Prologue

I've heard about angels, a tunnel, and a bright white light, but all I see are crows—smears and smudges of crows circling above the water. The same water I've swum in, fished in, and studied beside will be the water that will soon flood my lungs. This river has been a part of me for so long, it's only fitting that I soon become a part of it.

I push against the hands that hold me under, then try pulling instead. I claw and thrash, but it's not enough. I've always been a fighter, yet somehow, I already know this is a fight I can't win.

When they find me— if they find me—they will say I slipped. No one will pay. No one except me, even though many are guilty. But the crows see my killer's face. The crows see all they've done. And a crow never forgets.

The water is choppier now, and my panic rises with it. My body craves oxygen. My legs kick beneath me; my arms rise above me. The hands push down with more force. Everything is futile. My mouth opens, and water floods my throat, burning into my lungs. My legs stop kicking; my arms stop flailing. I close my eyes as my body becomes limp. The hands above me feel me stop resisting but only shove me down further, as though my surrender is a trick. I can't blame them for thinking that.

But this is no trick; this is the end. I open my eyes once more. The crows are still there, waiting. I fall asleep and dream of them diving into the water, lifting me with their talons, and laying my lifeless body on the riverbank. Like a bird, I am flying, hovering above my body, watching this funeral-like ritual when one crow, the largest one, flies up toward me. He zips ahead, and I follow. With a clarity that only comes in dreams, I know he is here to guide my soul into whatever comes next.