It never occurred to me that I look at Everett any different than I look at anyone else. “What do you mean? In what way?”
“Like you’re going to hurt him,” he says, kick-starting theengine. It rips through the night, and then he does a quick U-turn, and the lights of his bike disappear among the trees.
I swallow as I walk up the driveway, thinking about Chase’s words. He dislikes me because he thinks I’m going to hurt Everett?
Joke’s on him. I’m notgoingto hurt Everett.
I already have.
Thorn Prison Letters #3
Source:The Case Against Gabriel Thorn,ABC documentary.
My little sparrow,
There’s a memory I come back to often. One of my favorites, and I think it was yours too. It was your sixth birthday. Do you remember that afternoon? The meadow? Just the two of us, sun filtering through the trees, like gold dust scattered everywhere. You were so little, but so bright, curious about everything. I think of that day as perfect, frozen in time.
We were listening to birds sing all around us. You kept asking me, what’s that one, Daddy? And that one? And that one?
You were relentless. Sharp as a hawk, my little birdwatcher. We saw a Carolina wren hopping near the tall grass, singing as if only for us, and you tried so hard to mimic her song, that little whistle of yours echoing through the trees. Do you remember the red cardinal that watched us? You called him Mr.Red. Like he was an old friend. And he kept his eyes on us as we walked, hopping from branch to branch, almost as if he was guiding us.
We stayed until the sun began to drop below the trees, and even though the birds had quieted down, you wouldn’t leave until you’d had just one more song. Just one more song, Daddy. I would give anything to step back into that moment, to watch you be so little, so joyful.
Hold on to that memory, my Gabby. It was a good day. Maybe one of our best. Just you, me, and the birds, the world nothing more than the song of the trees and our meadow.
Love,
Daddy
nineteen
Rot in Hell
It hits me like a ton of bricks on Saturday morning.
My father is dead.
The man who brought me into this world is really, truly gone. After all these years. Killed by his own hand.
I think I was numb to it before. But the full weight of it comes to rest on my chest this morning and doesn’t let up. All of these happy memories float to the surface. I spend almost all weekend in bed, not wanting to eat, shower, or face the world. By Saturday night, my cousins realize something’s wrong, and Sunday morning it comes to a head.
Jasmine wanders in and says, “Oh my God, are you feeling better yet?”
I shake my head. I told her I thought it was the flu, and she bought it. She even played nursemaid, bringing me some Tylenol and an extra pillow, and said she’d sleep on the couch last night so she wouldn’t catch anything. But now she’s clearly over her Florence Nightingale act.
“You’re worrying me, cousin. What’s going on?”
“I’m just tired,” I mumble tonelessly.
She leaves. A few minutes later, while I’m lying there staring at the ceiling, someone knocks. It’s Dan, who pokes his head in and says, “Get dressed, kid. I think you need some fresh air. Let’s go for a drive.”
As much as I hate to leave my cocoon, the look on his face tells me this is nonnegotiable. Besides, he’s probably right. I can’t hide in here forever, and fresh air does sound nice. I quickly change into sweatpants and a hoodie and meet him on the porch.
The car ride feels impossibly long, even though it’s only been five minutes since we left the house. Dan chats about his job at the Anders Home and the new group therapy program he’s running at the juvenile detention center that his work has partnered with. It’s admirable what he’s doing, helping these young people through hard times, but I can hardly focus on a word he’s saying.
When he finally steers the truck up the familiar drive, his motives for this outing become crystal clear.
I can’t bring myself to look out the window; the sight of my childhood home feels like a betrayal, though to who I don’t know. I’m surprised the place isn’t crawling with true-crime fans. With celebratory townsfolk. You’d think they’d be cheering, throwing parades.The monster’s dead!But the entire area is quiet and deserted.
