In His Shadow
The Shipley house is a war zone. Or rather, acold warzone. It’s been days since the dance, but it feels like the fallout is still unfolding. Jasmine refuses to share a room with me, so she sleeps in the living room now. She barely looks at me, let alone speaks to me, and the rare times she opens her mouth, it’s to tell her parents she wants me out of the house. To add insult to Jasmine’s injury, Nikki isn’t allowed over at the house because she attacked me at the dance, and I’m pretty sure Nikki isn’t even talking to Jasmine right now, which only intensifies my cousin’s anger toward me.
“Why doesshehave to stay here? Send her away! I don’t want her around us!” she snapped last night in the middle of dinner, then ran off before anyone could get a word in.
Dan has tried to smooth things over, but his attempts at mediating only fuel the fire. “Jaz, please, we’re all family here,” he said this morning at breakfast, his voice strained with exhaustion. Connor sat silent at the breakfast counter, but at her father’s plea, Jasmine stomped out of the kitchen without a word.
Maggie just seems overwhelmed. She keeps looking at mewith pained, pitying eyes, as if she wants to make things better for me but doesn’t know how. It’s rare to see Maggie lacking her self-assurance.
Everywhere I turn, there’s judgment. At school, people avoid me like I’m contagious. Even the teachers are treating me with an awkward, uncomfortable politeness, like they don’t know what to say. It doesn’t help that I’m officially Crockett High’s favorite topic, every whispered conversation dying the second I walk by.
To make matters worse, news of my identity has spread beyond Starling. Zed, the asshole who decided to blow up my life, hasn’t been at school this week. He’s been making the rounds on all the true-crime shows, bragging about howhe’sthe one who found Gabrielle Thorn when no one else could, and as much as it infuriates me to think it, he deserves credit for his investigative skills.
“The dude had FBI written all over him,” Zed was boasting in an interview last night. Anetwork televisioninterview. The guy’s milking his fifteen minutes of fame for all he’s worth. “And I was, like, why would some random girl be having covert meetups with the FBI? That’s when that first puzzle piece slid into place, and I started digging into Ryan.”
Turns out, I didn’t convince Zed at all that day when I told him I was meeting my “friend.” He saw me drive away with Agent Foster, put two and two together, and proceeded to unravel the elaborate cover story Maggie and Dan had created for me. Eventually that led him all the way to Allentown, where he connected Maggie to Gran and then Gran to me.
I don’t know how he did it, but he even tracked down thesocial worker who handled my case after my parents died. My juvenile records were sealed, but somehow Logan Zellman was able to find someone tounseal them. As always, he refuses to reveal his sources, but admitted during his latest interview that sometimes it takes some cash to get people to talk.
Once he had my grandmother’s name, it was easy for him to track down Gran’s storage unit. He paid someone off there too, for access to our unit. Maggie has already unleashed hell on the owner of the storage facility for allowing private documents to get stolen from right under his nose.
With my identity public knowledge, reporters have been contacting the Shipleys with interview requests and demands for quotes. Podcasters from all over the country keep showing up at school trying to ambush me. My email address was somehow made public, and now my inbox is jammed with emails from the press, the true-crime community, and general members of the public who feel the need to tell me I’m going to rot in hell for what my father did.
Fun times.
The only people even speaking to me at school are Mar and Ty, and even then, it’s different with them now. Sometimes I’ll catch Mar eyeing me warily, as if she’s suddenly remembered that my father murdered innocent women. Neither she nor Ty have broached the subject, though. Truthfully I think they’re afraid to ask.
Chase texts all the time, but most of his messages sit unanswered on my phone. He didn’t push me to talk when he drove me home from the dance. Didn’t demand answers. I appreciate him so much for that. I keep telling myself I’ll explain it all to him eventually, but the truth is, I’m afraid he’ll judge metoo. Chase’s default mode might be nonjudgmental, butthis…the revelation that my father is a serial killer…it’s too much for anyone to overlook.
I can’t stand the thought of him seeing me differently.
Everett, of course, is radio silent. I haven’t heard a peep from him since that night. We don’t share any classes this semester, and I haven’t even passed him in the halls. He’s clearly going out of his way to avoid me, and I heard whispers that he and Chase aren’t speaking to each other either, which stings more than I want to admit.
I blew up everyone’s lives with my mere existence.
The weekend after the dance, the doorbell rings. I’m sprawled on the couch, because I no longer work at the animal shelter. Like a coward, I quit my job—over text. The thought of facing JP, knowing that my identity is now public knowledge, makes me physically ill.
From the hallway, I hear my uncle speaking. “The answer is no, kid. Get off our property or I’m calling the sheriff.”
“C’mon, Mr.Shipley. You know I’m right. She’s got a story the world needs to hear.”
I stiffen at the sound of Zed’s snotty voice.
The nerve of him. Hasn’t he done enough damage to my life?
My anger burns hotter as I listen to Dan try to get rid of Zed. But the relentless jerk stands his ground. He raises his voice, shouting into the house.
“Gabrielle! I know you’re in there! Come out and talk to me! You owe it to the world to tell your story!”
A fury I didn’t know I was capable of boils up inside me. Before I know it, I’m flying onto the porch, facing off with him.
“Howdareyou? You ruined my life in front of the entire school, and now you’re delusional enough to think I’d sit down for aninterviewwith you?”
His self-satisfied expression barely wavers. No remorse whatsoever for what he’s done. For the way he’s publicly shamed me.
“Look,” he relents, “maybe I went overboard with the whole school reveal, but big productions? That’s my style, Ryan. It’s what keeps people interested.”
“You humiliated me.”
