“What tone am I supposed to take? You’re dating the guy who is helping a serial killer keep tabs on me. You didn’t even tell me about him in the first place.”
“Who I see in my personal time is none of your business.”
“It is if he’s a murderer’s assistant.”
Aunt Karen’s eyes narrow as she points a finger at the empty house across the street. “Justin isn’t helping anyone commit murder.”
“Then why all of the photos? He’s following me everywhere, day and night. Night!”
Her eyes squeeze shut, and she covers her face with one hand. “He’s an amateur photographer. Happy now?”
“No!” My heart and head are pounding. “Amateur photographer? Give me a break. He’s nothing more than a sleazebag, but for some reason you refuse to hear or believe me.”
Aunt Karen rears back as if she’s going to start shouting, hands anchoring at her hips, but barely reigns herself in. “Maybe we should table this. Discuss it when we’ve had the chance to cool off.”
It’s a dismissal if I’ve ever heard one. Shaking my head, I drag myself up to the second floor. Standing in the doorway to my room, I work up the courage to step inside. I look at everything as if I’ll be able to see proof of Justin’s presence if he did come in here. Everything looks the same. I think.
Hang on. Did I leave my headphones sprawled across the desk when I left this morning? I didn’t think so, but…
The old house groans. I shut my door against it. Outside the window, a large branch from the oak tree comes right up to the roof. It’s the same tree Noah used to climb onto the patio roof the other night. I freeze. If Noah could climb the tree to reach the second-floor windows, someone else could.
Panic makes my fingers tremble as I push at the stubborn old window lock and pull the shades down to ward off any evil. To prevent anyone from seeing inside. Toeing off my shoes, I climb under the covers and throw them over my head, tucking the quilt around me like a cocoon. When I was a child, I believed that if I was completely hidden from view, I was safe. The monsters that materialized in the darkness couldn’t get me. If only that were true.
My fingers run along my cheek as the tears start to come.
I’m not safe, even here.
It’s happening again. Just like last time.
No, not like last time. This time is different: my parents aren’t here to assuage my fears when I tell them I think I’m being followed. They aren’t able to distract me when I tell them I’ve seen the same older, bearded man every time I’ve left the house. This time there is no one to tell me it’s all in my imagination, even though it wasn’t.
This time, I know there’s someone following me. Watching me. Biding his time.
The question is, how much more will he take?
I have so
little
left
to
give.
Day 1
It’s all in my head.
The rusted brown car with the rock-and-roll sticker in the back window had been parked in the street outside the school for the past few days. But it didn’t mean anything.
Taryn rolls her eyes when I mention it. “Probably someone’s parents picking them up,” she says,
“But that doesn’t explain seeing it everywhere.”
“It’s probably not even the same car. You must be imagining it.”
Biting my lip, I watch my classic black Converse eat up the pavement. Flip my backpack around to my front to ease the soreness running along my spine. Mom said that even though our city was mashed together with a bunch of others, it’s still small. It’s not unheard of to run into the same person in different places.
But when I saw that car outside the school? It was hard to take Mom’s assurance seriously.
“You look like such a dork when you do that. “ Taryn flips her blond curls back over her shoulders, hiking her own bag up with both hands. “Did you have to stay late to talk to your teacher? Couldn’t you have done it tomorrow during lunch?”
“The camera launches tonight. I had to know if she thought it was worth the hype first. I don’t want to spend all of my babysitting money on a camera that I won’t use.”
“Why’s it better than the one you use, again?”
I’ve answered this question a hundred times. I’ve been gushing about this new camera for months since it was announced. And by taking all of the babysitting gigs I could get, I have just enough money saved up to buy one.
We round the corner to our street. Sweat drips down my back. Despite the cloud cover, it’s humid today, making our walk home seem longer than it is. Everyone else peeled off a couple of streets ago to their own homes, leaving Taryn and me alone for the final few minutes.
Our street is quiet. Probably because all of the adults have day jobs to stay on top of the bills and all of the latchkey kids plunk down in front of their screens as soon as they get home. I do it too.
“Hey, look.” Snagging my arm with one hand, Taryn points with her other.
I stiffen. Fear hunches on my shoulder like a bird of prey about to dig in its claws.
The rusted brown car with the rock-and-roll sticker is parked under an overhanging tree right across the street from my house.
“It’s real,” Taryn whispers, making my heart pick up the pace.
She thought I was imagining it this whole time?
“Weird.” Dropping my arm, she walks ahead.
I can’t move. It’s as if my brain is no longer able to send signals to my legs. They won’t obey my commands.
“Come on,” Taryn says, taking my hand and dragging me forward. “I bet your mom made cookies. You know how she is on cloudy days.”
“How about your dad? Last time he ate them all before I got even one.”
“And that’s my fault how?”
Her teasing eases me into a slow walk, but I’m thankful when we cross the street away from the strange car.
Taryn stops too quickly on the sidewalk and I run into her, almost topping us both over.
“What’re you doing?” I grumble.
“Look.” Her tan face has blanched white.
Following her gaze, my eyes lock on my front door. It’s standing open.
“Wait!” Taryn yells as I float closer to the open portal. “Shouldn’t we call the police? Have them check it out first?”
I’m no-longer listening. The car was an omen. I know it now. It wasn’t in my head. It was a sign that something was coming. Dread unfurls in my gut. Something bad.
“I’m coming too,” Taryn whispers, somewhere behind me.
I pause on the front step. Somehow I know instinctually that once I set foot inside, my life will be irreparably changed.
An alarming stench hits me as I step inside, making me gasp.
Taryn wrinkles her nose. “Oh, that’s bad,” she murmurs, wandering toward the bedrooms.
My eyes land on one of Mom’s house shoes. It’s sitting abandoned in the middle of the living room. It’s not like her to leave it there. Mom’s latest crochet project is lying upended on the couch. The yarn ball has rolled across the floor to rest at the foot of the television stand. A cup of coffee lies spilled on the rug.
“We should go back outside. Call 911.” Taryn pulls at my arm.
I ignore her. Inching further into the house, I move toward the kitchen, where the smell of freshly baked snickerdoodles mixes with something sharper and rust-tinged. A smell I don’t recognize.
There’s a low, moaning gurgle. I clutch at my chest like I’ve been struck.
“T-Taryn…”
There’s a puddle of crimson ebbing across the hardwood floor. A red handprint is smeared along the beige wall.
It points toward the kitchen.
Chapter 24
Day 137, Thursday
The whir of Viv’s sewing machine is a settling drone in my ears as I sit on a black box, going through Act 3 with Marisa. Above our heads, Fiona and Dariel have the stage lights cued to my
lighting design. It looks fantastic. Even Esau grudgingly admitted it during rehearsal last week.
I grin as I watch Marisa prepare to go through the scene again.
She’s pacing back and forth in the middle of the stage, treading over the place where Esau placed her blocking tape, shaking out her hands and stretching her jaw muscles. For some reason she keeps flubbing the same line. She even asked Esau if she could change it, but our particular director declined. “It’s written that way for a reason,” he’d said.
I don’t disagree, but I feel bad for Marisa. Her castmates are starting to tire of her mistakes. Even I have to admit, deep down where I hope she can’t see, that she should have all of her lines memorized by now. But for some reason she seems rattled during rehearsals. Valley High’s leading lady is falling apart before our eyes.
We begin, and she misses the line yet again.
In a low tone I hope is covered by the holler of one of the stage crew up to the booth, I feed it to her.
“I know!” Marisa snaps. “I’m sorry. You’re just trying to help.”
“You’re supposed to have everything memorized now, Marisa.”
I whirl at Esau’s voice. He’s standing right behind me, arms crossed, dark eyes on my friend. How long has he been standing there?
“I know,” Marisa says again, cowed. Her long hair falls forward over her shoulders, partially shielding the embarrassment scrawled across her face. “I’m almost there.”
“Megan has everyone’s lines memorized, and she’s not even in the play.” Esau’s large, brown hand creates a gentle cup over my shoulder. I’m surprised and pleased by the touch, but in this moment it feels like a betrayal of Marisa to side with him. I shrug the hand away, twisting in my seat to look up into his face.
“Why don’t I take her for a walk around campus? We’ll wind down a little. Go over lines. We won’t be gone long.”
“That sounds amazing.” Marisa clasps her hands to her chest. “Can we go?” She bats her eyes at Esau.
I hide a smile behind my hand at her exaggerated pleading.
Esau grunts and walks away, shaking his head.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say at the same time Marisa says, “Yes! Let’s go.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me out of the theater building. Outside, the air is beginning to cool. The valley’s summer heat is giving way to the crisp of autumn. The days of skinny jeans and cute jackets are coming and I am so ready.
Away from the high pressure of the theater, Marisa relaxes. We cross the dry grass to sit under a sapling that tries valiantly to provide enough shade for the two of us. At my prompting, Marisa begins her lines from the top, and I play the other roles in the scene. We go through the entire thing a few times until she gets it, smiling once we’ve finished.
“Finally,” she says, raising her hands in victory. “I didn’t think I’d ever get through this.”
“You nailed it just now.”
Marisa picks up a fallen leaf between two fingers and twirls it. “You don’t have to say that. I know I’m holding everyone back.”
“Nobody thinks that,” I say too quickly. The grass pokes at my bare calves, making them start to itch. I shift to sit with my knees up and arms slung around my shins.
“You’re sweet. Maybe you should take my role, since it all comes so easily to you.” Her tone belies her words, as if she doesn’t really want me to replace her. She wants a little carefully placed flattery.
The door to the theater swings open and Esau peers out. When he sees us, he meets my eyes. I wave him off and he goes back inside.
Marisa stares after him.
“Hey, don’t worry about him. You did beautifully just now. Besides, it doesn’t all come easy for me either. I’ve just done the play before.”
“Still.” She tosses the leaf, and it floats away on a breeze.
My hackles rise at the hint of frustration in her voice. “If this is about Esau, I—”
“Don’t. This isn’t about him.”
“It’s just that, I thought you might like him and I didn’t expect—”
“I told you it’s not about Esau. I don’t like him like that.” Marisa jumps up and brushes the bits of leaves and grass from the skirt of her costume.
“You don’t? But Marisa, I’ve seen the way you look at him.” I shove off the ground too.
She shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
We do another lap around the gym, her staring at the grass and me at the empty path ahead. If she doesn’t have a crush on him, then why is she so weird around him?
Finally, Marisa sighs. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I get carried away sometimes. The pressure of having such a big part and all.”
“Sure.” I remember what that was like. Almost miss it a little. “So you aren’t madly in love with our director?”
Marisa laughs outright. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just that, he picked me for this role, and I don’t want to disappoint him. You know?”
“Ah. Well, you’re doing great. By the time opening night comes, you’ll have it down perfectly. The audience will thrill at your brilliance.”
“Liar.” We both laugh at my hyperbole.
“You think I’d lie about something as serious as the theater?” I throw my forearm up to my forehead, exaggerating the gesture Viv makes when she’s pretending to be a diva fashion designer behind her sewing machine.
Marisa sighs as her giggles subside. “It feels so good to be out of that black box. I almost wish… never mind.”
“What? You can tell me.”
“It’s nothing. Really.”
My lips purse. I’ve only known Marisa for a few weeks, so I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s not ready to spill her guts to me, but it still sends a pang of dismay through my core. “We should probably get back before Esau sends out the dogs.”
Marisa shoots a sly smile my way. “He’d send them out for me definitely, but something tells me he’d let you off easier. What’s going on there?”
I swallow, not sure what to say.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh so something is going on between you two. Fiona was so right! Tell me. Have you guys kissed yet?” She waggles her eyebrows.
“Uh… Well…”
“How was it?”
“I think we should go back to running lines.”
Marisa curtseys. “Whatever you say.”
We’re almost back to the theater when I hear it: the rumble of a trash can being emptied. It could be Justin. As far as I know he still works at the school since Sheriff Lamb couldn’t find any hint of wrongdoing, but I haven’t seen him. I have to be sure. Maybe if he’s still working at the school, I can sneak over to his house to snoop around while he’s not home.
Marisa calls after me as I edge around the big square building until I spot it: the janitor’s cart parked on the walkway outside of one of the classrooms. I draw in a breath. Tiptoe closer. The room door is propped open by a beat-up wood block. A sharp scent hits my nose, making my throat close. A tall, overweight man bends over behind the teacher’s desk and stands with a small wastebasket in hand. His round face and scraggly beard make my heart stop.
“N-no,” I stammer. “You can’t be—” Blinking rapidly, I will my eyes to see someone different. He can’t be here. He can’t be. A wicked cackle cuts through the air, making me stumble back against the door. My eyes clamp shut and my hands cover my ears.
It’s not real. He’s not here on campus.
My heart is pulverizing my ribcage, making it hard to breathe.
“Help you with something?” the janitor asks.
When I peel my eyes open, an older Latino man with tan skin and no beard is watching me, holding the newly emptied garbage can in one hand.
Shaking my head, I run headlong into Marisa.
“Whoa. Are you okay?” she asks, her hands steadying me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“More
like a demon.” I wish I could take the words back as soon as they’re out.
Marisa’s eyebrows rise as she looks over my shoulder. “Janitor Abe? He’s been here for ages. Let’s get back inside before Esau really does sic someone on us. Fiona, probably. And she’s scary when she gets serious.”
“No kidding.” I look back over my shoulder once, but the janitor has moved off down the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a car in the parking lot. The blue one. The fluffy dice are visible even from here. I’m so tired of running away.
“Hang on a sec.” I’m marching toward the parking lot before Marisa can get a word in edgewise.
It’s time to do something. Even check out a car whose owner I’m pretty sure is tied to a serial killer.
The parking lot is practically empty aside from the theater kids’ cars. There’s no one around. The blue car is unoccupied. With a frustrated yank, I check each of the doors. The driver door is unlocked.
“What are you doing?” Marisa asks, standing a few feet away, arms snug across her stomach.
“Let me know if anyone comes, okay?”
“Okay…” Marisa glances uneasily over her shoulder.
The stench of sweat and greasy fast food mingling assaults my nose as I slide into the car. Grimacing, I look in the door compartment and the center console. There’s not much there but a few stray coins and a gas receipt. The floor on the passenger side is equally unhelpful. I hesitate when I get to the glove compartment. It’s silly. Nothing’s going to jump out at me.
I lick my lips. I make the magic happen. And it’s about time for some.
Pushing the latch, I open the compartment.
It’s completely, totally, frustratingly empty. No car registration or insurance papers to tell me who owns this heap.
Wait.
A corner of paper sticks out from under the floor mat below the glove box. Leaning down, I retrieve it. My heart thumps when I recognize what I’m looking at. A photo. A tree with leaves dappled by sunlight. A figure haloed by the sun leaning into the frame.
How did he get this?
Chapter 25
Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) Page 14
