Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1)

by Emily Kazmierski

  The sheriff runs a hand along his scruffy chin, tapping his thumb a couple more times on his desk. “And you didn’t go to your aunt with this why?”

  “She’s still in contact with Justin, the guy who was stalking me. I think he’s helping the Mayday Killer.” Behind the sheriff’s desk are accolades and awards he’s accumulated on the job. Surely a man so decorated in law enforcement will care. Will do something.

  “I’ll remind you we haven’t seen any proof that he’s dangerous.”

  “What about the envelope of photos I found in the basement? You must have seen the photos. Tonight, I saw him give her another one just like it.”

  Sheriff Lamb sits back, folding his hands in his lap. “I saw the photos. It’s not a crime to take photos, Megan. Has he threatened you in any way?”

  “. . . No.”

  The sheriff spreads his hands, palms up as if to say, I rest my case.

  Outrage and humiliation intertwine, sending hot flashes through my core. “Sorry we woke you up,” I grind out, pushing up from the chair.

  “Sit down.”

  Inexplicably, my legs obey him. I glare at the facade of his desk while he picks up the phone. “I’ll call your aunt and have her pick you up.”

  “Please don’t. I can walk.”

  “Nonsense,” he says, tired. “Can’t have you walking home alone in the middle of the night when there’s a serial killer on the loose.” His flat delivery makes me bristle, but I keep silent. This could not have gone any worse.

  The only adult I kind of trust might be helping cover for a murderer’s lackey.

  The sheriff doesn’t believe me.

  And the man who started all of this with a killing spree is in Hacienda.

  A place Aunt Karen assured me he’d never come.

  It’s all because of me.

  “He’s going to find and kill me,” I say as soon as I’m alone with my guardian in her car. I’m trying to be flippant to keep her from seeing the depth of my dread, but it doesn’t work, even for me. I wrap my arms around my middle, squeezing tight.

  Noah tried to get Aunt Karen to let him come with us, but she’d refused, instead saying that he should wait for one of his parents to come pick him up as well. With an apologetic smile, he’d slipped out before the deputy had the chance to call his house, saying something about not wanting to wake them up.

  “Don’t cling that self-fulfilling prophecy,” Aunt Karen says, pulling out of the lot and on to the dark road. “I thought we were clear on the ‘no sneaking out’ rule. Are you really going to make me put an ankle monitor on you? I could get one, and Sheriff Lamb would go along with it. He’s no fan of yours.”

  Everything in me I’ve been bottling up bursts out in a rush I know I’m going to regret.

  “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Then you could let your boyfriend know where I am every second of the day. He could deliver me to the Mayday Killer soooo easily then.”

  Aunt Karen slams on the breaks when a yellow light abruptly turns yellow even though there aren’t any other cars around. When she whirls on me, her eyes are blazing with anger. “Is that really what you think? That I’m stupid enough to date a guy who’s a stalker? Come on, Megan. I think in the last few weeks you’ve gotten to know me better than that.”

  “Don’t try to lie. I saw him giving you that envelope tonight. What was in it? More photos of me? Since his hobby is photography? What am I to him? Wildlife?”

  She goes silent.

  Arguments and thoughts spin in my head, but I don’t voice any of them. I don’t want to provoke the woman who has sole responsibility for me any further. The truth is, I don’t know what she’ll do if I keep pushing her. I don’t know what she’s truly capable of doing. A shudder moves through me, making me hug myself tighter.

  I have never felt so completely, utterly alone.

  My so-called guardian pulls into the driveway and shuts off the car, but instead of getting out, she stares into the rearview mirror.

  I twist in my seat to see what she’s looking at. There’s nothing back there but Justin’s house, illuminated by a too-orange street light. Is she thinking of delivering me to him after all?

  “I asked him to keep an eye on you when I couldn’t,” Aunt Karen says finally.

  “Wait, what?” I whip around to look at her.

  Aunt Karen’s hands loosen from the steering wheel and fall into her lap. “Justin. You’re right. He’s been following you, observing you. But it wasn’t because he’s helping the Mayday Killer. He’s been helping me.”

  “Helping. . . you.”

  There’s a weak smile on her face when she looks at me. “I was nervous about being a teenager mom, so I asked him to back me up. I never thought you’d figure it out, or that it would feed into your fear like it did.”

  “So, Justin was working with you. He’s not a homicidal maniac’s BFF.” Something clicks in my head. My roaring instincts go quiet. Somehow, I know she’s telling the truth.

  “That’s what I’m saying, yes.”

  “You could have just told me.”

  Aunt Karen reaches over to take my hand, tentatively, then more firmly. “I thought it’d be easier if you didn’t know. I thought it’d be easier for you to find some sense of normalcy. Clearly I was wrong.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Let’s go inside. I could use some coffee. Want some?”

  We’re halfway up the walkway to the front door when I grab her arm.

  “If Justin wasn’t the one passing me those threatening notes, who was?”

  Aunt Karen purses her lips. “I don’t know yet, but we’re going to find out.”

  Chapter 30

  Day 149, Tuesday

  Being back on stage is glorious. Neon pink light shines down from above, bathing me in a glowing halo of happiness. It’s the first bit of peace I’ve felt all week. For just a moment, surrounded by the friends I’ve made in the drama club, I can relax. The rush of performing bubbles through my body as I recite the lines, putting all of the tension in my shoulders into the character I’m embodying.

  I don’t even look at my backpack in the corner where I left it to see if anyone’s messed with it yet. If anyone does try to put another note inside, it’ll trigger the tiny camera Aunt Karen tucked inside.

  Marisa didn’t show up for rehearsal today, and after we waited for her for twenty minutes, Esau told me to step in. I protested.

  A little.

  But the truth is that hiding behind the scenes has been killing me. The first time I did this play, I absolutely loved it. The uncertainty. The suspicion. The thrill was like the one I get when I go swimming in the ocean. Euphoric.

  So as concerned as I am that Marisa has flaked, which is unlike her, I can’t pass up an opportunity this good.

  The other actors and I flow as if we’ve been rehearsing together for weeks instead of minutes. We hit line after line, cue after cue, seamlessly. In a beat of quiet, I chance a look around the theater. All of our clubmates are watching us, mesmerized by the performance. Knock ‘em down, roll ‘em around. Come on actors, work! I want to shout, but stifle the impulse.

  This is only temporary. Marisa will be back and I’ll have to retreat from the limelight and fade back into the shadows.

  “That was really good,” Esau says once we’ve finished the run-through of our scene. “Take a second, everyone. I need a word with our understudy.”

  I flush when the intensity of his gaze lands on me. Putting a hand on my elbow, he draws me down the hall toward our advisor’s abandoned office.

  “What are you…?” I ask when Esau nudges me into the empty room and closes the door behind us. He turns toward me, his expression unreadable.

  “Did I do something wrong? Wait, are you about to critique my performance? Because I thought it went well, and I’m only the understudy anyway. Marisa will be back and—”

  “That was perfection,” he says, walking purposefully toward me.

  “Then why are
you looking at me like I’m in trouble?” I say, relief fluttering in my stomach. Gliding backward until the backs of my thighs touch our advisor’s unoccupied desk, I lean back on my palms. A pile of papers slides across the floor at my feet.

  Esau boxes me in between his arms. “Take over Marisa’s part. She’s good, but you’re breathtaking. With you in the lead, this play will be… Have you considered being an actress? Together we could be a fantastic team.”

  I go still. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Marisa. She’s worked her butt off for this part, and I can’t do that to her.” As much as I’d love to reclaim the title of actress. But with everything that’s going on, I can’t expose myself like that. I shiver.

  “You cold?” Esau’s fingers skate up my arms and land on either side of my neck.

  I shake my head. “We should get back.”

  “Just one more thing first.” Exhaling, he moves to kiss me.

  Miss Crabtree pushes the door open, halting in the doorway when she spots us.

  “Am I interrupting something?” she asks, coming closer. Her long, velvety dress knocks over another pile of papers. “You haven’t been poking around on my e-reader, have you?” She scoops up the item and tucks it into her side.

  “No, ma’am,” Esau says. “Just giving our understudy some acting tips.”

  “Good then. Carry on, but maybe not in my office next time, hmm?” She sits in her desk chair and picks up one of the papers to read. I can tell through the page that it’s upside down. Her phone rings and she waits for us to leave before answering it.

  When we’re alone in the hall, Esau snorts. “That was close.”

  “No kidding.” I move toward the theater, but he takes my hand.

  “Wait.” He presses his lips to mine. I’m surprised by the heat behind it as I kiss him back. This isn’t a quick, consuming kiss like the one the other night on my front porch. No, this one is more assured, as if it’s a dance we’ve done together before. I’m falling into it, his warm scent teasing my nose, when I snap back. I can’t do this. Use him like this. He’s a real person, not a memory-erasing spell.

  That was perfection.

  If he only knew how far from it I truly am.

  Pulling back, I take a few steps away.

  “Hey,” Esau protests, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. “What was that for?”

  “Why did you bring me back here?”

  Something flashes in his eyes. “You were captivating out there. I had to do something about it. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “I didn’t, but it can’t happen again.”

  One of his hands gestures over me. “Clearly you hated it. You’re all pink.”

  “I’m serious. You might want to fix your hair.” I point to where his bun is hanging lopsided to one side.

  “Right.” Esau’s biceps flex as he reaches up and re-does his dark locks, wrapping them expertly into a messy bun at his crown.

  The murmur of voices coming from the theater gets louder. “What’s going on out there?” I wonder out loud to distract myself from the boy in front of me.

  Gesturing with a hand, Esau lets me lead him out. I’m careful not to touch him as I pass. He turns his face away, toward the middle of the larger room.

  Everyone is standing in a clump, huddling around Marisa.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Esau asks, cutting through the crowd to where the girl is standing at the center, cheeks flushed and panting as if she’s just sprinted across campus.

  “Sorry,” she breathes. “Have to catch my breath.”

  “Spit it out, girl,” Fiona says, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “I went to the coffee shop in the grocery store after school. Needed some caffeine. And there was something going on in the manager’s office. There were serious-looking guys there wearing suits and asking Javier all these questions. I was curious, you know, so I inched closer by pretending to look at the racks of DVDs along the front wall. Turns out, the suits were asking about some security footage.”

  “What for?” Viv asks, eyes alight. Her measuring tape dangles from one hand.

  Marisa looks around at all of us. “Someone called in a tip. They think they saw the Mayday Killer in there this morning. In our grocery store. Here in town.”

  I stagger back as my knees give out. He really is here in Hacienda. Less than a mile from Aunt Karen’s house and the school. My heart ratchets as if it’s going to hack its way out of my chest. I clutch at it with one hand, struggling to breathe.

  Esau catches me under the arm. “Are you okay?” he asks.

  All I can manage is to shake my head as I struggle to get my feet under control.

  “Don’t worry,” Marisa says. “No one was hurt. Your aunt is fine. Apparently he bought a couple things and left. No one recognized him until one of the employees saw a sketch on the news on their lunch break. Guys, I think those dudes in the suits were from the FBI.” She looks from me to the crowd around her as all of my clubmates start to chatter among themselves.

  “Hear that?” Fiona says to me. “Your aunt is fine.”

  “I’m kind of freaking out,” Viv says. “My mom stays home alone during the day.”

  Marisa shakes her head. “I’m sure she’s fine. Your mom’s single. So far he’s only attacked married couples, right?”

  I nearly jump out of my skin when the theater door opens and Mr. Baugh comes in, his face drawn. Miss Crabtree emerges from her office. “All right everyone. We’re ending rehearsal early today. The sheriff’s office has requested that all of you go straight home immediately.”

  “Do we have school tomorrow?” someone asks.

  “We plan to, yes. For now, everyone just go home. Megan?”

  My nose wrinkles at being singled out. What could she possibly have to tell me? I inch over to her, taking my time to avoid stepping on the cables and cords snaking across the theater floor.

  “Yes, Miss Crabtree?”

  “I got a call from your aunt. She’s been delayed at the store, so she’s asked me to make sure you have a ride home.”

  Mr. Baugh puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.” He winks at our advisor. Flushing, she smiles back.

  “Okay.... Let me get my stuff.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Esau says, stepping closer to the three of us. “I can take her.”

  Miss Crabtree starts to shake her head. “Miss Biel was insistent that an adult accompany Megan home.”

  “I’m eighteen,” Esau says, squaring his shoulders. His warm fingers enclose mine.

  Mr. Baugh looks between Esau’s clenched jaw and the advisor’s worried expression. “How about if I follow them? Will that work?”

  Miss Crabtree’s lips pucker, but then she nods.

  My legs still feel like putty as I climb into Esau’s truck, dropping my bag at my feet. I stare out the windshield as he closes my door and comes around to the driver side. “Are you okay?” he whispers once the cab is closed. “You’re pretty worried about your aunt, huh?”

  Not sure how to answer, I don’t say anything for a long minute. “Aunt Karen. Yes. She’s all I have left. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Esau’s eyes try to meet mine, but I look down at my lap. I’m tired of lying to him, so I don’t elaborate.

  Unbidden, my hand rises to run my fingertips over the scar on my cheek.

  “Look,” he says, hands gripping the steering wheel. “I wasn’t going to ask what happened before you came to live here. Why you had to move in with your aunt, but Fiona told me—She said you told her your scar was from a car accident. But you told me you were surfing.” He lets the question linger as his eyes flick to my scar.

  “I’m sorry I lied.” I don’t elaborate.

  “Why did you?”

  I shrug, trying to hold myself together, but it feels like I’m fragmenting, like an iceberg drifting out to sea.

  “I know what it’s like to miss y
our parents,” he says quietly, gazing out the window. “I haven’t seen mine—”

  “It’s not the same,” I blurt. Anger boils up in me, mixing with the terror, the helplessness I’ve felt since that day. “My parents are dead.”

  “Sorry. I’m just. . . wondering why you didn’t tell me. I thought we were becoming something. I thought we understood each other.”

  I scoff. He can never understand me, because all I’ve done is lie to him. From day one. Esau has seen only bits and pieces of what remains of me. Somehow, by trying to hide myself, I’ve become a shade of something that draws Esau. But it has to stop. The shadow who has lurked in the corners of my vision for the past six months is looming large, crowding out everything else I thought I had to look forward to. It’s all a blurry mess.

  “Let me in, please.”

  Hot tears well in my eyes and I swipe at them with my free hand. “Just… take me home, okay?”

  With a tense frown, Esau turns the key and pulls out of the parking lot. Mr. Baugh follows us in his car.

  Silence hangs between Esau and me the entire drive.

  My eyes dart back and forth over the roads. Looking for him. Every second I expect him to jump out in front of the truck, knife in hand. I start at the glimpse of a man with his back turned, but when we pass, it isn’t the one I’m looking for but praying I never again set eyes on.

  My mind is spinning. Esau knows I lied about how I got my scar. He knows my parents are dead. How long until he puts all of that together with the fact that I almost fainted when Marisa said the serial killer who haunts me waking or sleeping was spotted in town?

  Aunt Karen will be furious if I blow my own cover.

  Esau pulls up in front of the old house. Cutting the engine, he turns to me. “Talk to me. Whatever it is, let me help fix it.”

  “You can’t. I have to go.” I hop out of his car and jog up the walk without looking back. It’ll be better for Esau if he believes I’m nothing more than a liar. I can’t pretend anymore that what I feel for him is purely physical, so it has to end. It would never have lasted anyway, I argue. A relationship based on lies is doomed to fail.