Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) by Emily Kazmierski (summer reads .txt) 📗

“We’ll keep an eye on things,” is all he says.

I can’t believe this.

“That’s it? You’re going to keep an eye on things? Justin is helping the Mayday Killer! He wasn’t at school the day of the most recent murders. He was probably helping kill those people. And you aren’t going to do anything?”

“Unlike what you see on TV, we can’t go busting down doors whenever we feel like it. We’d have to get a warrant. And before you get any ideas, we’d have to have probable cause. No judge is going to grant us a warrant on the say-so of a teenage girl. There’s no evidence of wrongdoing.”

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.