We drive around in the tranquil stillness of midnight for over an hour, reveling in the cool, damp air. After about twenty minutes, I’m shocked to discover that I’m comfortable here with Esau. He’s not barking orders or glaring at me or sending me on stupid errands. Hell, we’re not really talking at all, but it feels… right somehow. Like this is where I’m supposed to be tonight.
After a while, Esau turns on to a dirt road beside a wide almond orchard and pulls around back, shielding the truck behind the long, narrow rows of meticulously maintained trees. The boughs shimmer under the high moon, their canopy blocking all but the slimmest threads of silver. “Want out?” Esau asks, swinging his door open and climbing out at my affirmative nod.
I follow around the back and we sit side by side on the tailgate, looking through the woodlet of trees toward the road. Crickets sing an eerie song that definitely could be used in a horror movie. I push the dark thoughts away. “About the play.”
“About the play,” Esau parrots, looking me over with his eyes hidden in shadow. “How come you changed the whole lighting scheme from what we talked about? I thought we’d agreed on it. It was done.”
I exhale through my nose. “You agreed. I never did. And you didn’t even look at my ideas. I just wanted to show you we had options.”
“It’s my play,” he says with the barest hint of tension in his tone. “I’m the director.” Not you.
“And a good director will listen to his crew when they have good ideas.”
“You think I don’t listen to my crew? What about Fiona’s suggestion about cable placement?” Now he’s definitely glaring at me a little. This is the Esau I’m used to, the one I can handle. Not the almost kind of sexy one who drives a stick shift and looks like a black-haired Aragorn with his hair down.
“Fine, you listened to that, but that was a safety issue. When it comes to anything artsy, you’re like a brick wall,” I say, tossing a hand up toward the trees.
Esau snorts. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”
“There’s nothing to get. You’ve got a stick up your butt about this whole thing, and you won’t let anyone else contribute.”
“It’s my only shot!” he growls, surprising me.
A large bird cries and flies up from one of the almond trees, making me duck and throw my arms over my head.
“It’s just an owl,” Esau says, tracing the bird’s progress across the stars. His clenched muscles relaxe.
“I know that,” I say, uncoiling my arms.
“You’re such a city girl,” Esau says, his tone warming.
“. . . Is that supposed to be an insult?”
He shakes his head. “You drive me absolutely insane, you know that?”
“It’s one of my more endearing qualities.” I sit up primly.
He laughs.
“You were saying something about the play being your one shot?”
Esau peeks at me out of the corner of his eye, his hands tightening around the edge of the tailgate. He’s quiet for so long I’m not sure he’s going to say anything, but then his mouth opens. “This play, The Mousetrap, it’s my only shot at film school.”
“Film school?” I shift toward him, and my knee touches his thigh. I don’t move away, telling myself that I’m simply trying to annoy him.
“My parents knew my goal, so they sent me up here to live with my aunt and uncle. There’s a lot more opportunity here than in the small town I’m from. My uncle is hoping I’ll follow him into farm management, but…” He trails off. “I’ve always loved film. That’s what I want to do: direct movies.”
“And the play helps you how?”
“It’s experience directing, isn’t it? It’ll help when I fill out college applications.”
My head bobs in what I hope looks like agreement, even though I’m not sure I understand.
“Look.” Taking out his phone, he opens his social and starts scrolling through it.
When I notice that he’s continued to use some of the tips I gave him, I smile. “You’re posting on regular days. And your newer photos are so much brighter.”
“Thanks. Some bossy girl gave me some ideas.”
“Not bossy. Entrepreneurial. She makes things happen.”
My favorite owl screeches nearby, and some tiny animal squeals in terror. Inwardly, I cringe.
“She does.” He runs a hand through his hair and I have to tear my eyes away. Guys with long hair are H.O.T. HOT. Who knew? Suddenly all of my mom’s romance novels with that long-haired blond guy on the cover make so much more sense.
“About the lighting.” I change the subject, hoping to distract my inward monologue about how not terrible Esau looks right now.
“We’re back to that already?” He turns toward me, folding one foot and bumping my knee in the process. “Sorry,” he says. He doesn’t shift away.
Fizzing warmth skims my skin, radiating from that spot. What am I even doing? This is Esau Grumpy Pants Chavez I’m low key ogling.
“The lighting scheme you’re suggesting; I don’t hate it.”
“Wow, what a compliment.”
“Shut up and let me finish.”
I make a mock frown, not in the least insulted. Esau’s bark is far worse than his bite, I’m discovering. I motion for him to keep going.
“What if we combined them? Started with the soft light I planned and slowly adding harsher, more neon light as the play progresses? If we do it right, it’ll highlight the tension unfolding between the characters. It’ll be another layer of stress on the audience.” He’s ramping up to lecture me on the power of good lighting, so I interrupt, trying not to focus on the way his ear gauges gleam in the moonlight.
“Absolutely. Let’s do it.”
Esau’s eyes widen, and he points between us. “Are you actually agreeing with me on something?”
“Let me check.” I cock my head to the side and pretend to think it over. “Yes, I do believe we agree on something. One thing, but it’s a start. Now, about the blocking in act two…” I trail off, grinning.
“You drive me insane.” Esau is grinning too, and what I would give to keep him looking at me like that.
“You said that already.”
“I did.”
Somehow Esau and I have leaned closer together, our faces mere inches apart. Our knees are pressed tightly together. Hands a mere finger width from brushing. My breath hitches when Esau’s attention dips to my mouth.
He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.
I bite mine.
With a loud pop, a car rumbles up the road. Whatever spell the moonlight had woven between us like a silken spider web is broken. I peer into the dark and spot it: a dark sedan driving slowly nearer and without any headlights.
“That’s odd,” Esau mumbles.
My heart is pounding in my chest. It’s Aunt Karen. It’s gotta be. She’s found out that I’m not home and has somehow tracked me here. Crap. I am going to be in so much trouble. She probably won’t let me out of the house for a month.
The car slows even more as it approaches the orchard. My blood is pumping so loud I can’t hear anything else. What if it’s not my guardian? What if it’s him? It was so stupid to leave the house in the middle of the night. He told me he planned to come for me when the time was right, and I handed him the opportunity on a silver platter.
My shoulders sag as the car almost stops along the curb and then moves past the orchard.
Not Aunt Karen. Not a murderer come to take his final victim. Still, something about the car is bugging me.
“Did you see the giant dice that guy had hanging from his mirror?” Esau shakes his head.
“Dice?” My breath hiccups in my throat. “That car. What color would you say it was?”
“Blue or green? It was hard to tell in the dark.”
A blue car with dice in the mirror. Just like the one Fiona said followed us to the beach. It can’t be a coincidence. He tried to follow me out here.
Suddenly all I
want to do is hide under the covers of my bed at Aunt Karen’s house. Where it’s safe. Where the monsters dare not come. Jumping down from the tailgate, I round the truck and pull on the door handle. “I’d like to go home now, please.”
Esau follows me. “Is there something wrong?”
“No. I just want to go back.”
Esau looks puzzled, but doesn’t argue. We ride in silence through the deserted streets, me checking the rearview mirror every few seconds the whole way. My nerves are strung tight, my eyes narrowed as if any second a car’s headlights will blind me. Esau keeps glancing my way, clearly wondering why my mood turned on a dime. His hands tighten on the steering wheel as he focuses on the road ahead. I don’t take a full breath until after Esau boosts me onto the patio cover so I can crawl inside my window and lock it with a snick.
Minutes pass as I change into my pajamas and slip into bed. Only then do I allow myself to replay tonight in my head. The way Esau’s gaze dipped to my mouth. My heart jogging behind my breastbone. His large hands on my waist as he boosted me easily.
Down the street, the low grumble of a car approaches. Heart skittering, I scramble out of bed and peer into the dark. Did Esau forget something? Is he coming back to finish what we started? No. It’s a dark sedan. My stomach clenches. It looks like the same one that drove past the orchard.
Whoever is in that car followed me home.
Chapter 19
Day 129, Wednesday
Something scrabbles through the underbrush, making me spin. Nothing is there. I take a deep breath, trying to quiet my unease. I’ve been jumpy for days and I can’t seem to shake the gut instinct that something is wrong. That he is closing in.
The sheriff and his guys have been looking all over town for the stolen blue car but haven’t been able to find it. It’s freaking me out, but I won’t let it rule me. Which is why I’m standing in the middle of the eucalyptus grove behind Aunt Karen’s house taking photos. The way the sun dapples the densely packed earth, the flashes of white winking in the breeze, makes my fingers itch to shoot. All around, the gray-green bark of the trees soothes my nerves. My shoulders settle away from my ears as I crouch down to snap a few photos.
Eucalyptus trees sway all around, scattered leaves spinning and twirling as they cascade to the ground. In the branches overhead, a crow caws, cutting through the rippling heat of the late afternoon. There’s a bit of a respite under the boughs where I am sitting butt in the dirt, but it’s still far warmer than I’m used to. Fine baby hairs stick to my neck under my ponytail.
My phone goes off in my pocket. Noah’s texting, asking when I’m coming over.
Oh crap. We’re supposed to get together to work on our art project.
I’d gotten so lost in taking photos of the grove that I’d forgotten. I’ll have to hustle because I’m already late. Shooting him a message to tell him I’m on my way, I go inside.
“I’m ready to go to Noah’s,” I call as I step into the house. The only greeting I get is the aged structure’s creaking. My guardian is not in the kitchen or the living room. My feet thump up the stairs and I raise my fist to knock on the master bedroom door. Something stops me, and instead I hover near the door, listening.
Frowning, I go back downstairs. That’s when I spot the sticky note on the front of the microwave. Was needed at the store. Be back soon.
Great. Noah lives all the way on the other end of town and I don’t want to walk. It’s not safe. I can’t ask him to come get me, because he doesn’t have car seats for Anza and Mattie in his car. Chewing on my lip, I glance out the front window. Justin’s truck is parked in his cracking driveway, so it looks like our neighbor is home. Aunt Karen did say I could ask him if I needed anything. And that one time he drove me home from school wasn’t terrible.
I lock the front door and pick my way across the street, not bothering to avoid stepping on the fissures in the asphalt like I did when I was a little kid. It’s not like it’s going to break my mother’s back.
Paint peels off the wooden steps leading up to the front porch. A large plastic pot sits to one side of the wooden front door, its plant shriveled and blackened. From the thick layer of dust on the worn wood, I’m guessing that Justin expends all of his cleaning mojo at school and doesn’t bother once he gets home.
When I knock, the door swings open. Huh. It must not have been latched all the way.
“Hello?” I say, peeking my head inside while carefully keeping my feet outside the threshold. No answer. Maybe he’s in the back of the house and didn’t hear me? I consider going out and around the building that way, but a blue flicker on the wall catches my attention. There must be a TV on, so he’s got to be home, and I really need to get to Noah’s.
Despite the goosebumps rising on my arms, I go in. My heart is thrumming in my throat. I’ve never been in what is effectively a stranger’s house, and I keep expecting the boogie man to jump out and yell, “Boo.”
The hallway is bare. No furniture. No family photos. It’s as if no one actually lives here. As if Justin is a ghost simply passing through.
But what I find in the living room of the small house makes me wish I’d found a ghost instead.
It’s not the reflection of a TV I saw from the front entryway. A long folding table spans the entire wall of the dimly lit room. Dingy curtains cover all of the windows. Unease slithers up my spine. The curtains might be there to keep the light out, but they also keep the darkness in.
The long table is lined with computer screens. Black cords snake along the floor and end in a coiled mess of surge protectors with red glaring lights. Underneath, there’s a clump of computer towers and external hard drives. Each of the monitors shows a different view from a security camera. Aunt Karen’s front porch. Her garage. The back door. The grove of eucalyptus trees. The entire exterior of the house and land is visible through the screens.
My breath comes in quick pants as panic starts to close its icy fingers around my lungs. I blink rapidly, but the view from the screens doesn’t change. Justin has a stalker’s command center in his house. And his subjects? Aunt Karen. Me. He’s got a front-row seat to everyone who comes and goes from the old house.
I was right. Justin is the one who’s been watching. I have to tell her. I have to get out of here. Now.
I gasp for air, trying to run, but my feet won’t budge. They’ve been cemented to the crusty planks that make up the floor. Digging down deep for the inner strength Aunt Karen says I’ve got, I turn away from the stalker’s paradise.
Oh god. My stomach lurches. The other wall is worse. Justin’s got a murder wall, and this one is much larger than Noah’s. Shock nearly knocks me over as I register that it isn’t Aunt Karen in the hundreds of crisp, color photos. In fact, there aren’t any of her at all.
Images of me are plastered all over the wall. At school. The library. Noah’s house. My mouth drops open in a gasp as I’m drawn to a cluster of photos near the bottom corner of the macabre collage. They’re newer, pinned partially on top of others. In them Esau is sitting on his tailgate almost smiling. Talking to a girl. Me. I’m grinning down at my lap. Between the camera and Esau’s truck is a well-manicured orchard lined with trees. Almond, I’m pretty sure.
I scan photo after photo, trying to establish a timeline. My eyes snap wide as they land on one from that day at the boardwalk. Taken while I was swimming in the ocean.
Terror clamps its hand over my mouth and nose. I try to suck in air but my mouth opens and closes ineffectively like a dying, beached fish. I can’t breathe. I’m going to suffocate right here. Heaving, I take great gulps that scratch and claw down my throat. My lungs refuse to inflate.
Justin is the one helping the Mayday Killer. He’s the one who has been passing me threatening notes. He was there at the beach that day. And at school. He had all the opportunity. And somehow he’s completely fooled Aunt Karen.
I have to get out. I know exactly what this sicko will do if he finds me in his house. Truss me up and lead m
e like a lamb to the slaughter. My gaze cuts to the kitchen, to the butcher block full of shiny-handled knives. Unbidden, my hand rises to the white scar that mars my cheek. I know if I look down at my fingers they’ll come away bathed in blood.
Through the archway on the left, a door opens and slams shut. Footsteps make the wooden floor vibrate beneath the soles of my shoes.
He’s coming.
If I don’t move now, he’ll catch me.
When the time is right.
Move. Move!
Wrenching my legs into motion, I run.
Chapter 20
The sun set while I waited, shivering, for the sheriff to arrive. When he did, there were no flashing red lights. No sirens. Instead of breaking down the door of Justin’s house and barging inside like they do on TV, he parked his Bronco in front of Aunt Karen’s house. Stared up at it for a beat before mounting the porch and knocking on the door.
Aunt Karen admits Sheriff Lamb and closes the door securely behind him. The sheriff’s hands perch on his hips as his appraising gaze lands on me. “Walk me through what you saw.”
So I do. I explain that I was running late to meet a friend and Aunt Karen wasn’t home, so I walked across the street to Justin’s house. How the door swung open when I touched it. I describe the computer bank of surveillance footage of the house we’re standing in. The wall of photos—proof that he’s been stalking me all over town. I explain about the notes and the fact that he had the opportunity to pass them to me without my noticing.
A chill runs down my spine and I dig my fingers into my arms, clutching them against my chest.
“We’ll keep an eye on things,” is all he says.
I can’t believe this.
“That’s it? You’re going to keep an eye on things? Justin is helping the Mayday Killer! He wasn’t at school the day of the most recent murders. He was probably helping kill those people. And you aren’t going to do anything?”
“Unlike what you see on TV, we can’t go busting down doors whenever we feel like it. We’d have to get a warrant. And before you get any ideas, we’d have to have probable cause. No judge is going to grant us a warrant on the say-so of a teenage girl. There’s no evidence of wrongdoing.”
Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) Page 11
