Thornbird

Chapter Two Uncle Psycho

Two

Uncle Psycho

The Shipley house is a sprawling brick ranch on a crapload of land.

When we head up the long, winding driveway, there isn’t a house in sight at first, but then the thick trees part and there it is, almost as if it’s about to be swallowed by the forest. It looks clean and well-kept, with a little decorative well in the front, its bucket spilling with purple flowers, and a lamppost with a sign that says the shipleys.

It takes me a second to remember I’m a Shipley now.

Legend has it, I’m the daughter of Uncle Dan’s older brother, who lives overseas and is kind of a dick. I’m here because my mom just died and he didn’t want to deal with me.

“Home sweet home,” Maggie says as she cuts the engine. “Do you like it? After my mother-in-law moved to Florida, we renovated the entire house. Stripped it down to the studs, added the extension in the back…”

She prattles on, but it all goes in one ear and out the other.

All I know is that it’s a far cry from my cramped attic bedroom in Gran’s row home on Chew Street in Allentown.

The house where she died. I came home from my first day of senior year two weeks ago to find her sitting in her recliner, just as she’d been when I left for school… but pale and ice-cold.

“It’s great,” I say, stepping out onto the gravel drive.

“I told your uncle to pick up some fried chicken from Maryville as a treat for dinner. I hope you’re okay with that?”

I nod, though my stomach’s churning. The last thing I want to do is eat.

The screen door opens and out bounds a girl with dark brown hair styled in long, cascading waves. She’s wearing tight jeans and a white crop top.

“Cousin!” she squeals.

A tall, leanly muscular boy in sweatpants and a black T-shirt follows her but doesn’t speak. The resemblance between them is uncanny.

“Ryan,” Maggie says, beaming. “These are the twins, Jasmine and Connor. They’re sixteen.”

I give a half wave. “Hi.”

“Seventeen in five months and three days,” Jasmine reminds their mother. “Full driving privileges.”

Maggie rolls her eyes. “As if I could forget! Remind me, Ryan, how old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

Jasmine brightens. “You have your full license?” Clearly she has a one-track mind.

“Uh, yeah, but I didn’t have a car, so—”

“Of course not. I bet in Europe, they bike everywhere, right?” Connor joins the conversation. “You must have serious calves, biking those Alps.” His gaze falls to my legs.

“Um—”

Jasmine rushes forward and links her arm through mine. “I’m so psyched you’re here. You and I are bunking together, cool?” The words escape in a tumble. “Come with me.”

She practically yanks me through the door.

“Whoa, Jaz, think you might want to let her breathe first?” Connor says, following us. “Wait, were you close to Germany? You go to any of the clubs there?”

“Well…not reall—”

“Or Paris? You probably have such sick clothes. You think we’re the same size?” Jasmine asks, looking me up and down.

Maggie calls, “Guys, give her a little space.”

Jasmine doesn’t listen. She pulls me down a hallway full of photographs of the twins in every stage of life, from first birthdays to baseball games to family vacations on the beach.

I don’t even have time to be envious. She tugs me past a gourmet kitchen that smells like freshly baked cookies, then down another hallway, only pausing to look back at her twin.

“Get lost, Con,” she growls at him, leading me into a room and slamming the door behind her. “He’s so clingy.”

I glance around the bedroom, which is twice the size of mine.

I take note of the red-and-white cheerleading pom-poms on the floor, and the impressive collection of photo booth strips and movie ticket stubs scattered on the dresser and tacked onto a bulletin board over the desk.

There’s a double bed pushed against one wall, and a twin bed across the room.

“I know it’s smaller than mine,” Jasmine says, following my gaze, “but it’s all we could make fit in here.”

I walk over and drop my backpack on the plaid bedspread. “It’s fine. I don’t need a lot of room.”

“I cleared out the bottom two dresser drawers for you, and there’s space in the closet. Do you have a boyfriend?”

The change of subject is so abrupt that I blink in confusion. “What?”

Jasmine flops onto an overstuffed chair by the closet and picks up a giant polar bear stuffed animal. She leans back so that her shirt rises, baring a stripe of flat, tanned stomach. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not exactly.”

She wrinkles her nose. “What does that mean? Do you have a guy or not?”

“It means not exactly. Marco was more of a friends-with-benefits thing.”

“Marco. Oooh, that name sounds sexy. What is he? Spanish? Italian?”

“Italian,” I say, which is true. He told me he was one-sixteenth Italian on his mother’s side. What I leave out is that he’s also one hundred percent American.

“Oh, that’s so freaking hot. Did you go to school with him, in…?”

This is where I have to abandon the truth completely.

“I was in boarding school in Switzerland. It was an international school for expats’ and diplomats’ kids, so the students were from all over the world,” I say with a casual shrug, hoping she doesn’t ask me any more about it.

And seriously, don’t ask me for pictures.

“Wow. I’ve always wanted to go to Switzerland. And oh hell yes, a European boy? He must’ve been so hot. Better than the losers around here.” She eyes me for confirmation.

“He’s all right.” I get a little fluttery thinking about him. The way he looked into my eyes, the way he smelled, like soap and peppermint, the way he kissed…

I quickly squash that when I remember the bland Good luck down there he texted me when I told him I was leaving for good. He didn’t even come to Gran’s funeral. No one from school did.

“How about you?” I ask my cousin.

“Eh. They’re not all losers at our school. There are definitely a couple of hotties. Maybe not as sophisticated or as hot as Marco, but you’ll see. Nikki, my best friend, has a brother who’s a senior like you. He’s quarterback for our Falcons. And he is fine.”

“Right. The hottest guy at your school is the quarterback of the football team?” I snort. “So is your whole high school a cliché, or just that part?”

She shrugs, oblivious to my sarcasm. “I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.” She tilts her head and inspects me, from my dark red ponytail to my combat boots. “So what’s your vibe like? What are you into? Clubs, sports? Cheer?” she asks hopefully.

I shake my head. “Didn’t have cheerleading in Switzerland. It’s not really a European thing. And I’m not into team activities. I’m more of a loner.”

Jasmine seems disappointed by the answer. I can already tell she’s the kind of girl who’s into all the things—cheerleading, boys, fashion, and from the perfection of her makeup, online beauty tutorials. Nothing wrong with that. But it means we probably don’t have much in common.

It’s only when she says “That’s a great necklace” that I realize I’m fidgeting with my necklace again.

“Thanks,” I say as she comes up to inspect it.

A heart-shaped diamond pendant dangles from the thin silver chain.

It’s actually a tiny locket, but you can’t tell unless you squint really hard at the silver backing until you see the tiny groove that pops it open.

And once it’s open, you have to squint even harder to make out the teeny initials engraved inside the heart.

G.T.

G for Gabrielle, not for my father’s name. It’s the only item I own that has my real initials on it. Other than my original birth certificate, which I’m sure is stashed in one of Gran’s paperwork boxes that Maggie arranged to be put into storage after her death.

“Careful,” I say when she tugs on it. “The clasp is a bit loose.”

“Is that a real diamond?” Jasmine demands.

“Uh, yeah,” I admit.

It’s much more than that, though. It’s a cremation diamond, made from my mother’s ashes.

“From Marco?”

“No. My grandmother gave it to me.”

I’m also not telling her that the grandmother in question was her grandmother too.

“You should get it fixed so it doesn’t fall off.” She lifts the little heart to get a better look. “How sweet!”

I smile. “Yeah. She was the best.”

That’s no lie. It wasn’t just that Gran swept in and took care of things when Mom died.

Strong and stubborn, she always had my back, filling in as both mother and father despite her failing health.

It makes total sense to me that she and Aunt Maggie had a falling-out.

Gran was never lukewarm about anyone. My grandmother loved—and hated—hard.

Jasmine’s bottom lip plumps out in a pout.

“I feel bad. I always wanted grandparents to spoil me. Nana and Pops—my dad’s parents—don’t even call us on our birthday.

They live in Florida. I can’t remember the last time we saw them.

My parents keep to themselves a lot, and not just because my dad thought your dad was a dick.

It’s because, well…the other side of my family is psycho. ” She spins a finger around her ear.

She’s waiting for me to ask more. I don’t want to, but I know it will be suspicious if I don’t.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Our uncle’s a serial killer.”

I feign shock. Hopefully the gaping jaw isn’t too over the top. I’m not the best actress. “Are you serious?”

“Uh-huh. Totally offed six women. Well, seven. He killed Aunt Sarah too—Mom’s older sister. Not that I ever knew her. That was like ten years ago. Anyway, I always knew my dad had a brother, but I didn’t know you existed until last week. You being in Europe and all. Talk about wild news.”

“Yeah, wild,” I mumble.

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

I scrape my teeth over my lower lip. “Thanks. It was a shock.”

Ten years ago.

“Dad said she died in a car accident?”

Gunshot. Inflicted while trying to escape the Starling Slayer.

But car accident works too.

“Guys!” Maggie calls down the hallway, and the interruption fills me with relief. “Dad’s here with dinner!”

Jasmine heads to the door and I follow. In the kitchen, Maggie and Connor are digging into the bags of takeout, and there’s a very tall, bearlike man standing at the sink, washing his hands.

“Well, if it isn’t my niece, Ryan,” he says with a big smile, air-drying his hands before giving me a hug.

I manage a polite smile. “Hey, Uncle Dan.”

Jasmine pulls out a chair. “Sit here, next to me, Ryan.”

I sit. They bow their heads to say grace, so I do too. Then they pass around the food, and I take only a small drumstick, a roll, and a tiny dollop of mashed potatoes, hold the gravy.

“Thought you’d be hungrier than that after your trip, darlin’.” Maggie frowns at my plate.

“Yeah,” Connor says, already stripping clean a drumstick. “How many hours is the flight from Zurich to here? You have any layovers?”

“It was twelve hours. I had a layover in New York,” I say, glad I Googled.

“Do you speak fluent Swiss?” Jasmine asks.

Her twin gives her a look. “Swiss is not a language, dumbass.”

She wrinkles her forehead. “Well, what language do they speak in Switzerland?”

“They don’t speak Dumbass, that’s for sure.”

Dan holds up his hands. “All right, all right. Let’s stop quizzing our guest. She’s obviously tired.” He gives me a wink. “Let’s talk about something else. Connor. How’d football practice go?”

“Great. Coach said I’m killing it.”

Jasmine rolls her eyes. “Like the last thing anyone needs to hear about is a member of our family killing anything.”

Everyone stares at her.

“What?” she says between bites of her roll.

“It’s true. And it’s only getting worse now that his appeal failed and his execution date’s coming up.

All I ever hear is Oh, Jazzy, do you talk to him?

Oh, Jazzy, are you going to get a ticket to watch your uncle die?

Hey, Jasmine, you should write to your uncle in prison and ask him to come to prom! Seriously. It’s so embarrassing!”

Dan clears his throat and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Now, that’s not really a topic of conversation we should be—”

“It’s not a secret, Daddy. Everyone knows. I told Ryan all about it.” Jasmine’s tone becomes haughty. “She needs to know if she’s gonna go to school with us. It’s a black mark on our family, and it’s gonna affect her too, so the sooner she knows, the better.”

Maggie glances at me, then chides her daughter. “Jasmine. Don’t be so dramatic.”

She huffs. “I’m not being dramatic. You try going to high school in this town, and you’ll see.” She turns to Connor for confirmation. He doesn’t confirm—but he doesn’t deny it, either.

“It’s totally gross how obsessed everyone is with it. They’d rather have the Starling Slayer at their prom than me.” Jasmine drops her fried chicken. “Seriously, Ryan. You should be happy you don’t have to deal with Uncle Psycho.”

I lower my gaze to my plate. No, all I have to deal with is Daddy Psycho.

“Jasmine, that’s enough,” Dan says, his voice raised slightly.

She grimaces. “Right. I forgot. We’re not supposed to bring up the name of Gabriel Thorn ever, especially at dinner. Someone might throw up at the thought of all the women he slaughtered—”

“Enough, young lady!” Maggie barks. “This is supposed to be a nice welcome dinner for your cousin. She doesn’t want to hear about our family!” My aunt’s eyes lock with mine. “Right, Ryan?”

I shrug in response and silently stare at my food, my appetite entirely gone. Sure. Whatever. I’ll be this Ryan Shipley they want me to be, but something tells me my past will never completely fade away like they want it to.

Like I need it to.