The sheriff swings his attention to Aunt Karen.
“You’re sure you saw video footage of our house?” she asks, studying me as if she’s waiting for me to flinch and take it all back.
I nod my head, gritting my teeth. I know what I saw.
Her expression softens. “I’ll go over there.”
“You can’t! He’s dangerous.”
“I can take care of myself.” With a nod to the sheriff, she marches out the door and across the street. No one answers when she knocks, but that doesn’t stop her. She’s inside for less than a minute.
“I didn’t see anything suspicious in the house,” she says as she comes back inside. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no way.” I move to pass her, but she catches my arm.
“I think it’s best you stay here.”
She wins our stare down.
I throw myself onto the couch and channel my anger and embarrassment into the carpet.
Sheriff Lamb sinks down on the ottoman near my knee and waits.
When I finally look up, his lips purse. Deep creases appear at the corners of his eyes when he puts on a placating smile. “Look. I can understand why you’d want some attention. You’re new in town, don’t know anyone. Maybe you thought you’d cause a stir at school by fabricating a story about the janitor being in cahoots with the Mayday Killer—”
“I didn’t fabricate anything. I saw it. Right over there.” I jab a finger toward the house across the street.
Aunt Karen moves closer, puts an arm on my shoulder. Gives a gentle squeeze.
She had come running when I burst in the front door screaming. The carton of milk she’d brought home from the store hit the floor and burst, leaving an oozing white mess all over the linoleum. She’d stood rigid as I told her what I’d found across the street. The surveillance cameras that he’d aimed toward this place without her knowing. And then, as if I was a skittish wild animal, she’d put her arms around me. Patted my back in a gesture that was a little stiff, but not unwelcome.
It was the first time she’d ever hugged me.
Now, she stands near the window watching the empty house across the way.
“Maybe you should go upstairs,” Aunt Karen says in a low voice.
“I didn’t make this up. You have to believe me. I—”
“Megan.” The steely look in her eyes stops me cold. With a jerky nod, I go up to my room and shut the door so they think I’ve closed myself inside. Then I creep toward the stairs, holding my breath.
“What are you going to do?” Sheriff Lamb asks.
“I don’t know.”
“He have access to the security system?”
A pause. “Yes.”
I think I’m going to be sick. The woman I’m supposed to trust to care for me doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t even entertain the idea that her boyfriend could be a sicko. Instead, she’s on the denial train all the way to the station.
Eyes pricking with unshed tears, I scurry into my room and lock the door. Make sure the window blinds are closed tight. Try to distract myself from the shame burning through me by doing some homework. My mind refuses to focus on anything but the wall of stalker photos. And the sheriff’s disbelief in my story. My aunt’s. It wasn’t a story Before, and it’s not now. I grit my teeth. The AC is blasting and for once my room is chilly. Or maybe the chill is coming from a different source. Maybe it’s seeping out of my bones, which are frozen solid with fear.
I end up sitting with my back pressed against the headboard, staring at my closed door. Waiting for Aunt Karen to come in, to tell me that she’s sorry. I was right. That she’ll protect me from the very real monsters hiding under the bed.
Murmurs float up the stairs, but I can’t make out what Aunt Karen and the sheriff are saying. Downstairs, a door opens and closes. A minute passes in silence. When I scrape together the courage to look out my window, it’s in time to see the sheriff climbing into his car. He looks up at our house once more before setting his cowboy hat on the passenger seat and driving away.
Aunt Karen’s distinctive knock comes on my door and I jolt upright.
“Come in.” My questions start as soon as the door opens. “Are they going to look for him? Do you know where he might have gone?”
The older woman’s lips thin in an expression I don’t find comforting. She sits on the edge of my bed and pats the mattress beside her.
I thought this is what I wanted, but I don’t like this. Not at all. Still, I scoot closer. My entire body feels weighed down with dread. My eyes find the chipped green polish on my toenails and stay there. “They’re not looking for him,” I mumble.
Aunt Karen folds her hands in front of her. “There wasn’t anything incriminating there when I went inside. There’s no proof that he’s dangerous.”
My eyes snap to hers. “How could that be? I was there. I saw it!”
She shakes her head, blinking her eyes closed before focusing on me. A pained expression crosses her face. “I didn’t see any surveillance on the computer. And there was no wall of photos.”
My hands tighten on the edges of the mattress. “That… how… It was all there. I swear. I saw it. You have to believe me, Aunt Karen.”
My guardian studies my face for a moment, as if weighing what to say. Finally, she opens her mouth. “I don’t believe Justin is dangerous.”
I close my eyes, unwilling to show her my tears. “And the sheriff agrees.”
“He doesn’t know what to think.”
“Maybe he has a tool shed or something? Maybe he hid everything in there?”
“Megan. The sheriff got there less than ten minutes after you called. Even if Justin had been home, he wouldn’t have had time to get rid of anything. Much less hide it in a tool shed.”
I shake my head. It’s clear from Aunt Karen’s tone that she’s skeptical. It’s implied. What I’m saying is impossible. Why would she believe me when I tell her that the guy she’s been seeing is a murderer’s apprentice, and he’s after me? Of course she’d want to poke holes in my story.
But it’s not a story. I saw it.
“The sheriff is going to have one of his deputies patrol our neighborhood tonight to keep an eye out for Justin. If they find him, they’ll talk to him.”
“A lot of good that’ll do.”
Aunt Karen’s sigh is long and labored. She stands, pushing down her slacks as she straightens. “I told you I’d keep you safe, and I will. Try not to dwell on it, okay?”
Easy for her to say, I think once she’s gone. Her disbelief hurts more than I can comprehend. Like the sheriff said, Aunt Karen must think I made it all up for attention. As if I’d want more attention. I’ve already had enough of that.
Day 8
The crowd of reporters hovers near the iron gate that bars entry into the cemetery. The security guard was decent enough to keep them out during the funeral. But even from that far away, their focus is like a laser pointed at my back. Burning my skin. Cutting through to where my heart feels completely numb, or perhaps frozen solid.
Gray clouds sit low, smothering the sky. At my feet, stiff green grass tries to swallow my only pair of high heels. Mom had put off buying them for me for so long, saying I’d have plenty of time to have them when I was a grownup. As if being seventeen isn’t close enough. When she’d finally caved, she’d made a day of it. We’d gone shopping for new shoes and then out to my favorite ramen place for lunch. We’ll never go shopping together like that again.
At my feet, the ground drops off into two long, six-feet-deep holes. The caskets have already been shut tight and lowered into the earth. I will never see my parents’ faces again, except in photos and old videos.
I’m surrounded by friends and family in a sea of quiet, sniffling black. Aunts and uncles and cousins have come to show their love and support on this day. But even though I’m surrounded by people I’ve known all my life, I feel completely alone. None of them look directly at me, only out of the corner of their eyes
. My pain is too raw, too ugly.
I don’t blame any of them as they hover around me, afraid to speak. To extend the kindness of a hug or a tender touch. Their silent eyes graze the back of my neck, making me wish I could run. Hide. Never show my damaged face again.
The minister begins to speak, but all I can hear is the screaming in my head. A high, shrill keening that rends my soul. Echoes of that day. The day my parents were divided from me by death.
I pinch my eyes shut to ward off the gruesome images that threaten to invade. Wish someone would take my hand, squeeze my fingers to distract me from the hollow gulf that has opened in my chest, threatening to swallow me whole.
The scream replays in my mind.
I’ll probably never stop hearing it.
That scream.
I’ll never stop hearing it
because
it’s
me.
Chapter 21
Day 130, Thursday
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My eyes pop open. There it is again—a high, tinkling rap. Not something I’ve heard in the old house before. Maybe it’s water moving through the pipes, or a drip from the faucet in the hall bathroom. It stops, and I roll over to my other side, pulling up the sheet I kicked off in the middle of the night. My legs are cold.
The barest light is pouring over the horizon, lightening my room through the slats in the blinds.
Tap. Tap.
I sit up abruptly. That wasn’t dripping water.
Tap.
“Megan?”
The name is barely a hint on the air, but I recognize that voice. I press my ear against the wall but hear nothing. I straighten the camisole I slept in and slide nimbly off my bed. My ears strain in the silence. The hallway is empty, all other doors still closed against the night.
The low voice comes again.
Spinning around, I tiptoe across my room and peek through the blinds. See a pair of black plastic frames over wide brown eyes.
I let out a surprised yelp and snap the blinds shut. I grab a t-shirt out of my dresser and yank it over my head before adding a pair of shorts. My cheeks burn in mortification at the thought of Noah seeing me in my cami and pale pink thong.
He’s still crouching on top of the patio cover when I open the blinds and slide the window open.
“What are you doing out here?” I whisper.
Noah glances past me into the house. “Can I?”
“No! No,” I say, quieter. Crawling out beside him, I sit carefully on the rough wooden shingles, hugging my knees to hide the fact that it’s still a little cool out this early in the morning.
Some kind of bird is trilling in one of the eucalyptus trees, so I cock my head to listen. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that particular whistle before. It sounds lonely, but beautiful.
“I went through all the photos for our collage, and I think we’re pretty much set. We just need a few more black ones and we’ll be done.”
“Huh? Oh, that’s great.” I yawn, wishing I had a soda in my hand. I could use the shot of caffeine.
Noah gives me a sheepish smile. His black hair is fluffy from sleep and his anime shirt is wrinkled as if he slept in it.
“You gonna tell me why you’re on my roof at four in the morning?”
The boy stretches out his legs, flexing his toes in the black athletic sandals. “Felt like a walk,” he says finally. “I let my feet lead the way, and they brought me here. You okay?”
I clutch my elbows tighter as a shiver courses through me. Glance at Noah before my eyes snag on the house across the street now that it’s abandoned. A deep sigh escapes. I hadn’t realized how tight my chest was as it loosens. “I’m okay, I guess.”
“I bet it was freaky, finding… all of that stuff in that guy’s house.”
There’s no way I know to explain to Noah how scary it is knowing that my guardian’s boyfriend is working with the murderer who destroyed my life. That he’s the one who’s been following me. Plotting to steal me away and finish me off. He was so close when he saw me with Esau. I bury my face in my knees. Why didn’t he act then? What is he waiting for?
A black and white car pulls around the corner. The patrol they promised. Crap!
Shoving at Noah gets my message across. He scrambles in the window before helping me inside. We crouch below the sill so the deputy patrolling the block can’t see us. I have no doubt that if we’re spotted on the patio roof, word will get back to Aunt Karen.
Once the car passes, we both breathe a sigh of relief.
Noah sinks to the floor with his legs butterflied and his back against the wall. The look he gives me makes me go still. “You asked why I came over here. I heard about what happened, and I wanted to… I had to make sure you were okay. I need you to be okay. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about how scared you might be. I… Can I, Megan?” Gently he reaches over and covers my hand with his own. His fingers are warm and rough from working odd jobs at the dairy.
I slip away and tuck both of my hands under my thighs. “Thank you. That’s sweet, but I can’t.” There’s a new awkwardness between us that I wish I could take away, but I won’t. Not the way he wants.
Noah runs a hand over the shag carpet, disappointment a pall over his expression. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He mumbles something as he stands up that might be, “See you at school,” before climbing out the window and shimmying over the edge. His eyes catch mine once more before he disappears below the roofline.
My heart is twisting in my chest as I climb back onto my bed, even though it’s pointless. I won’t sleep anymore tonight, not after Noah’s near confession. I lean back against the headboard and pull up a streaming app.
My mind wanders, wishing I’d had the foresight to grab my recorder.
Marisa stands still on a milk crate so Viv can adjust the hem of her costume. “Can you take it up a half inch? It still feels a little long.”
“It’s not, trust me.” Viv finishes pinning it and stands up, brushing off her knees below her long cutoffs.
They start bickering back and forth, which makes me smile. Marisa’s always trying to micromanage her appearance in the play, saying her mom expects her to be perfect. Sometimes I get the feeling that deep down, she’s only doing the drama club thing because her mom wants her to. My instincts are telling me that Marisa isn’t nearly as vain as she comes off.
Viv, who is probably the second most chill person I know next to Fiona, lets Marisa’s nagging roll right off her back. I’ve only ever seen Viv wound up when it comes to fried junk food. Other than that, she’s unflappable. The other day we picked up Erin on the way to the diner, and not even being stared at by a hundred girls in Catholic school uniforms could faze her.
Fiona appears at my elbow. “We’re all set upstairs.”
“Great!” I say, too cheerfully. Esau’s letting me play with some of the lighting cues today, and I’m determined to prove to him that my lighting scheme is the way to go with this play. Once he sees it all coming together—the lights, costuming, and the blocking he’s been drilling into the actor’s heads for weeks—I’m positive he’ll come to see things my way.
“Somebody’s giddy,” Fiona says, nudging me with her elbow. She grins. “Something you want to tell us? Maybe why Esau is suddenly letting you change some of the lights?”
Marisa and Viv turn curious eyes toward me. Marisa points at Esau, who’s pacing around the stage making sure the set is configured to his exact specifications, and winks.
“Nope.” I can’t stop my smile.
“Uh huh. Sure.” Fiona waves a finger. “You look about how Dariel and I did when we discovered the sound booth is basically abandoned after our club meetings end. “Don’t think you’re fooling anyone.” She puckers her lips in a kissy face that makes all four of us laugh.
“You two were the worst,” Viv tosses out, and Fiona gives her a playful shove.
“Let’s get started, everyone,” Esau yells, making Marisa jump and scurry to her mark f
or the first scene. “I want to get through all of act one today.”
I move toward the booth with Fiona.
“Megan, wanna sit?” Esau pats the chair beside him.
I swear everyone in the room goes silent as they swivel around to look at me. I fight the flush that threatens to rush up my neck and avoid their eyes.
Fiona gives me a meaningful look, a satisfied smile on her lips.
Ignoring this, I pick my way over the cables to sit down beside Esau.
There’s a tiny panda figurine the size of a penny waiting on the chair. It’s just about the cutest tiny panda I’ve ever seen, but when I look up at Esau, he’s looking studiously away. His mouth is pulled up the barest amount.
Biting back a smile, I tuck the offering in my pocket for safekeeping.
Once I’m settled he angles his body toward mine.
“I figured you’d want to see how it all looks from the audience. It’s a much better view than the sound booth.” Esau slides his eyes to mine. For once, the familiar intensity doesn’t make me bristle. Instead, it reminds me of that night in the orchard. Not for the last time, I wonder if he would have kissed me if it weren’t for Justin driving by in his car, keeping tabs on me for his black-hearted mentor.
“Where’d you go just now?” Esau asks, his head inclined toward mine. Is it just me, or is his chair closer than it was a second ago?
I blink, noticing the actors are all in place, waiting for Esau to signal them to begin. Marisa is watching us out of the corner of her eye. A dull ache starts in my chest. Please let her remember all of her lines today. “Nowhere. Sorry. Let’s see how this thing looks with the new lights.”
“Let’s get through it, then we can go back to how it’s supposed to be.”
“I’m pretty sure once you see it you’ll admit I was right.”
“Never.” My stomach flip-flops at the crooked grin Esau shoots my way.
“Never say never,” I retort. “Admitting when you were wrong builds character.”
Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) Page 12