recognize, some things being in containers that they looked far different than she was accustomed to.

Raven stood in one of the aisles with her cart beside her, holding a tall box of chips in her hands and examining it in slight befuddlement.

“Mrs. Bumby’s Potato Chips,” she murmured to herself, reading the box and giving it a once-over. “A freaking box of chips? God… it’s just like Jean’s Potato Chips in the 80s. It’s so dumb. Why? Why do people do this?”

She shrugged and placed it in her cart, then turned and pushed it forward—suddenly stopping when she realized someone was directly in front of her.

“Oh—I’m sorry,” Raven breathed, spotting a young boy just in front of her cart. “I didn’t see you there, kiddo.”

The boy, perhaps around ten years old, slowly walked out from in front of her cart, wearing a maroon button-up and black pants. He had black hair, and he had a rather expressionless visage, upturning his head and staring vacantly at her.

Raven returned his stare for a second.

“Um…” she muttered, glancing up and down the empty aisle. “Where are your parents?”

The boy merely continued to stare, saying nothing.

Then, he turned and shuffled past her, disappearing around the corner without a word.

Raven watched him go, then made another shrug and pushed her cart onward.

She shopped around for a while longer, eventually ending up at the breads, and she couldn’t remember if she’d seen any bread in Sam’s kitchen or not, so she decided to buy a loaf.

Just when she placed the loaf in her cart, she caught sight of the mysterious boy again—only this time, he was accompanied by a man, a slender, suave man in a sleek black suit and a hat to match it, both of them standing over by the baked goods a short distance away, and both of them appearing to be staring at her.

Raven paused and gave them an odd look.

The man, with a slim face, bottle green eyes, and a kind, simple smile, began to walk toward her, the boy following along at his heels as he did.

“Beg my pardon, Ma’am,” the man said politely, tipping his hat to her, his voice light and gentle. “I apologize for imposing on you… I just wanted to ask you a question, if I could.”

Raven eyed him, her stomach tightening, feeling a strange, subtle, and peculiar sensation that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Nevertheless, she nodded at him.

“Did I happen to see you at the Moonvale Orphanage this morning?” the man wondered.

Raven made a slow nod. “Um… yeah… you might have.”

“I thought so,” the man smiled, waving his finger once at her. “Yes… I saw you from my window.”

Raven narrowed her eyes at him, pondering on this. It was entirely possible that someone from the orphanage might have seen her from one of the windows while she was standing down the driveway and speaking with Sam—but something about the way this man and his apparent son were ogling her made her feel a bit on edge.

“Oh… so sorry… where are my manners?” the man said, extending his hand. “Arthur Sinclair. Owner and operator of the Moonvale Orphanage. Pleasure to meet you.”

Raven took in a deep, heavy breath, thinking of everything that Sam had said about the owner of the orphanage, claiming that he was somehow dangerous and predatory. So, despite how very sweet, charming, and ordinary this man seemed, she was even more uncomfortable speaking with him, suddenly feeling impatient and urgent, wanting to simply finish her shopping and leave the store.

Still, if only to remain cordial and act as naturally as possible, she reached out and introduced herself regardless.

“My name’s Raven,” she said, grasping his hand to shake it.

But the very moment her hand clasped around his—a wild flurry of things rapidly flashed through her mind—wicked imagery of dark, twisting shadows morphing and warping around the man and funneling inside him—the boy beside him suddenly having wings—sitting on a two-headed creature—

Raven gasped and quickly let go of him—reeling back and ogling the man in shock.

In an instant—Arthur and the boy beside him appeared as ordinary as ever, as did the rest of the grocery store all around them. Nothing from her visions was here, and the scene altogether was as normal and peaceful as could be.

Arthur slowly withdrew his hand, perking his brow at her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Raven’s chest rose and fell with every adrenalized breath, a stark fear suddenly shooting up and down her like lightning.

“Yeah—sorry—I have to go,” she sputtered, grabbing her cart and immediately marching away with it in a hurry.

Arthur turned and watched her leave, his mouth still curled into a smooth half-smile.

Despite being determined to seek out the lost ones here in the 50s and wanting to investigate the orphanage that had piqued her interest—the frightful event at the grocery store certainly made Raven far less eager to chase trouble for the time being.

She spent the remainder of her first day in 1955 in Sam’s house, cooking, listening to music, no longer blissfully enjoying her time here as if she was on a vacation—but rather, mostly staring downward in thought, replaying the wicked vision through her mind and fighting to make sense of it, yet she simply couldn’t. Most visions that she had entertained in her life were brief glimpses into the future, and they usually pertained to events that weren’t far from the present—but that vision didn’t look like a soon-to-come event, or a peek into tomorrow. It was far darker and graver, and it felt much more sinister than any she’d ever seen before.

Perhaps Sam was right; maybe that man truly was a bad and dangerous type of person.

In fact—he might have been one of the lost children of time, and he very well might not have been on the same side of the spiritual war as Raven and her friends.

By the time Sam came home—Raven had a fresh platter of cheesy scalloped potatoes prepared in the center of the table, complete with sliced ham on top. He walked into the house, shed his hat and jacket, and placed his briefcase by the door before following the heavenly scent into the kitchen—where Raven was making a plate for him already.

“That looks fantastic,” Sam smirked.

Raven blinked and snapped out of her thoughts, offering him a smile before moving to her own plate and making a helping for herself as well.

“This is so nice… I tell you,” Sam said, sinking into his chair and lifting his fork. “I haven’t had anyone make a meal for me in years… except my mother.”

“Hope you like it,” Raven mumbled distractedly, sitting down and gazing vacantly into her dinner.

Sam took a bite, then closed his eyes and made a noise, seeming to enjoy the fresh melted cheese.

“Oh… before I forget… I wanted to ask you,” he remarked, jabbing the fork at her. “A theatre friend of mine is hosting this barn dance shin-dig next Sunday as something of a birthday celebration… and I thought you might like to go with me, if, ah… if you like that sort of thing.”

Raven was quiet. It took her a moment to tear her eyes from her potatoes and turn to him, only just realizing that she was being spoken to.

“What? Sorry,” she muttered. “Sorry, I was… thinking about something. What did you say?”

Sam took another bite of food, staring at her curiously while he chewed. He swallowed before he spoke again.

“Friend of mine from the theatre… Ronald… he’s celebrating his birthday with a barn dance next Sunday,” he told her again. “Would you like to go?”

“Ah… sure, yeah,” Raven replied with a smile, then returned to her trancelike stare at her dinner.

Sam ate another bite, eyeing her quizzically.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

Raven glimpsed at him again, gnawing her lip for a second, wondering how she should word her questions for him.

“I… can I ask… how do you… how do you know the guy who owns Moonvale?” she inquired.

Sam slowly stopped his chewing, his expression unreadable. After a moment of staring, he swallowed, then looked down and sighed, grabbing his napkin and wiping it once over his mouth.

“Well… that’s a rather unpleasant topic of conversation,” he muttered disdainfully.

“I’m sorry,” Raven replied. “I wouldn’t ask, but I really do need to know…”

“Why?” Sam said. “What business do you have with him?”

Raven opened her mouth, releasing a heavy breath and feeling frustrated that she couldn’t simply explain the full truth.

Then, as her mind silently worked up a storm, another witty explanation came to her—something that wasn’t entirely a lie, though it also wasn’t the whole truth of the matter.

“Okay…” Raven scooted her chair slightly closer to his, facing him more properly. “Would you believe that I became an undercover investigator after I ran away from that facility I was in, and I’m here to investigate Arthur Sinclair?”

Sam took slightly back in his seat, his brow hardening.

“You’re a female private eye? ” he uttered. “Wow… I didn’t even know those existed. Isn’t that a bit dangerous of a line of work for a woman to be in?”

“Maybe sometimes… but if you think about it, using women is perfect for that kind of job,” Raven explained. “Nobody expects a woman to be a private detective… and people tend to let their guards down more around women, too, because they don’t think women are as much of a threat to them.”

Sam paused, glancing down and making an agreeable shrug.

“And just look at me,” Raven laughed, gesturing to herself up and down. “I’m small, and girly, and all by myself… and I look like a total space-case when I’m out walking around, like I’m just completely lost all the time. I look like I’m just a lost little runaway, because that’s exactly what I am. Nobody suspects me. And… that’s exactly how I want it to be.”

Sam made a slow, understanding nod, then narrowed his eyes questioningly at her.

“What is a… space-case? ” he inquired.

Raven tried to reply, sputtering out a laugh and quickly silencing herself.

“That’s just… slang… where I’m from,” she told him. “A space-case is somebody who’s just kind of weird, and crazy, and absentminded, and zones out a lot.”

“Ahhh, I see.” Sam paused, then eyed her interestingly again. “So… if you’re a female private eye, then… who do you work for? The MPD?”

“Um… no,” Raven said, thinking of Zyon. “No, a bit higher up than that…”

Sam’s brows raised. “No kidding?”

“No kidding,” Raven affirmed, leaning slightly nearer and giving him a serious look. “And that’s why… I would really appreciate it if you told me whatever you knew.”

Sam fell silent, this time for several tense seconds that seemed to last forever. He then looked down, sighing once more and running a hand down his face.

“Well,” he started hesitantly. “I don’t tend to, ah… go around broadcasting this… but, um… I actually came from Moonvale Orphanage myself, once upon a time.”

Raven nodded and leaned back in her seat, falling silent and listening patiently.

“And so did… Art,” Sam muttered, sighing heavily. “That’s what, um… that’s what I called him when we were boys. We were actually friends, once upon a time… even before the orphanage. But, that place… doesn’t really operate the way an ordinary orphanage does. There’s some shady business going on there… and, um…”

He paused, staring distantly into the table for a moment.

“Somewhere along the way,” he continued. “Art’s personality seemed to change quite… drastically… and he grew to be a bit… cruel. I’d rather not list all of the things he did to the other children during our time there… but I will say… it became rather impossible to continue being his friend. Then, sometime later… we were both adopted out by different families… and, while I was serving overseas… he was establishing himself as the manager of the orphanage. By the time I got home… he owned it. Not entirely sure how all of that happened, but… I have my own theories about why he…”

Sam’s voice trailed off and faded, his gaze empty as he stared into the table at nothing in particular.

Then, moments later, his mile-long stare moved up to Raven, meeting her eyes.

“Have you heard of the Georgetown Vanishing?” he asked.

Raven shook her head.

Sam let out a deep breath. “Well… with the baby boom… many families had quite a lot of children in the past nine years or so. Here in Mapleview… a lot of them came to be in this neighborhood… as well as… a cul-de-sac on Georgetown Avenue, on the northwest side of town. Now, this neighborhood here was perfectly fine… but, on Georgetown… sometime after I came home, some odd years after the war was over… something very strange and sinister began to happen. People started to vanish. I mean… vanish . Poof. Into thin air. No visible or obvious explanation whatsoever.”

Raven gave him a strange, grave look, instantly thinking of her own life in Mapleview—her earliest memories being in the late 60s and early 70s—and she never remembered hearing any stories about such an event happening here, not from her parents, her teachers, or anyone else.

“Really…? I… can’t believe I’ve never heard about this before,” she muttered honestly.

“Well… it’s not exactly something that the town is proud of, and it’s certainly not something that people want to talk about,” Sam replied grimly. “Mapleview isn’t particularly known for being a hot spot for criminal behavior. I suppose the mayor and everyone else just wants to sweep it under the rug for the sake of reputation. I suspect that’s why the local media doesn’t speak on it, too. They reported on it for a short while when it was happening… then, suddenly, they just… stopped.”

Raven glanced down, thinking of Canterbury Lab and feeling a touch of deja-vu, as this situation sounded eerily similar to the way the lab operated here during her own time.

“But the really, truly suspicious thing about it all… was who was doing the vanishing,” Sam stated, gesturing at her with his fork. “Because… it was not the entire family. On Georgetown Avenue… whenever someone would disappear… it was only ever mothers and fathers. Only the parents. Never the children. Five separate families on that one, single road were broken apart by whatever was causing this to happen… and all of their children… were left with no one to look after them. Never any bodies found. Never any signs of struggle. The parents simply disappeared overnight… resulting in all of their children being… suddenly orphaned.”

Raven took slightly back, the gears in her now mind turning ever harder.

Sam read her expression and nodded. “You see where this is going, don’t you? Yes… all of those families, some with upwards of three, four, or even five children… all of those kids landed in the Moonvale Orphanage. Nine of them were infants… and they were all in the orphanage within two years.”

Raven wore a disturbed visage, remaining silent.

“In my time at the orphanage… without going into too much detail… I’d noticed certain behaviors that indicated to me that they actually wanted more children there,” Sam explained. “And, if that’s true… then the Georgetown Vanishing certainly happened at a troublingly convenient time for the orphanage.”

“Convenient?” Raven uttered.

“Yes. Because it was just after the war was over,” Sam told her pointedly. “During the war… it was quite different here. It was actually almost common for children to be left without proper care, because their fathers would sometimes die in the service, and their mothers would be left without a way to support them… or, periodically, they would be stricken by grief, and… simply… lose their sanity. The war was creating a slow, steady influx of orphans here at home. But then… when the war ended, and we came into a time of peace… suddenly, no children were being suddenly orphaned anymore. Kids started being born into whole, complete families… and it was no longer normal for a kid to lose their parents. Which meant… the orphanage was no longer filling up with children.”

Raven felt a sick, twisted knot beginning to form in the pit of her stomach.

Sam read her face once more, nodding mildly, as if confirming her thoughts.

“And if someone at the orphanage actually wanted or needed children to keep arriving there… then… perhaps they would be motivated to go out and create new orphans themselves,” he disclosed. “Now, call me a conspiracy theorist… but I think the timing of the Georgetown Vanishing was just a bit too convenient to be a coincidence, all things considered.”

Raven pondered on this for a moment.

“And you think… Arthur did that?” she asked.

Sam hesitated, sighing gravely. “I think… and I know … that Arthur is capable of doing far crueler things than anyone else has ever seen of him. And I also know he can…”

He paused, his distant stare slowly returning to him.

“Well, he can… do things… that aren’t quite normal,” Sam muttered vaguely. “If anyone can make people disappear without leaving a trace of evidence behind… he can.”

He then lowered his head, seeming to be lost to a series of unpleasant thoughts.

Raven surveyed him, feeling a touch of empathy as she examined the dark, disturbed look on his face. Now, she was almost certain that Sam had seen some things that were unexplainable to most people—things that Raven and her friends had seen many times over. It seemed that Arthur Sinclair really was affected in the same way that many other lost escapees of Canterbury Lab were—and it sounded as if Sam might have been the only person in 1955 to see it firsthand.

“That must mean they’re doing something with the children there… if they’d go so far out of their way to get them all there,” Raven remarked. “Do you… do you have any idea what they need all those kids there for?”

Sam stared, his face stony.

“I’m not sure what happens to all of the… infants,” he mumbled darkly. “In fact, I… I’m not sure I ever saw any of them even reach walking age when I was there. But, as far as the rest… the older ones…”

He glanced to the side, looking even more perturbed now.

“Well… I know they’re doing something to those children,” Sam said with disdain. “I know a lot of them personally.”

Raven made a nod. “Are they in your class at school?”

“Some of them are… yes,” Sam replied. “And it’s the strangest thing… but I’ve noticed precisely the same personality changes in them that I noticed in Arthur all that time ago. I don’t know for sure what it is, or what to call it… but I’m certain it’s something that they do in Moonvale. That place corrupts people in ways that I… can’t… rightly… explain. Nobody would…”

He slowly stopped talking again, releasing a stressed cloud of breath and shaking his head at the wall.

Raven didn’t speak, though she suspected she knew what he was about to say. He probably thought that nobody would ever believe him if he ever tried to tell anyone of the things he’d seen regarding Moonvale and Arthur.

“Well… doesn’t matter,” Sam dismissed, stabbing his fork into his potatoes again. “Seeking confidants and validation among people will always disappoint. That… is what prayer is for.”

He resumed his eating, seeming to be finished with discussing the topics at hand.

“This is delicious , by the way,” Sam commented, flashing a smirk and gesturing down at his food. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Raven replied, returning the smile and looking down at her own plate with a sigh.

Personally, she didn’t feel finished with the conversation at all—but judging by the tones, the expressions, and the long, disturbed stares that Sam had throughout the entire talk, she knew it must have been something that he did not like to discuss or relive.

So, she simply decided to drop it for now.

There would be plenty of time to seek out more information later, perhaps after the two of them became better acquainted—and perhaps after Raven had a bit more time to put her frightful encounter at the grocery store further to the back of her mind.

For the time being—the two could simply enjoy their dinner and their relative peace.

Mapleview, North Carolina.
April 22nd, 1955.
9:57 P.M.

After Raven’s first day in 1955—she found herself getting rather comfortable.

She knew that she and her friends were expected to spend some extended lengths of time in their respective time periods right now—so, she decided there was no rush in pursuing the mysteries of the Moonvale Orphanage, especially since she hadn’t been able to pry more information out of Sam just yet.

For now—she simply did a little digging on the side by herself.

Each day went mostly the same, according to her new routine; she awoke in the guest room, a room with fluffy blue comforters and a nice side window beside the bed, and she prepared breakfast for Sam before he headed off to work. After he was gone—Raven would call a taxi, get a ride into town, and merely walk, traveling to the library, the newspaper stands, and anywhere else she could gather bits and pieces of information, though she found nothing that covered the Georgetown Vanishing. She did, however, discover articles about the orphanage and even a biography about Arthur Sinclair, though neither of those things told her much at all.

In the afternoons, she grew well accustomed to making dinner for herself and for Sam, and the two always ended their day by sharing conversation as the radio played softly from the living room, Sam occasionally telling various stories about things he had done in high school, or funny moments that had transpired between he and his theatre friends.

For nearly two weeks—neither of them discussed the orphanage again, and thankfully, Raven never ran into Arthur in public again, either. Before long, she was able to make her regular trips to the market without any worry. In fact, she’d gotten used to coming home to find a small metal basket on the front porch, which contained milk bottles, and she let out a breathless little laugh each time she saw them, simply unable to believe that she actually lived in a time where milkmen made deliveries to people’s homes.

Still, the more time to pass, the more Raven began to feel pushed toward deepening her investigation. She also began to feel a little uneasy about living in Sam’s home; it wasn’t as if he showed any signs of being a creep or a pervert, and she actually quite liked him the more they talked with one another, but she was beginning to worry, wondering when she would eventually overstay her welcome here. However, oddly enough, Sam never spoke about trying to find her another place to stay, and he never asked her when she would be moving out; as of now, he seemed perfectly content with the way things were.

In fact—Raven was, too.

She had to admit it; the simple life she was living here was quite nice and peaceful, and she never would have imagined enjoying such a life before. This was a time period that she always thought of as oppressive, or stunted, or controlling, especially towards women—and perhaps that was true for some—but for Raven, she felt nothing but safe and respected here. Sam had taken her in on a whim, and he offered her shelter and money for no reason whatsoever. Each time she went to the market or the library, everyone spoke to her kindly and politely, more so than they ever did in the 80s—and the men in particular were incredibly mannerly toward her.

She didn’t feel oppressed, controlled, or disrespected at all.

Perhaps some of this was due to her unique circumstances, and also due to the fortunate luck of being around mostly decent people, but she still found it all surprisingly refreshing compared to what she was expecting to experience here.

Her 50s life and routine was relaxing, with little worry—at least, until this evening.

Every day, she made breakfast and dinner, and Sam always returned home around the same time, except for the weekends when he was off of work—but on this Friday, however, he never came home for dinner, and the pork roast she had made was left to get cold.

Raven sat at the table for a while, waiting in silence, then she began playing music in the living room and dancing along to it, hoping to distract herself for a bit.

As more time passed, and as the sky grew dark outside, she began to feel concerned, powering the television on and sitting on the couch, absentmindedly watching its tiny screen and sighing irritably all the while.

The longer she waited, the more she began to feel a touch angry at Sam.

He never told her that he was coming home late, never informed her of anywhere he was expected to be tonight. As far as she knew, he would be leaving work in the afternoon and coming home for a semi-early dinner like always.

The more time that went by, the more she considered going over to the board and the rotary phone in the kitchen and dialing his mother.

Evelyn’s phone number was one of the many pinned onto the board, but Raven had only spoken to her once before, and she thought that calling her at this late hour might be seen as rude or peculiar of her to do. Besides, she had no idea how much Evelyn even knew of Sam and Raven’s living situation now—and if Sam was keeping it a secret from his mother for whatever reason, then Raven didn’t want to be the one to tell her.

So—she merely waited, stewing in silence and feeling more annoyed by the minute as she did.

Then, near ten o’clock at night, she sat firmer upright on the couch, making an odd face as a thought just came to her.

“Fuck,” Raven swore at herself. “I am a housewife. How the fuck did that happen…?”

Just then, the distant echo of a closing car door caught her attention, and she stood from the couch, marching over to the TV and powering it off before she peeked out the window through the curtains.

A car—not Sam’s Corvette—was parked in the driveway, its dim headlights casting twin beams at the house, and several people were emerging from it, three of them all seeming to pull a fourth person out of the vehicle before dragging him over toward the front door.

Raven made a strange face as she leaned back from the window and lowered her hand.

“What the f…”

Then—she heard a dull thump against the front door from outside, turning and squinting at it before marching over to it and pulling it open.

And outside, on the front porch—a dizzy, disheveled, and wasted-looking Sam was only just staggering back to his feet after having fallen into his front door, planting a hand on the wall of the house as his three friends grabbed him and helped to steady him. His soft, wavy hair was messier than ever, his hat halfway off, his suit jacket open, and his undershirt halfway untucked, a strong, acidic scent wafting powerfully off of him.

Raven stared at him incredulously.

Sam groggily managed to meet her eyes, breathing out a laugh and making a lazy arm motion that might have been a wave.

“Howdy-do, Miss Madame…!” he cackled with a slur. “And how are you this fine evening…?”

Then, Sam leaned slightly closer, staring into her eyes.

“Can I interest you in a Fuller Brush Man vacuum cleaner…?” he uttered, cracking another smile and making his friends all chuckle behind him.

Raven stared vacantly at him.

“Good evening, Ma’am,” one of Sam’s friends, a tall and skinny man, said politely to her. “You must be Raven.”

“Uh-huh,” Raven replied tonelessly.

The tall man, who was gripping one of Sam’s arms to keep him balanced, glanced over at him and choked out a laugh.

“Sorry to disturb you at this hour, but um… we took him out for a drink after work, and… sort of lost track of time. He… may have had a bit too much,” the man explained. “We just wanted to make sure he got back home safe and sound is all.”

Raven made a nod. “Okay. Well… thank you.”

“Theeere we go,” the tall man said, planting both hands onto Sam’s shoulders and pushing him slowly and carefully into the house. “Easy does it… you got it from here?”

“I’ve got it,” Sam grunted in response, slapping a hand to his head in an attempt to straighten his hat, making it tip lopsidedly the other direction. “I’ve got it…”

Raven grasped ahold of Sam’s arm just when the tall man let go of him, the other two guys on the front porch still snickering at their drunken friend.

“All right… have a nice evening, Ma’am,” the tall man said, waving her off and stepping back outside.

“You too,” Raven replied shortly, reaching out with her free hand and closing the front door.

Sam’s friends then left the porch—and Sam moved mindlessly over to his coat rack and began attempting to peel and wrestle his suit jacket off of him. Raven sighed and stepped behind him, easefully sliding it off of his arms one sleeve at a time.

After she hung it on the coat rack, Sam removed his hat and placed it on top of the rack as he wandered past it, not noticing that it fell and hit the floor. Raven bent down and collected it, placing it on the rack properly as Sam plopped down on the couch with his head slumped back.

She stood beside the coat rack for a second and simply stared at him, watching as he drifted in and out of consciousness on the couch, and she huffed out an aggravated breath.

“Well… look at that,” Raven grumbled under her breath. “I did end up with a 50s wino…”

“Hmmm…?” Sam moaned, raising his brows, but not managing to open his eyes fully. “Whaddid’ya say…?”

Raven inhaled, slowly and angrily, trying to force her temper away. In reality, she knew she shouldn’t have been too upset—she was not actually his wife, after all—but she couldn’t help but feel annoyed that he hadn’t even bothered to call her, leaving her alone here to worry all afternoon long.

“Why didn’t you call me after work?” Raven asked, stepping toward the couch.

Sam blinked several times, staring dazedly up at her and making a face. “Was I s’posed to…?”

“You could have,” Raven stated. “I thought you were coming home the same time you always do, and I made dinner and everything. I didn’t know you’d be out so late, or I wouldn’t have made a whole entire pork roast.”

“There’s pork roast…?” Sam uttered interestedly, suddenly finding the motivation to sit fully upright.

“Well… it’s cold now, but yeah, there’s pork roast,” Raven told him. “I had to put it away in the fridge.”

“Oh… but we can heat that back up, can’t we…?” Sam asked, gazing up at her with a hopeful expression, not seeming to notice that she was upset at all.

Raven gave him a long, deadpan stare, taking another deep breath and again forcing herself calm.

“Why didn’t you call me?” she demanded. “I was worried.”

Sam stared, his mouth opening, and he made a mild shake of the head, now seeming lost.

“I… w… why?” he stammered, genuinely confused. “What reason was there to worry…?”

Raven scoffed in astonishment, shooting him a double-take.

“Are you kidding …?” she griped. “I told you what I’m supposed to be investigating here, didn’t I? You said yourself that Arthur is dangerous… and if this guy is connected to the people I think he is… then he wouldn’t hesitate to act against me and anyone else who’s…”

She suddenly stopped and bit her lip, looking away and falling momentarily silent.

For a long, tense while, everything in the living room was deathly quiet, and Raven glared off to the side, thinking very intently on several things at once—things that involved Valek, her friends, and the terrifying encounters that they had all already endured. As of now—here in 1955—she was quite convinced that Arthur was on the demonic side of it all, and if that was true, then she certainly had plenty to worry about. Valek and his Legion of demons always targeted her and her friends—and they would do very much the same here, just as they had in both 1988 and 2025.

But—in this moment, as she forced herself to remain silent and shove down her frustration—she knew she couldn’t rightly blame Sam for worrying her. After all, Sam did not know any of the details that made this situation so worrisome.

“Okay. Okay… never mind, I’m sorry,” Raven relented, sighing and shaking her head. “I’ll heat up the pork roast for you, and… then I think I’m just gonna go to bed…”

She turned to leave the room.

Sam watched her go for a second, then cleared his throat and called after her.

“Wait, wait… come’re,” he said, waving her back over. “Come here, please… sit and talk to me…”

Raven almost reached the kitchen, then huffed out a breath and resisted the urge to roll her eyes before she walked back into the living room and sat on the couch beside him.

Sam ran a hand down his face, his blue eyes quite bleary, and his pale cheeks rather red, fairly intoxicated, though he was trying his best to assess his thoughts. He glanced down, leaned forward, and clasped his hands together, taking several seconds to think before he spoke any further.

“Look… I had… a lot on my mind today,” Sam tried to explain. “And… when the boys stopped by, and they offered to buy everyone a round or two… I just… wanted to go. Just… to relax a bit. That’s all. I didn’t really think about it, and I’m not used to, ah… having someone waiting at home…”

Raven nodded. “It’s okay… I get it.”

“Well, no, it… no… it isn’t,” Sam mumbled, fidgeting slightly and staring at the small, dark TV screen across from him.

He was silent for several more seconds, looking as if he wanted to say more, but it seemed as if it was difficult for him to force the words out.

Raven stared, sighing and waiting patiently for him to go on.

Sam gently scraped his thumbnail against the end of his sleeve, his white button-up slightly crooked, and his tie having come a bit loose. He let out a breath and raked his hairs back, and then, he rested his forehead against his palm, hanging his head and closing his eyes.

Raven observed him, and the longer she did, the more certain she became that whatever was on his mind now was troubling him immensely more than she ever usually saw of him.

Now, her anger fading, and a surge of empathy easing in to take its place, she felt another spark of concern, and she gently placed a hand to his back, leaning closer.

“What’s wrong?” Raven asked him sincerely.

Sam raised his head slightly, gazing over at her for a long, silent moment.

Then, he looked forward again, sighing and shaking his head.

“You can tell me,” Raven assured him, stroking along his back in a soft, comforting way.

“No I can’t,” Sam breathed with a choking sort of laugh.

“Why can’t you?” Raven asked.

Sam faced her again, his eyes shining, and his expression hardening, though she was just able to see it start to fracture.

“You won’t believe me,” he said in a faint, wispy voice, looking to the TV and letting out a slow, shaky sigh. “Not a soul on this planet ever would…”

Raven took a deep breath, staring fixedly at him and knowing for certain that he was thinking of things that truly were unbelievable, things that probably wouldn’t be believed by most—but they were things that had been seen, done, and lived through by people like Raven Evervale herself.

So—she scooted nearer to him, kept her hand on his back, and gave him a hard, unwavering look.

“I will,” Raven told him definitively.

Sam gazed into her for another long moment of profound and troubling thought, surveying every detail of her expression and seeming to search her face for any sign of doubt or deceit—but she simply glared back at him with a look of determined honesty, appearing anything but untrustworthy or unsure.

“How can you know…?” he uttered, shaking his head once and choking out a disbelieving breath. “How can you know for sure that you’ll believe what I say…?”

“Because… I’m pretty sure I’m the only person here who already knows what you’re gonna say,” Raven told him. “And I don’t have the option of not believing it… because it’s pretty much just everyday life for me.”

“That can’t be,” Sam murmured.

“Try me,” Raven challenged.

They shared another silent stare.

Then, Sam slowly turned to his coffee table, gazing down at his ashtray for a moment.

He faced her again, looking hesitant and conflicted.

Raven’s eyes flickered between him and his ashtray, and then, she let slip a smirk just as the realization came to her; she knew precisely what he was thinking about doing now.

It suddenly became undeniable to her. She knew that Sam had seen and experienced the supernatural in some way—but now, she also knew without a doubt that he was a part of it in the exact same way she was.

Sam stared at the ashtray, took in a heavy breath, and drearily raised his hand out toward it, his fingers extending, and his eyes homed in on it intently.

“Y… you see what happens when I… focus… on this,” he mumbled. “And then, I… focus on… moving it…”

He whipped his hand to the side—and the ashtray went flying off the surface of the table on its own, smacking into the back of the recliner and falling onto its cushion.

Raven grinned as she watched, but Sam withdrew his hand and let out a trembling breath, turning to her and shaking his head.

“You see, that… that’s not normal ,” Sam told her, combing his messy hairs back again and raising his voice. “That… has been happening… all of my life. Paired with the nightmares, and the visions, and all the wicked things I saw as a boy… it makes that damned war seem like child’s play! I’ve always felt that I was insane, and I really must be… I have to be. That’s what people lead me to believe when I try to show this to them. They will explain it away as a trick of the light, or hidden strings, or a parlor trick, or anything else under the sun! But it’s none of that! It’s just me , and whatever in the hell is wrong with me…!”

He ranted and panted in frustration, tossing up his hand and working himself up—until Raven reached over, clasped his hand, and slowly lowered it, clutching it gingerly and giving him a calm, knowing smile.

Sam merely stared, his brow hardening slightly, ogling her with a vexed expression.

Raven’s smile grew, and she looked to the recliner, raising her free hand and making a gentle motion with her fingers.

Then—the ashtray floated off of the chair and hovered midair.

Sam turned his head and spotted it.

“ Oh —good—Lord above,” he gasped, jolting in his seat and gripping her hand tighter.

Raven kept her hand raised and her two fingers outstretched, gently moving her arm and guiding the ashtray across the living room, until it landed neatly back onto the coffee table.

Sam stared down at it in total disbelief, then slowly turned back to face her, gaping at her as if he had never seen anything as truly mindboggling as her before.

“Sam,” Raven said warmly, placing both of her hands around one of his and gazing into him with sincerity. “There… is nothing… wrong with you. You just came from the same place I did… and you can do all the same things I can do.”

Sam said nothing, inhaling deep and quickened breaths.

“You… and Arthur… both came from there,” Raven told him. “You even mentioned… you were friends with him before you were both in the orphanage. Well… think back. Do you remember where that actually was? ”

Sam didn’t speak, merely staring at her, inhaling deeply and beginning to gnaw his bottom lip.

“White walls,” Raven recalled. “Bunk beds. Tiny rooms. Narrow hallways… some half-assed cardboard toy boxes… and really bright lights in the hallway.”

Sam’s expression became stonier by the second, his deep, stressful breaths starting to tremble once more.

“You remember that place?” Raven asked, giving his hand a gentle shake.

Sam was silent for several seconds, his eyes wandering down.

“I put it to the… back of my mind,” he murmured. “I always thought it… couldn’t have been… real . I remember, it… just… went white… and everything instantly just… went away. Art and I were… in a room, doing something… and then, everything… just… vanished. And… there we were… suddenly out in a field, somewhere…”

He softly shook his head, his brow hardening, staring downward in thought.

“That,” Sam breathed, a glimmer of recollection in his eyes. “ That’s where Art started changing. He got much worse in Moonvale… he absolutely did… but it started in that place before. It started in…”

“Canterbury Lab,” Raven determined. “That’s where the demons first got to him… and that’s where Zyon got to you.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, giving her a bewildered drunken stare.

Then, Raven took a deep breath and began to explain everything else—everything about the lab, her brother, Valek, Zyon, and all of the events that had landed her here in 1955.

When she was finally finished telling him the entire story, and informing him of why she was here in the 1950s—Sam was gazing down at the floor of the living room in a sleepy, overwhelmed stupor, his mind struggling to process all of the shocking information that had crashed down over him tonight.

“Okay, I…” he uttered tiredly. “I need to lie down…”

Then, without warning—he flumped to the side and lay across the couch—his head resting snugly on her lap.

Raven gasped, swallowing and staring down at him in surprise, her hands raised, and her heart beginning to pound.

Sam’s eyes were closed, his breaths long and heavy, looking as if he’d fallen asleep instantly, his mouth slightly agape, his head lying cozily atop her legs, and his cheek pressed lightly against her stomach.

Raven gazed down at him for a moment longer.

Then, rather than pushing him away or crawling out from under him—she simply lowered her hands and sighed, allowing him to sleep there and softly combing his hairs back as she did.