Don't Look Back

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  “Already do, honey.” I didn’t wait for her response. Edging around the table, I made my way to the front of the cafeteria. Eyes were on me, and I didn’t care. A weight lifted off my chest. I felt free—free of having to fit in with people I couldn’t relate to anymore. Adrenaline put an extra kick in my step as I dumped my tray. Part of me wanted to run back there and kidnap Lauren. She was the only decent one among them.

  On the way out, I glanced over to my brother’s table. They were too far away to have heard us, but the whispers flying around the cafeteria had already reached them. Julie caught my eye and grinned before she rested her chin on my brother’s shoulder.

  With some time to spare before lunch ended, I headed for my locker. Rounding the corner, I came to a complete standstill.

  Carson was leaning against a locker across from the library, his back to me. A pretty brunette smiled up at him as he handed her a backpack that must’ve belonged to her. All I could hear beyond the irrational buzzing in my ears was the deep, husky laugh that curled my toes in the right way as he slipped the bag over her shoulder.

  A pang hit me right in the chest, splintering my heart. I had no right to that pain—no right to the fire building inside me, but I wanted to bum-rush the two and force them to have at least five feet between them.

  And there was no way in holy hell I would do such a thing. Maybe the old Sammy would’ve, but then again, the old Sammy didn’t like Carson on most days.

  I took a step back, and it was suddenly like watching two actors on a black-and-white television, except the girl in front of him…it was me. I was on the tip of my toes, in his face. At first I thought I was kissing him because I was that close, but then I heard myself speak—this lifeless gray version of me.

  “I saw you,” I sneered. “I saw you with Dianna. I know what you did.”

  Carson threw up his hands, laughing grimly. “As always, you’re sticking your stuck-up nose where it doesn’t belong. You have no clue what you saw, Sam.”

  Laughing, I tossed my hair over the shoulder. “Oh, we’ll end you, Carson. You just—”

  Whatever else I’d said was lost to me. I’d stumbled into a locker, and the rattling sound sucked me out of the vision. All I knew was that the girl who was really in front of him was Dianna, but the reason behind the confrontation with Carson was unknown. Who was the “we”? And what had I seen him do with Dianna that could’ve been used as a threat?

  Carson looked over his shoulder, brows knitting when he saw me. “Sam?”

  Backing up, I shook my head in confusion. Switching from a memory—or possibly a hallucination—to what was really happening had my mind spinning to catch up. That, and my reaction to seeing him with a girl. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Wait,” Carson said, stopping me. “Is everything okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah—sure, I’m okay.”

  His eyes narrowed, and then he turned to Dianna. “Can you hold on a sec?”

  “Sure,” she said, pulling out her cell and suddenly becoming very interested in it.

  He crossed the distance between us, reaching out as if he would touch me but stopping before he made contact. “Sam, what happened?” he asked in a low voice. “You’re bleeding.”

  “What?” I looked down. The sleeve of my sweater was pushed up to my elbow, revealing two jagged scratches that beaded tiny drops of blood. A dull ache radiated from my arm. “I must’ve…scratched myself.”

  He took my hand, swallowing. “How could you not know if you did that, Sam? That’s…”

  Messed up? I pulled my hand free. “I have to go.”

  “Sam—”

  “She’s waiting for you,” I whispered, backing off. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  His jaw clenched as he gave me a sidelong glance. “Okay. There will be a later.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I nodded. Forcing a smile that felt wobbly, I turned around and headed to the nearest bathroom. Heaviness pressed down on my chest, spreading to my shoulders. The back of my throat burned as I dropped my bag near the sink and turned on the water.

  How had I done that to myself without even noticing or feeling it until now? And when had I done it? Swallowing hard, I felt my stomach roll as I shoved my arm under the faucet. The raw skin stung, adding to the already overwhelming pressure of unshed tears. Water ran red until it turned a faint pink against the porcelain basin.

  Lifting my chin, I stared into my own frightened eyes. My heart threw itself against my rib cage. What would Mrs. Messer say about scratching yourself so deep that the skin tore? Probably the same thing she’d say about talking reflections. A strangled laugh escaped my lips. I doubt either of those fell in the normal range of coping mechanisms.

  I took a breath, but it got stuck. There was most definitely something wrong with me. Crazy wrong.

  When Scott returned home after baseball practice, I took my purse and my hastily scribbled directions down to the garage. I had a couple of hours before the sun set, so I managed to avoid most of Scott’s questions. I felt bad for being short with him, especially because he was letting me borrow his car, but I didn’t have much time.

  It took me a little over forty minutes to reach Michaux State Forest and to find the summerhouse. Common sense told me that if I was going to start anywhere, it would be there.

  Easing the car down the gravel road, I leaned over the steering wheel as a two-story log cabin came into view. Two garage doors were under the raised porch, and the entire front of the house was nothing but windows. A patch of land had been cleared around the front, and trees choked the back of the house. Parking the car, I clenched the keys in my hand and climbed out.

  Shivering, I inhaled the scent of pine and rich soil. Something else lingered behind the scent—wet, familiar.

  Most of the houses I passed on the way up had screened-in porches, but this house had a tiered deck. My sneakers crunched over gravel and tiny broken branches as I headed toward the steps. I tried to picture summers here, walking this very same path dozens of time.

  The stairs groaned under each step, echoing and causing me to wince. A large, empty ceramic flowerpot sat in the corner. I went up the second set of stairs, to the main deck that appeared to wrap around the whole house.

  As expected, the front door was locked. I crept along the railing of the porch. There was a can full of cigarette butts that looked newish. Mom and Dad claimed that the home hadn’t been opened since last September, but I doubted the butts would’ve retained their color that long.

  Had someone been here? Did I smoke?

  Shaking my head, I moved toward the back of the house, and there was the sound of something rushing, peaceful. It sparked the unrest inside me, stirring the abyss where my memories existed. The sound…

  Water.

  Excitement bubbled. I knew that sound—the lake. Hurrying down the back steps, I half slid down the sloping hill that met the heavy wooded area. The ground was covered with small rocks and fallen branches, and despite the fact that I had no conscious memory of the layout here, I navigated the area with ease. Maybe I had been back this way before? There was no other way to explain it. Anyone without some knowledge of the woods behind the house would probably break his or her neck wandering around at night. Pushing bare, low-hanging branches out of the way, I headed toward the source of the sound.

  Up ahead, there was a boat docked. Angel. Recognizing the boat from one of the photos on my wall, I stepped on the dock, caught off guard when it bobbed under my feet. My gaze drifted beyond the boat, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

  The lake was a deep, glossy blue and larger than I’d expected. The surface dipped and rolled gently in the breeze, holding a lifetime worth of secrets in its depths. It went on as far as I could see, curving around a bend. I lifted my gaze and couldn’t find anywhere nearby that would explain my memory of falling. There were just trees with tiny buds and boats docked all around the lake.

  Shoving my hands into the
pockets of my hoodie, I trekked across the man-made beach, following the shoreline. Detective Ramirez had mentioned a waterfall, which seemed to be the likeliest place for someone to take a fall.

  I rubbed my sleeve over the scratches on my arm, trying not to think about how they’d gotten there. The sand was eventually replaced by mud that formed a weathered trail. Trees began to crowd the edges of the lake, and the farther I went, the louder the sound of rushing water became. I inched around a large oak and came to a standstill.

  Water spilled over a rocky cliff, slamming into the lake twenty feet below. Frothy white water bubbled over sharp, jagged rocks jutting out of the lake. As I lifted my gaze, vertigo swept over me. I reached out blindly, placing my hand on the tree for support.

  Around a hundred feet above the waterfalls was a cliff. It wasn’t a smooth descent from there. Large rocks protruded from the side of the mountain, rising up between thick bushes and smaller trees. A stream of water snaked its way down the hill.

  I had a hard time believing someone would’ve made that fall. There were too many bone-breaking obstacles in the way. But if someone was pushed…he or she would’ve cleared the hill. My eyes moved down the horrific drop. The person would’ve ended up in the lake below.

  An unnerving sense of rightness settled deep in my bones. Pushed—Cassie had to have been pushed. And me? Did I take the same fall? I shuddered as I recalled the memory of falling…and falling. That had to be it.

  Seeing the cliff didn’t spark any memories in me, but I knew—I just knew this was where it all had gone down. There had to be another way to get up there. The climb was too steep, and I doubted I would’ve made it. I needed someone who knew his or her way around here, who could get me up there. Maybe Scott? Carson? My belly warmed at the latter. He might know his way around, but running to him didn’t make sense, especially after seeing him with Dianna—

  Snap!

  I froze. What was that sound? Straining, I held my breath and listened. Birds chirped and the branches above swayed, but those weren’t what I’d heard.

  Snap! Another twig snapped, followed a few more seconds by the distinct sound of someone walking. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose, and my heart leaped into my throat.

  It came again, closer.

  Spinning, I scanned the trees. It could be anyone—someone out walking or jogging. I strained to listen but heard nothing. Not even natural sounds. The whole forest had fallen deathly quiet.

  A blur of black darted behind a tree up ahead. Catching it out of the corners of my eyes, I noticed that it was tall and definitely not bear-shaped.

  “Hello?” I called out, my fingers clenching the car keys.

  There was no response, and I couldn’t see whatever or whoever it was. Willing my heart to slow down, I started back toward the summerhouse. I’d made it about five feet before I heard a crunching sound behind me. I whirled around, eyeing the gloom that was falling between the trees.

  The shape shot between two trees. The shape was male—dressed in black. A cap was pulled down, hiding his face. Hope sparked, but it was quick extinguished by dread. It couldn’t be Carson. He wouldn’t hide behind trees, and he would’ve answered when I called out.

  A normal person would’ve answered when I called out.

  Icy fingers of anxiety trailed down my spine. My chest compressed as I took a step back. “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  Throat dry, I turned around and picked up my pace. It could be anyone—it could be whoever was responsible for what had happened to Cassie and me. Not wanting to take any chances, I glanced over my shoulder. I saw nothing at first, and then…he was several feet behind me, off the trail, moving in quick, ground-eating strides.

  I stopped.

  He halted.

  I took a step forward…and his step matched mine.

  This…this wasn’t good. Warning bells went off. Instinct kicked in, and I took off. Over the sounds of my feet slapping on the ground and my thundering heart, I heard him crashing through bushes. Coming after me, chasing me…

  I darted through the trees, kicking up dirt and small stones. Fear caught my breath as I pushed at the branches ripping at my hair. The edge of my sneaker caught on an exposed root, and I spilled forward, my knees and palms taking the brunt of the fall. Rocks ripped open my hands, tearing the denim and then the skin on my knees. I yelped in response to the sharp pain.

  My vision dimmed. The color of the fallen leaves and muddy brown faded into gray. Not now. Please, God, not now. It was too late—I was sucked into the vision.

  I was crawling on the ground, one hand in front of the other. No. Not the ground—a rocky, slippery hill. Pebbles and clumps of dirt broke free, pelting my face. I was numb, moving only on instinct. Nothing hurt. I clawed my way up, and my fingers slipped. Grasping wildly at rocks, roots, anything I could get my hands on, I slid down several feet, losing whatever ground I’d gained. My hands were gray, but red streaked the backs of them, caking my fingers. Nails cracked open.

  Gasping in air, I blinked and color returned to the world. I looked over my shoulder. Two legs encased in black jeans stood a few feet behind me. Terror punched me in the gut. Scrambling over the ground, I ignored the pain and ran.

  It felt as if an eternity had passed before the boats came into view and my feet hit the sand. I didn’t dare look back as I rushed toward the woods separating the lake from our house. My breath pawed at my chest as I shot free of the tangled branches and darted around the porch.

  I cried out when I saw Scott’s car. Kicking up gravel, I slid around the hood and finally looked behind me.

  No one was there.

  Turning around, I scanned the thick trees. He could be hidden anywhere, waiting to jump out and do…do what? Finish what he’d started? But why? Who was he? I reached for the handle and the door opened. Had I locked the car when I left? I couldn’t remember.

  Climbing in, I quickly pressed the button on the side to lock all the doors. I slumped in the seat, dragging in deep breaths that shook my entire body. I was nauseated and dizzy—adrenaline had me feeling as if I’d had one too many energy drinks.

  I opened my eyes and put shaky hands on the steering wheel as I glanced at the passenger seat. A piece of yellow paper folded into a triangle was resting on it. My heart took another painful jump.

  That hadn’t been in the car before.

  Hands trembling, I reached over and picked up the piece of paper, quickly unfolding it. There was just one sentence, written in the same childish handwriting that was becoming as familiar as my own.

  You know who killed Cassie.

  I threw the note in my purse and started the car. Peeling out of the gravel driveway, I maneuvered the car down the narrow road, the back of my neck tingling.

  Keeping my breaths long and even, I pulled out onto the main highway. I couldn’t afford to think of what had just happened. Time to freak out would come later, when I wasn’t behind the wheel of my brother’s car. I reached for the volume on the radio, wanting to drown out my thoughts, when I glanced up.

  All I saw was the dark shape of him in the backseat, a brief glimpse in the rearview mirror. The world tilted, pitching me to and fro behind the steering wheel.

  Oh my god.

  He is in my car.

  Terror rolled through me like thunder through the sky, dark and threatening, stealing my breath. Everything happened so fast. I thought about stopping, jumping out of the car and running, or slamming on the brakes. But I didn’t know what I did. Panic seeped from my pores, coating my skin. My brain was firing useless signals. There was a blast of a horn that sounded like it was miles away, and I couldn’t breathe.

  He’s in my car.

  A scream rose from the depths of my body as the darkness moved toward me, and then this sound—metal crunching, ripping apart—cut off my scream. Knocked to the side in one heartbeat, I was jerked back in the next, slamming my head off the steering wheel. Fierce, blinding, paralyzing pain stabbed at my skull.
Glass shattered, picking at my skin.

  And then there was nothing.

  chapter thirteen

  An annoyingly persistent beeping sound thrust me into a world where my skin felt too tight, too dry. And every—every—part of my body ached as if I’d gone one-on-one with a truck. My eyes opened into thin slits, and the lights were too harsh. I moaned, immediately closing them. I wished I could disappear back into the darkness.

  “Sam?” The bed dipped beside me. “Sam, are you awake?”

  The sound of my brother’s voice dragged me back, forcing my eyes to open. His face loomed over mine, blocking some of the light. Dark shadows blossomed under his eyes. His hair was a mess, sticking up every which way.

  He smiled weakly. “Do you remember me?”

  “Yeah,” I croaked, wincing. I tried lifting my arm, but something tugged on my hand painfully. Tubes. There were tubes everywhere, connecting to that damn beeping machine. I wet my lips.