Dragging a fry through some ketchup, I consider the work I’ve already done.
“The test I created for my doctoral thesis is focused on a psychopathy diagnosis, but I can edit it into a general diagnostic tool.”
She grins. “Nah. Let’s see where they rank on the psycho scale first.”
One of the lessons my professors frequentlyhammered home was to use people-firstlanguage when discussing mental health disorders. Instead of calling someone a psychopath, we’re supposed to say “the patient is displaying behaviors associated with psychopathy.”
In my rotations, however, I learned pretty quickly that colloquial terminology is useful in clinical situations.
“He’s a complete psycho,” for instance, was helpful shorthand for—“Grab the Haldol and don’t forget the soft restraints.”
Speaking of Silas, he walks into the lunchroom. Miss Odeal beams at him, then piles a double helping of the lunch special onto his plate, along with, just guessing here, the spiciest hot sauce she could find. He gives her his shy smile and takes his tray to a far corner. He eats by himself, his back to us.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to see how he’ll fare on the psycho test. I’ve been fascinated by abnormal psychology since I was young. Spending the night with Rami and Maya was a surefire way to overhear the good stuff. My uncles were never as careful when they thought the kids were asleep, and Uncle Anders, in particular, was a gold mine.
Still, I was a teenager before I overheard Uncle Anders and Uncle Edison talking about a kid named Silas. What stood out was the way Uncle Edison seemed proud of what Silas had accomplished.
“He’s been managing his violent impulses more frequently than not. Once he’s beyond puberty, I genuinely think he’ll be able to control himself as well as I do.”
Uncle Anders let out a low whistle.“Really? Think he’ll ever be able to be introduced to the Wildlings?”
Uncle Edison went quiet for a while. “Erik and Ant have worked so hard with him. Ronan won’t ever be comfortable around him, but it might help to socialize him further once he’s past the hormone surge.”
From that moment on, I had to know more. All I knew aboutErik and Ant was that they were our uncles who hardly ever came to the pool parties and hadn’t attended a family function in forever. Edison refused to explain why my dad would never be comfortable around Silas, no matter how many times I asked. There wasn’t much I could do except wait, listen, and gather whatever scraps I could find.
As much as I dogged Anders’ and Edison’s cell phones, I never found a file or a full history. Just notes here and there. One instruction on Edison’s phone, over a decade old, made my blood run cold:Keep Silas separate from Ronan and the children.
I cobbled together that Uncles Ant and Erik adopted him when he was five years old. Though Silas’s age was an estimate because they didn’t even have his birth certificate. It was a big deal among the adults in our family because Sy had come from some kind of horrible situation where he’d been genetically modified and had needed special people to adopt him. The science behind his genetic modifications was beyond me, but he couldn’t have done better than Erik and Ant.
Still, the communication blackout around Sy only fueled my curiosity. The second I had my own place, I convinced the cousins that we had to meet him.
I hadn’t really known what to expect. I was actually kinda surprised when Silas answered my text.
When this shy, super fit guy with messy, dirty-blond hair showed up wearing sunglasses, covered in tattoos, and accompanied by an intimidating emotional support dog, it only verified that I’d been right to be curious about him. The only thing average about Silas was his height, and in my books that meant he was one of us.
He hadn’t been able to stay long—he had to meet up with Anders for some reason—but he answered our questions and had a few of his own.
“Do you hate my fathers?”was one of them.
We discovered that Uncle Edison had been a sort of mentor to him, but they don’t get along so well now. We also found out that he isn’t a huge fan of hugs, but half hugs are okay.
He got a half hug from each and every one of us before he left.
Dad called me that night and asked me why the hell I’d let “that boy” into my apartment. I’d never heard him sound so afraid.
“He’s a really cool guy, Dad. Why are you acting like he’s a mass murderer?”
Unsurprisingly, Dad shut down any questions aimed at clarifying his stance on…anything. Just as unsurprisingly, I ignored his request to keep Silas out of our lives. Besides, Sy had already agreed to join us in mischief making, and a promise was a promise.
“It’s like you’ve never met a Wildling before, Dad.”
I texted a bunch of questions to Silas after I ended the call with my dad, but he was hesitant to say anything.
Silas: I’m sorry. My history is top secret.
Me: Like one of those oldMission Impossiblemovies?
Silas: More likeGattaca.
