“What do you think of this idea? I was thinking of doing a series on reflections—like, mirrors, water, windows, stuff like that.”
“Oh. Yeah,” I mumble, not really hearing what she’s saying.
I’m still stuck in that SUV with my aunt, receiving that gruesome invitation. My heart’s racing, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus on anything else.
Mar is clearly waiting for more of a response. When I don’t give her one, she frowns. “Okay. Well, what about your project? Did you decide what you’re going to do? You could use that bird photo, right? The one you showed me last week?”
I know I should say something—anything—but my mind is too tangled, my intestines still twisting.
“Dude, are you even listening?” Mar’s voice sharpens, and when I finally glance at her, hurt clouds her expression.
“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I say.
Once again, she waits for me to elaborate, but I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell her about the execution, about the murderer who spawned me, about the sick feeling in my stomach.
She sighs, turning away from me. I know I’ve upset her, but I can’t make myself explain. Can’t even come up with a decent-enough lie.
Just when I think the day from hell can’t get any worse, French class rolls around. We don’t have assigned seating, so my new pal from the office, Ty, swaps seats with the girl beside me, and it’sall well and good until we’re tasked with conjugating a list of verbs, and the two students in the row ahead of us start whispering about the Gabriel Thorn execution.
Making no attempt to hide that he’s eavesdropping, Ty glances over at me, his face lighting up. “Ah, the Thorn-Poke. You celebrating?”
“The what?”
Thorn-Poke?God, that can’t mean what I think it means. My stomach can’t catch a frickin’ break. I don’t think it’s stopped churning since I woke up this morning.
“You know, the serial killer? The Starling Slayer?” Ty grins. “He’s getting the needle soon. There are a ton of parties that weekend to celebrate. We call ’em Thorn-Pokes.”
Horror swirls in my gut. I don’t know why. My father certainly deserves to die for what he did. But…celebratinghis death? How does his execution call for a celebration? It’s all so twisted and wrong. As terrible as he is, he’s still the man who cared for me for the first seven years of my life, better than any father could have. I could never celebrate his death.
I would never hurt you, Gabby. Ever.
I feel all the blood drain from my face and hope Ty doesn’t notice. “Um. That sounds…”
“Barbaric? Grotesque?” he supplies. “Yeah, it totally is. But the people in this town are bloodthirsty fuckers.”
“You included?”
Ty gives me a shrug. “Me? I’m more interested in money than blood. Did you hear about the million-dollar reward? Now,that’swhat I’m talking about.”
“Mr.Cheng,” our teacher chides. “Less talking, more conjugating.”
Ty falls silent with a pout. Meanwhile, my eyes begin to sting. God, I just want to cry. I can’t escape it, no matter where I go, no matter who I talk to.
I keep my head down, trying to focus on my French textbook. But I’m a hundred miles away, at the prison, in that room, watching my father—the man who brought me into this world—leave it for good.
Thorn Prison Letters #2
Source:The Case Against Gabriel Thorn,ABC documentary.
My little sparrow,
I wonder if you’ll read this and know, truly know, how it all was. They’ll tell you things about me, about them, my pretty sparrows, but they’ll never understand. No one ever does. They twist and dig until the truth becomes something grotesque. But you…you’ll see, won’t you? You’ll understand. You know better than anyone that sparrows are delicate. They need protection and they chose me for that. I kept them from harm. I didn’t hurt them, not in the way they’re filling your head with. I cared for them and loved them and you don’t defile your most cherished possessions, do you? You don’t. They must remain pure and untouched if they’re to soar. They were safe with me, away from all the noise. I can still see them…their eyes, so wide and trusting, the way they looked at me. They didn’t know at first. How could they? But after a while, there was a peace. A silence. They were precious. Each one. Like holding a bird’s egg in your hands, knowing how easily you could crush it if you wanted to, but I didn’t. I was gentle. Careful. That’s what they don’t see. Even now, I remember their faces like a dream. A beautiful dream where everything is light and still. I see them, see them even now, and I know they’re safe, tucked away from prying eyes. I kept them safe. I never let them suffer. Not for one moment. I loved themin ways no one else could, and I gave them peace. THEY’LL tell you I did things, things I couldn’t, wouldn’t. They try to paint me with their filthy brushes, but I know the truth. I loved them too much to let the world get its claws in them. I kept them close and then I set them free and now they’re always with me, my pretty sparrows, safe and sound. I want you to feel it, as if they’re here now, a part of us, always. Don’t let them take this from us. It was always for them.
Love,
Daddy
Eleven
