Everett’s nowhere to be seen, so I keep walking until I find a smaller living room. The den, I suppose. A few seniors are sprawled all over the brown leather sectional, watching a big-screen television. Nikki is there too, draped over the lap of a dark-haired boy. Their glassy eyes tell me they’re either drunk or high.
I glance at the screen. It’s tuned to the news, and the ticker underneath the reporter sayscountdown to thorn execution.
Really? So it’s like New Year’s Eve to these people?
My stomach threatens to revolt, but Everett suddenly appears in the hall.
“There you are,” he says. He pulls me to the side, against a pillar near the sweeping staircase, and kisses me. “Let’s go up to my room?”
I don’t have time to answer, as someone lets out a sharp, wall-shaking scream.
Everett’s eyes widen with concern. “Squirt?” He pushes off the pillar, bursting into the den. “What’s going on?”
I follow right behind him to find Nikki sitting bolt upright on the couch, her face a mask of horror. Everyone in the room is staring at the TV in shock and confusion. Everett glances at it, then sucks in a breath. Before I can blink, he’s kneeling in front of his sister, taking her hands.
“Hey, it’s okay, squirt,” he soothes. “Listen to me, Nikki. It’s okay.”
I don’t understand what’s happening until I read the new caption on the screen.
gabriel thorn hangs himself on eve of execution.
Gabriel Thorn hung himself in prison.
My father hung himself.
My father is dead.
For a moment, all I can do is stare, the words not seeping in. They hover out there, because I don’t know how to feel.
Nikki rips her hands from her brother’s, digging the heels of them into her eye sockets. “This can’t be happening! What about justice? We were supposed to get justice!” she screeches.
Everett’s expression doesn’t make sense to me. His eyes are bleary, maybe even a little watery.
Why are they so upset about this? I get that everyone in this town hates my father, but nobody else in this room is shaking as hard as Nikki is…
Slowly, understanding trickles in.
Everett told me his mother died.
But…he never told mehowshe died, and now the pieces are sliding together to form a sick puzzle. His mother didn’t just die.
My father killed her.
eighteen
Vehicle of Death
Instantly, the mood changes. So much for having a good time. Everett orders his football buddies to break the party up, and they spring to action, ushering everyone out. Even so, it’s like herding cats, with buzzed people lingering about, confused as to why the party’s over so soon.
I linger too, not knowing what to do.
My father. My father destroyed their family. Killed their mother.
My gaze shifts to the TV, where the photos of his victims are now superimposed on the screen. Which one was she? There’s no one with the last name James. I scan the photos. Not Anabel White. Not Lydia Singh.
One face snags my attention. A beautiful brunette. Leah Devereaux. She was Dad’s last victim. His last “official” one, anyway. Nobody ever likes to count my mother.
Scrutinizing Leah’s photo, I begin to see the resemblance to her children. The light blue eyes. The dimples.
