Noah scans his quickly before pushing out of his chair and loping to the back for supplies.
I’m glued to my chair. My heart is pounding loudly in my ears. Licking my lips, I glance up at Mr. Baugh. He’s talking to another student near his desk, gesturing to the sheet in her hand. His gaze skims over me without lingering.
I look back down at the paper sitting on my desk. Did he hear my conversation with Noah? Is that why he gave me this article?
Flat on my desk is a story on the Mayday Killer.
Emotions flash in my chest like fireworks as I scan it. Anger. Sadness. Guilt. Fear. But which of those can I possibly convey in an art project that I have to finish in the next forty minutes? Better yet, which one can I dwell on without poking at the riptide of tears that’s always hovering behind my eyelids? I breathe in through my nose and out my mouth, willing my fracturing nerves to steady. This is no big deal; I lie to myself.
Choosing the sensation I gauge to be the least risky, I get to work.
When Noah sits down beside me with supplies of his own, I whisper, “I’ll help you with your research. Maybe we’ll find something.”
And if it helps the authorities find him sooner, it still won’t be soon enough.
Aunt Karen got delayed at the store, so she sent a deputy to drive me home. But then the deputy got a call on her radio about some emergency across town, so she left me half a mile from Aunt Karen’s.
Luckily for me, it’s a scorching hot day.
Gasping in the heat, I slog toward the old house.
The asphalt is rippling with it as I trudge along. No one else is out, and whenever someone parks on the street, they hurry inside their destination as quickly as possible, slamming the door closed behind them.
I am dying to duck inside one of the businesses to get a break, but I really just want to get to safety. Besides, I’m not much for being stared at. It’s the downside of such a small town. Everyone knows everyone else, except me. I stick out like a sore thumb.
The downtown melts away and I make a right toward the neighborhood where the old house sits. The road is flanked on both sides by almond orchards. From what Aunt Karen has said, the farmers here used to grow all kinds of different crops, from cherries to citrus, but there’s more money in almonds.
Ahead, the road undulates like the ocean’s waves. I blink, aware that what I’m seeing is a trick of the eye from staring so long. Then I stop. Look behind me. There’s no one there, but I could swear I heard footsteps.
I keep walking, focused on listening to see if the footsteps pick up again. My heart skitters, and I take a deep breath. I was hearing things. Probably from being out in this heat for too long. Because of course the first time Aunt Karen would agree to let me walk home, it has to be the hottest day of the year.
Despite the exhaustion in my limbs, I pick up my pace. Sweat drips down my back.
There’s a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision, and my head snaps toward it. Just a tree branch caught in the breeze.
I freeze. There isn’t any breeze. The air is dead and still in this heat.
But that means…
I stare at that branch, but it’s not moving now. I must have imagined that, too.
Repeating it over and over in my head doesn’t keep me from breaking into a jog.
And then I hear it. Footsteps matching my pace. Someone is definitely nearby and trying to hide their footfalls in mine. I don’t want to think about what that means.
I whirl around to look. If I can identify them, they’ll stop. They’ll have to. Right?
There’s no one there. I must be imagining it. It’s all in my head.
But it wasn’t last time.
When the time is right.
I dash away, my backpack slamming into my butt with every step. Textbooks weigh it down, causing the straps to dig into my shoulders. My shoes slam the pavement with each stride forward.
I can still hear the footsteps. Matching each of mine. This time I don’t dare turn around. I’m too afraid of whose face I’d see.
I run all the way to Aunt Karen’s neighborhood, rounding the corner toward her house without glancing behind me. The devil himself could be giving chase and I wouldn’t know. Sometimes it’s better not to know.
My body slams into something hard, and I fall backward, winded.
Firm hands grasp my wrists and arrest my motion. “Whoa, are you all right? A t-rex chasing you or something?” Justin the janitor shoots an appraising glance at me before looking over my shoulder. When his expression remains easy, I chance a peek.
The street is empty save for a few parked cars. Whoever it was could be hiding behind one. Watching.
“You’re awfully red. Maybe you should go inside. Hot out here.”
I take in a great gulp of air and force myself to meet Justin’s eyes. “Thanks,” I stammer. “I’m just going to…” Motioning toward the old house, I skitter up the walk before he can say anything else.
I don’t take another full breath until I’m inside with the deadbolt thrown home. Peer out the peephole.
The street is empty.
Chapter 12
Day 117, Friday
My focus in drama club today has been sloppy, my brain in a fog. I’m pretty sure I’m coming down with a cold or something, after spending all week tiptoeing around school waiting for the other shoe to fall.
Now, I plod around the theater trying to keep my head clear while wishing I was at home, curled up in my bed, watching anime and eating my mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup.
Which is why when Esau chews me out for nearly knocking Marisa out with one of the set pieces, I take it, necessarily chastened.
Marisa sits on an overturned milk crate with a wet paper towel pressed to her forehead.
“I’m so sorry!” I croak, but she waves me off.
“It was an accident, right? You weren’t trying to take me out so you could take the lead, right?” She winks at me.
I give a choked laugh, not sure how to respond.
Esau hits me with a glare that sends a shudder down my spine. “You have to be more careful, Megan. How would you feel if we’d had to stop practice to take Marisa to the hospital to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion? You’re not paying attention today, and we don’t have time for these kinds of mistakes. The play opens in six weeks. You’re not terrible at this, so don’t act like it.”
Even with his gruff voice and cold expression, it’s the first compliment Esau has ever given me.
I open my mouth to explain my brain fog, but I’m cut off by a string of sneezes. I manage to aim into my elbow. I always sneeze in fours. Weird, I know.
“God bless you,” Esau mumbles.
“Thanks?” I give a watery laugh.
He rolls his eyes. “If you’re sick, you should go home.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “We’ve only got a half hour left. Thanks for the concern, though.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s my actors. You’re a walking health hazard today.”
Am I hallucinating, or is there a glint of amusement in his eyes?
“Just try not to make any more mistakes in the next thirty minutes, okay?”
And there’s the Esau I’ve come to know and loathe.
“Yeah.”
He stalks off to yell at someone else.
I’d absolutely hate him if I didn’t understand a little about what he’s going through. It’s his first time directing, so he’s responsible for every single person in this theater, from the actors to the lighting and stage crew, to Viv, who spends most of our meetings behind her sewing machine, whipping up costumes, making alterations to old pieces, and sewing whatever else Esau asks her to with a smiling mouth full of sharp pins. Our advisor is basically non-existent. As far as I can tell, she spends all of our meetings in her office reading on her Kindle. Fiona told me she took a peek once when the woman was out and discovered tons and tons of vampire novels.
Fiona rolls he
r eyes at me playfully as our grumpy director tromps up into the sound booth to confer with Dariel about the lighting. I thought Esau would relax as rehearsals progressed, but it seems like he’s only getting more and more tightly wound.
Esau’s exacting mood makes our practice run long, so I’m late meeting Noah at the library. When I rush inside the old brick building, I spot him using one of the computers at a round table in the far corner. He waves when he spots me.
“I wasn’t sure you were gonna show,” he says when I slide into the chair next to him.
“Sorry. Esau kept all of us late.”
He laughs. “I do not envy you. Esau can be pretty intense sometimes.”
“Tell me about it.”
The librarian behind the information desk shushes us, making me clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle.
“Should we get started on our research?” I whisper.
Noah gestures to his computer screen. “Yeah. Here, let me show you.”
“What are you working on?”
Noah hesitates before continuing at my nod. “I’m looking through the articles on the Mayday Killer’s victims to try to find some commonality. Usually with serial killers, there’s a reason they pick their targets. It’s not all random. But so far I haven’t come up with anything.”
“What have you looked at so far?” I ask, hoping I sound casual. He can’t know how much I’ve got riding on this.
Noah lets his head fall against the chair’s back and looks up at the ceiling. “Their jobs, income levels, religious beliefs…”
My mind speeds as I try to think of some other aspect Noah could research. What can I give him? The back of my neck tickles like I’m being watched. My pulse beats a staccato rhythm in my throat. Did the phantom who chased me home from school the other day follow me here too? I dig deep for courage and whirl around to look.
Justin’s here, talking intently to the librarian and gesturing toward the non-fiction section. He could have followed me here, easily.
“Small towns…” I murmur, but I don’t believe that’s all it is.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. It’s just, I see the same people everywhere.”
“Small towns.” Noah huffs a laugh.
We focus on the articles he’s got open on the computer, scrolling through the research he’s put together to look for some kind of link between all of the victims. I keep surreptitiously looking over my shoulder to keep track of Justin as he meanders through the stacks.
“They all have kids,” Noah says, nudging me with his elbow.
The contact sends a frisson of surprise along my skin. My mouth is dry, so I take a drink from my water bottle. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“You’re right. A vast majority of people do.” He keeps scrolling. “I feel like I’m missing something, but what?”
I glance around the library again to double check Justin isn’t anywhere within earshot. When I can’t spot him, a cold sweat breaks out over my skin.
“Megan?”
I give myself a mental shake. “What about location? Maybe they’re all close to the same freeway?”
“No, that’s not it. I’ve got a map at home that shows all of the spots where he’s struck, and they appear to be random. I don’t think it has anything to do with geographical location.”
We talk for over an hour, tossing possibilities back and forth. Noah makes some notes in a spreadsheet on his phone, even though we don’t come up with anything new. I’m a potent cocktail of relief at being back on speaking terms with Noah, and anxious energy surrounding our subject matter. I’m surprised when my stomach growls.
“You hungry?”
“I’m starving. I didn’t realize how late it is.”
Noah licks his lips nervously. “We could go to the diner and grab some dinner. I can pay if you want.”
My eyes fly to his warm brown ones, surprise lining my face. Is he asking me out on a date? Something that feels surprisingly like anticipation rises in my chest at the thought of a date with Noah. I try to talk myself out of it. I’ve only known him for three weeks, and beyond the fact that he’s a true crime fan, likes anime, and babysits his siblings, there’s so much I don’t know about him.
There’s so much he doesn’t know about me. So much I can never tell him.
The elation turns to dread as I realize what I have to do.
Noah’s smile curves downward as if he already knows.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
This boy who’s becoming one of my friends shakes his head, looking away. “It’s no big deal. I should probably get home and help my mom with dinner anyway. Thanks for your help today. You gave me some new ideas to look into.”
“Glad I could help.”
We gather our stuff into our backpacks in awkward silence and walk to the front door.
“You need a ride?” he asks.
“No thanks. Aunt Karen’s coming to get me.”
“Sure.” After saying goodbye, Noah crosses the parking lot to his car with his shoulders hunched.
I stand just inside the library, wondering if I’ve just torpedoed our friendship.
When Aunt Karen pulls up, I climb into her car and strap on my seatbelt. “I think the janitor, Justin, was following me the other day. And he showed up at the library a little while ago.”
My guardian’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Why do you think he was following you?”
“I could hear footsteps, so I ran. Then there he was in front of me. There wasn’t anyone else around. And today, he was pretty much the only other person in the library the whole time we were working in there.”
She’s quiet for a minute, thinking. I can’t read the expression on her face. Don’t know what she’ll do with this information.
At the next stoplight, she shifts to look at me. “I know you’re scared. Believe me when I say that I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe. The authorities are throwing everything they’ve got into finding the Mayday Killer. He’s not going to lay a hand on you. Wait, I’m not finished. Justin is not the Mayday Killer. He is not after you. You have to trust me.”
Frustration hits me. She’s not taking my suspicions seriously. Not at all. Just like my parents, and they were made to regret it.
“Aunt Karen, please just have them look into him, okay?”
“He’s not going to hurt you,” she says, emphatic. End of conversation.
If she won’t believe me, I have to do something. I have to find proof.
Chapter 13
Day 118, Saturday
This is the first time I’ve been to Noah’s house since the discovery of the murder board, and it feels a little awkward. Even though I’m pretty sure Noah was being honest about being a true crime fan, it feels strange knowing there’s a detailed map of the Mayday Killer’s movements tacked to the back of the boy’s door. The grizzly images and meticulously clipped newspaper articles don’t mesh with Noah’s wholesome appearance somehow. I can’t make the two ideas fit together in any real way.
I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something Noah isn’t telling me about his interest in the serial killer. Who’s still at large, by the way. I clench my fists, willing the anger that threatens to spark into flame in my chest to cool.
Esperanza and Matteo zoom past, the little boy knocking into me as they skid giggling over the worn wooden floor of the dining room. Noah offered to set them up with a movie in the living room so we could work on our project in his room with minimal interruptions, but I told him it would be easier to spread out on the dining table. Thankfully, he bought it.
“You got any other homework you want to get out of the way before we dive in?” Noah plunks his backpack down on the long wooden table and starts pulling out books. “I’ve got some I need to finish up.”
“Same.” I sit across from him and unzip my own backpack, only I don’t see my history book. I flip through the textbooks shoved into the small bag once, twice. It’s
not there. Crap. We’ve got a quiz in class tomorrow that I really need to study for, and I can’t do that without my textbook.
I shoot a glance at Noah, who’s already deep into his own work. I could walk to the school and back, but it’s a couple miles each way. Plus, it’s super hot out there right now. I’d be a flushed, sweaty mess by the time I got back. Noah can’t drive me because we’re supposed to be babysitting the kiddos.
Slipping my phone out of my bag, I text my aunt asking her to stop by the school and get my book. She should be done with her shift at the grocery store by now. It takes a few minutes for her to respond, and when she does, she says she’s still at work. There was some glitch in the system and they’re having to tally sales by hand.
Noah and I both look up when we hear footsteps moving away from the front door. It unnerves me that I missed the signs of someone approaching.
Esperanza and Matteo come skidding down the hallway and into the living room. “There’s someone here to visit!” Anza cries, climbing on the couch to look out the front window.
Glancing over his shoulder at me, Matteo whispers in his sister’s ear.
“No, it’s not Tia Maria, silly. That’s a man.”
Noah catches my eye and smiles.
I can’t help returning it. The little girl’s speech is so matter-of-fact that it’s hard not to laugh.
“Wow,” Noah says, staring at me.
“What?” I put my hand up to brush at my face.
He blinks. “It’s just, I’ve never seen your full smile before. It’s, wow.”
I bite my lip as warmth fills my cheeks. Pushing away from the table, I cross toward the front door. Esperanza beats me to it, unlocking it and swinging it wide just as Justin swings into a muddy brown pickup and drives away. The smile drops off my face.
Noah’s on his feet in a second. “Anza! Shut that door. You know the rule.”
Looking stricken, the little girl obeys.
I turn to look at Noah, trying to mask the hot slush of emotions roiling through me. “Rule?”
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