Thornbird

Chapter Fourteen Nine-One-One, What’s Your Emergency?

fourteen

Nine-One-One, What’s Your Emergency?

“They’re going to electrocute him,” I blurt out. The romantic moment has officially passed. Now all I can think about is my father being electrocuted to death. “That’s so…brutal.”

“Well, lethal injection is no picnic either,” Everett answers. “They’ve been getting in cheaper drugs that don’t do the job as efficiently as they used to. Not that it matters. Whatever way he goes, I hope it’s as painful as possible. Would it be too much to ask to have his head catch on fire?”

I wince and dig my fingernails into the armrest. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Everett raises a brow. “Don’t tell me you think his life should be spared. He murdered those women, Ryan.”

“No, it’s not that,” I say, scrambling for a good reason why I’m so shaken by the news. “I just don’t know how I feel about…capital punishment. Like, in general. The thought of the state killing someone makes me squeamish, I guess.”

Nodding, he taps the dashboard screen and loads a playlist from his phone instead. “No more depressing news reports,” he announces. “Back to good ol’ country.”

I muster a smile, but I’m not feeling this date anymore. How could I?

“Do you mind if we head back home now? I’m getting pretty tired.”

I brace myself for his reaction, but he surprises me by nodding, his expression softening. “Sure. No problem.”

I gaze out the window as we drive along the dark, winding road. He tries to make small talk a few times, but I only respond with one- or two-word answers, and I don’t kiss him good night before darting out of the truck.

When I go inside, I find Maggie cuddled in the corner of the couch, watching a movie. Reese Witherspoon’s chirpy voice floats out of the surround sound.

“How’d it go?” my aunt asks with a smile.

I look around. “Where is everyone?”

“The twins are holed up in Jazzy’s room doing something very mysterious. Dan’s at bowling night.” Noticing my stricken expression, she clears a space on the couch for me to sit. “C’mere, darlin’. What happened?”

“I heard a news report over the radio. About my dad,” I whisper.

She tucks a lock of hair that’s fallen out of the clip behind my ear. “I saw it on my news feed.”

“Why would he choose…” My voice cracks. “I guess it’s brutal either way. I don’t know why it matters to me. I know what he did. But he’s still my dad. I don’t want him suffering.” I shift out of her grasp when she tries to draw me into a hug. “I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed now.”

“All right, honey. Good night.”

I’m halfway down the hall when my phone buzzes with a text from Everett.

Everest: You’re a damn good kisser, Ryan Shipley.

Everest: Can’t wait to see you again.

Sunday afternoon, Maggie has an open house, and Dan is at the Anders Home with his troubled youth group, giving Jasmine free rein to research my father’s case without nosy questions from her parents.

She’s curled up in Dan’s recliner, while Connor and I are sprawled on the living room couch, watching football.

Well, he’s watching football. I’m on my phone, messaging Mar and Ty. We have a group chat now.

I’m typing a response to Ty when Jasmine shrieks so loudly I almost drop my phone.

“Holy shit!” she exclaims.

Connor jolts up into a sitting position. “What the hell, Jazzy!”

“Oh my God, you guys.” Her eyes are bright with excitement. “Con, turn the volume down. We need to hear this.”

“Hear what?” I ask warily. I swear, if it’s another update on how my father has chosen to be fried to a crisp…

“You know Zed’s stupid podcast? Free the Sparrows? He just posted the nine-one-one call from the night Uncle Psycho was arrested!”

My heart flies to my throat, and I manage to swallow a shocked gasp at the last second. I keep having to remind myself that I’m not allowed to show too much interest in this stuff. I supposedly grew up in Europe, where the Gabriel Thorn case wasn’t even a blip on the radar.

But this is, indeed, huge. Neither the Starling police nor the FBI ever released that 911 call.

The official statement was that with no trial, not all evidence needed to be released to the public.

According to an article I read on Zed’s site, the Starling sheriff at the time believed the call was too “inflammatory” and would only upset people.

My palms grow damp. I manage to keep my neutral mask in place, but if I wasn’t seated right now, I’d probably keel right over.

For once, Connor seems intrigued by his sister’s latest obsession. “Whoa,” he says, reaching for the remote control. He clicks mute and the sportscasters’ voices instantly disappear.

Jasmine sets her laptop on the coffee table. “All right, shut up. Let’s listen.”

She presses play, and a staticky female voice crackles out of the computer speaker.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” asks the dispatcher.

A second later, a male voice comes on.

My father.

My memory of that night is foggy, but I was always under the impression that Mom called the police. But I suppose…that doesn’t make sense. Would she call them and then start packing? I feel like she would’ve gotten us out of the house first, gone somewhere safe, and then made the call.

“Hello. Hi. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to begin this call. I, ah…” My father trails off.

It’s hard to keep my jaw from dropping. Hello? Hi? What the fuck, Dad?

“Sir, what is your emergency?”

“I just shot my wife.”

Bile rises in my throat. Bursts of memory hit me like splashes of cold water. Mom’s scream when Dad tried to grab the gun from her. The deafening explosion. Gunshots are louder than you think, especially in an enclosed space.

“I beg your pardon, sir? You’re sayin’ you shot your wife?”

“That is correct. You can send an ambulance, but I don’t believe she’s breathing.” Finally, Dad’s matter-of-fact tone betrays a sliver of emotion. “Sh-she’s gone.”

“Sir. What is your name, sir?”

“Thorn. Gabriel Thorn. We’re at twelve forty-nine Rockridge Way.”

The dispatcher sounds harried as she attempts to get more details out of my father, but he dismisses the queries, interrupting her mid-sentence.

“It was an accident,” he says. I hear footsteps now. Muffled. He’s walking.

Is this when he walked back into the bedroom? Where I was hiding, urine staining my pajamas, because I was terrified Daddy was coming to finish me off.

“I swear to God, it was an accident. She found out about them. She didn’t understand. I was only trying to get the gun away from her, and it went off. It went off. But the others—”

“Your wife was holding the gun? Why was she holding a gun on you, Gabriel?”

“That’s not important. For God’s sake. You’re not listening. The others, I meant to free them. I did it for them.”

He sounds so calm, I want to throw up. But it’s exactly how he behaved that night. Calm. Self-assured. When he found me under the bed, he seemed resigned. But not defeated.

“What others, Gabriel? What do you mean, free them?”

“You’ll have their names in your missing persons reports.” His footsteps speed up. “And while I understand the media enjoys coming up with sensational nicknames, I don’t enjoy being referred to as the Starling Slayer. But I suppose that’s who I am. I killed those women. But I didn’t ‘slay’ them.”

The dispatcher is stunned. “Sir, are you sayin’ you’re the—”

Click.

He ends the call.

Silence crashes over the living room. Jasmine’s eyes are as wide as saucers. Connor’s mouth is parted in astonishment.

“Oh my God,” Jasmine breathes. “How…” Her shock turns to disgust. “How are we related to that guy!”

Her twin shakes his head a few times, as if trying to process what we heard. “Why was he so chill about it?”

“Oh my God,” she says again. “Poor Aunt Sarah. Can you imagine…?”

“He said she found out what he did. How did she find out?” A groove digs into Connor’s forehead. “And how do you stumble on a bombshell like that and not call the police?”

“Maybe she wanted to make sure her kid was safe first,” I offer weakly.

“Who cares about the kid!” Jasmine declares. “Whatever, I get it’s our cousin, but come on! You find out your husband murdered six women, you call the cops!”

“Do you think he confessed to her?” Connor muses. “Or maybe she found some clue lying around the house?”

“No way. I’ve been reading up on this case for weeks,” his twin counters. “Uncle Psycho wouldn’t have screwed up. He was so meticulous up until that point.”

“Okay, then how did Aunt Sarah know he was the Starling Slayer?”

That’s a question even I don’t have the answer to. Mom never told me how she found out, or what Dad even did. All she said that night was Daddy did something terrible and now we have to go. Hurry, Gabby. My father didn’t provide answers either.

I swear to God, it was an accident.

His voice buzzes through my mind. His insistence that it was an accident. I’m not quite so sure.

Because that’s not all I hear in my head.

I won’t let you leave, Sarah. I won’t let my girls leave me.

I hear those words, even now, clear as day. He said them.

I remember his pleas. His desperation heightening, building into anger as he begged for her not to go.

She was screaming at him. She called him a monster.

When I imagine it, I see her hand shaking, the hand holding the gun.

But Mom was too soft, too gentle. She never would’ve shot him.

That’s why he’d lunged for the weapon. He felt safe enough to do that.

Dad insisted it went off during that struggle.

I didn’t see it. I’ll never know if he pulled the trigger intentionally or if it was an accident.

The front door suddenly opens, blowing in a gust of cool air. A harried Maggie walks in, juggling two big Just Sold signs along with a bag of groceries. “Con,” she calls toward the couch. “Come help your momma.”

Jasmine instantly closes her laptop. Good call. I highly doubt Maggie would be happy that we’re sitting around listening to Gabriel Thorn confess to murder.

As Connor carts the grocery bag to the kitchen, Maggie approaches the back of the couch to greet us. “Hiya, girls. What are you up to?”

“Watching football,” I say, at the same time Jasmine blurts out, “Nothing!”

Because that’s not suspicious. Also doesn’t help that my cousin has the poker face of a toddler who just stole from the cookie jar.

Maggie must have learned to pick her battles, because she simply shrugs and says, “Enjoy,” before joining Connor in the kitchen.

“I’m going to download this call,” Jasmine whispers to me, tucking her computer under her arm. “We can listen to it again later.”

Or…we could not.

As she disappears down the hall, my phone buzzes. I peer at the screen expecting to find a message from the group chat. My entire body turns to ice when I realize it’s not.

UNKNOWN: I know who you really are.

I stare at the message. No, the accusation. How is it possible for six measly words to cut me right down to the core?

My heart is beating so fast that I can barely type. I feel weak, my thumbs shaking over the keyboard.

Me: Who is this?

I wait, holding my breath until I see the three dancing dots indicating someone is responding.

UNKNOWN: Stop searching for them. Leave them in peace.

I freeze. Stop searching for who?

The bodies?

It must be. Aside from my necklace, which I’ll never stop trying to find, I can’t think of anything else I’m currently searching for. And I’m not even really doing that. This is Jasmine’s show. I’m only keeping tabs on her so she doesn’t get hurt.

How does this person know we’re after the reward? And why don’t they want us to look for the bodies? Everyone in the whole damn country wants those remains to be found. I can’t think of a single person who’d even object to—

The air escapes my lungs in a rush.

Leave them in peace.

Oh my God.

It can’t be.

Can it?

My hands tremble wildly as I send another message.

Me: Dad?

There’s a long delay. Too long. So long I think I won’t receive an answer. But then those dots reappear, and two more messages pop up in succession.

UNKNOWN: Stop looking or you’ll regret it.

UNKNOWN: Remember…I know who you are, Gabrielle Thorn.