Don't Close Your Eyes (Don't Look Series Book 2), page 3
She’s not going to try to force me to go out there. My body starts to unwind. I look over the immaculate grounds. From here it doesn’t look so bad.
“I’ve been thinking,” Taryn whispers.
“. . . Dangerous.”
“I’m serious. About the mugging. They took your phone, right? But they didn’t try to hurt you at all.”
I thrust up a finger. “Excuse me. Being slapped hurt a ton.”
“Sure, but I mean they didn’t try to stab you or kidnap you or anything, right?”
My eyes cut to where a groundsman is riding a mower over the grass in the far corner of the cemetery. I think back to this morning, when Justin offered to drive us around while I job hunted. He hadn’t insisted, but I could read the undercurrent in the room. Neither he nor Karen were thrilled about Taryn and me leaving the house alone. They haven’t said as much, but they’re more watchful of us now than they were before the mugging.
Taryn taps her foot against the floor mat. “Are you listening?”
Oops, I zoned out for a second there. I’m not sure what I’ve missed Taryn say, so I just nod.
“Okay, so I know what the sheriff said, but what if it was a coincidence? Think about it. There have been tons of people talking to the media since this whole mess began. People who swore up and down they knew who the killer was, or why he was doing it. And most of them turned out to be liars. What if that note the journalist got is the same type of thing? Somebody decided to try to capitalize on the GK’s notoriety by sending it to get some attention?”
“...It’s possible.”
Taryn’s warming up to her subject. “Can I continue now?”
I wave with one hand for her to go on.
“If someone planned to attack you, they’d have to be following you. And wouldn’t it be awfully tricky to do that without being spotted by not one, but two trained and deadly FBI agents? Not to mention the fact that everyone in town watches us like we’re exotic birds now that they know who we are and why we moved here? What you said makes way more sense. Somebody desperate or greedy saw you out there alone and decided to take a shot.”
“Maybe.” I desperately hope she’s right, but deep down, I don’t think she is.
Taryn leans back against her headrest, resting her case. She pinches at her nose with one hand. Lets out a frustrated groan. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. And I’m sorry I talked to Noah about you behind your back. We’re both just—we’re worried about you, okay? I want you to be able to get past this. I don’t want to lose you again.”
Her words hit me hard. I want to be angry at her, to fuss and fume about her treating me like a child. But the truth is, I’ve always counted on Taryn to protect me. She has always cheered me up when I failed, or given me a pep talk when I needed that extra ounce of courage to try something new. Until she didn’t. And I don’t want to lose her ever again, either.
Taryn’s eyes are cautious when I meet them. They brighten when I give her a wan smile. “I know you were just trying to help me. Thanks.”
She blows out a big breath. Looks out at the burial yard stretched out in front of us. “So, does it help? Knowing that the third Baugh brother was in jail for most of the time Albert was stalking you? That he couldn’t have been involved?”
My eyes skim over the rows and rows of tombstones. Some are brand new with crisp engravings paid for by loved ones. Others are so old moss and weather have made them illegible. “It does help.”
“So will this.” She unfastens her seatbelt and digs into her purse until she comes up with fuzzy pink earmuffs. Putting them on, she bats her lashes at me.
“I don’t know if I can take you seriously with those ear muffs on.”
“Don’t hate. I look adorable in these, plus my ears would freeze off without them.” She straightens the hot pink puffs covering her ears. Unlocking the car doors again, she gets out. Leans down to meet my gaze. “Come on. Trust me.”
Taryn leads through the brittle, broken grave markers to a newer section. I follow behind, picking my way through the graves, looking at the dates as I pass each tombstone. I’m absolutely stalling. When I drag my attention back to Taryn, she has stopped in front of a new grave marker. With a silent finger, she points at a flat, gray stone jutting out of the ground.
I thought I would feel something—furious anger or deep, scarring pain—when I look down at Albert Baugh’s tomb marker. But I don’t. I feel kind of numb. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s not.
Taryn stands with her hands in the pockets of her wool peacoat. She doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, staring down at the small words that mark the life and death of a man who made my life hell.
I inhale, letting the crisp air flow through my lungs and into my blood, making everything clear. The nightmare is over. I’m alive, and I’m going to beat this. It won’t consume me. I won’t let it. And if I stumble, Taryn will kick me in the pants and make me get up. So will Noah, minus the kicking. And Karen and Justin. Esau. Our friends.
The worst is over. Now I have to go about piecing myself back together. Find the new Audrey.
My new phone buzzes in my pocket and I slide it out, unwilling to give Albert Baugh another second of attention.
I’ve got a new message on my photo-sharing app. Opening it up, my breath hitches. Some deviant has private messaged me under a handle so similar to the one the Gemini Killer used it makes me do a double take.
CuteAshleeXOXOXO.
What the hell? I should delete it and move on without reading it. If I’ve learned anything in the past few months, it’s that there are people out there evil enough to support serial killers. To love them for what they do. And whoever is messaging is probably one of them. They’d have to be sick to create a copycat account to harass me.
But I just swore I wasn’t going to let this rule me. So instead of doing the smart thing, I open the message. My hands tremble as I read.
If you blink, you won’t see me coming.
After that, there’s a photo of me and Viv in the parking lot of the grocery store. Photo-realistic skulls are superimposed over our faces and flames lick at our feet.
Chapter 4
Day 250, Tuesday
A gust of air blows through the cafeteria when someone ducks out the exit into the courtyard, making my already messy hair whoosh around my shoulders. Running a hand through my wind-gnarled hair, I try to yank out the knots. “I thought she was going to kill someone. She was that mad.”
It’s true. Karen was furious when I showed her the message and photo. She went quiet, her eyes blazing. A lot of people rant or rage when they’re mad. Not Agent Karen Biel. She goes still, as if it takes everything she’s got to formulate a plan of attack in her mind, leaving her limbs waiting in stasis. Thankfully, Justin was there to talk her down. And to prevent her from marching down to the grocery store to demand to see their security footage.
Make no mistake, she went down there after a few minutes, but Justin convinced her not to go until she’d calmed down, saying she’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
Justin stayed with us, keeping Taryn and me distracted by roping us into cookie-baking in the kitchen. Turns out, he can cook. Unlike our avenging guardian, whose specialty is take-out. I hadn’t made cookies since Before, when Mom used to herd Taryn and me into our small kitchen back home to roll snickerdoodle dough in bowls of cinnamon sugar. Or make chocolate oatmeal no-bake cookies that we called “cow plops.” Having recently seen an actual cow plop, I can say they look and smell nothing like the cookies.
“So what are they gonna do?” Fiona asks, smacking Dariel’s hand away when he tries to swipe the fudgy cafeteria brownie from her tray. He’s already wolfed down the two he sweet-talked the lunch lady into giving him, and is currently scoping out each of our lunches in a quest for more. Dariel’s sweet tooth is ginormous, rivaling even Viv’s penchant for fried Twinkies.
“Karen said they can ask the cell phone company for the user’s information, but they don’t have to comply unless they get a warrant. Karen isn’t sure she can get one, since no one has actually threatened me bodily harm.” I don’t add the yet. “It’s not illegal to take photos, even if they are freaking creepy.”
“Super creepy,” Marissa echoes.
Viv nods in wide-eyed agreement.
My stomach twists. It’s absolutely wretched that our friends are caught up in this, whatever it is. The solidarity our friends showed by refusing to give interviews about me and Taryn was huge. Not a single one of them talked.
There were others at school who did. (We are not friends, Josie from drama club.)
I look around the cafeteria, but no one’s paying us any attention. After the shock of learning that Megan Pritchard was actually two people, they got used to us. We’re just two more faces in the crowd. It’s nice. Well, I like it. Taryn’s already making plans to run for student body council at the end of the semester, aiming to raise her profile for our senior year. She’s used to the fawning. Loves it, too. Me? Not so much.
“And once they get the user’s information from the app company, they’ll probably pay them a visit.” Picking up the square of lukewarm cafeteria pizza, I take a big bite to occupy my mouth so I don’t have to answer any more questions.
“A very stern visit,” Taryn adds, making a grim face. “Somewhere along the lines of, ‘Stay away from my teenagers or I’ll make you.’”
Esau huffs from his spot on my sister’s other side, his arm sprawled along the back of her chair. “Almost feel sorry for the creep.”
“Aww, poor Mr. Grumpy Pants. Did the mean old FBI agent scare you?” Taryn pats his cheek teasingly before winding a finger around a strand of his dark locks. Sometimes, she flirts with Esau just to get a rise out of him. It works. For such a surly dude, he gets flustered when Taryn tries to be affectionate with him in front of us.
“No.” Pulling his arm away, Esau throws his cascading black hair up into a man-bun while giving his empty plate a stare-down.
“Of course not.” Taryn beams. His eyes lock onto her. Of course, he can’t always resist. PDA incoming in three… two…
Esau plants a chaste kiss on Taryn’s cheek. She grins wider.
“Oh, it’s kissin’ time.” Dariel puts a hand on the back of Fiona’s neck and pulls her toward him for an exaggerated, loud smacker to the lips. She cackles. They stopped playing and got official over Christmas break. Now they’re practically an old married couple. Fiona nudges him back into his space and turns to us.
Marissa’s buffed-to-perfection fingernails tap along the table’s surface. “The app got a lot of flack for its lax security after the whole catfishing thing. Wouldn’t they want to cooperate this time around? You know, so they don’t look like they’re protecting a human cockroach?”
“You’d think,” Noah says. “But a lot of software developers are hesitant to give out their users’ information, especially on a platform like that. If their customers feel unprotected, they won’t use the app. It sucks, but it’s true.”
“I hope they cooperate,” I whisper. “I’d love it if they caught this jerk quicker rather than slower.”
“They will. Don’t worry about it, okay? You’re safe.” Noah’s shoulder nudges mine.
“You’re right. This is no big deal.” After everything else I’ve been through.
“I didn’t say that, but… Nothing’s going to happen to you. We won’t let it.” His reassuring head tilt eases the tension in my lungs. Because no matter what happens, the certainty that Noah cares about me circles and settles like a purring cat behind my breastbone.
“So, I didn’t tell you guys at first, but my mom is spooked by this whole photo thing, and I think she’d want everyone to know. For protection purposes, I guess? But, um, she’s the journalist who received the murder note.” Viv is solemn as she waits for our reaction.
My eyebrows shoot into my hairline. I knew Ms. Miller worked for the paper, but I had no idea she was the one who got the note.
Fiona’s surprised snort is loud. She prods at Viv to get her to spill, which Viv does. I lean forward in my seat, hoping to learn something useful, but my friend doesn’t really know much. The note arrived at the newspaper office, addressed by name to Anna Miller. No return address or anything else to help identify the letter. It was postmarked from a town about half an hour’s drive away.
“Why would they send it to your mom?” Noah asks. He’s got his thoughtful detective face on.
“She figured it was because she wrote a couple of the articles about it when the spit hit the fan. Mom writes for the crime section sometimes when they need an extra set of hands.”
We chatter about it for a few more minutes, until the buzz of new information lowers to almost nothing.
The big black and white clock on the wall reads 11:57. Three more minutes until the bell rings, so I start cleaning up the detritus spread on the table.
Esau clears his throat and stops canoodling with my sister to turn his attention on the rest of us. “I talked to Miss Crabtree about this semester’s production.”
Taryn and Fiona squeal and jiggle in their chairs. The debate around the next play has been rife with contention. Last semester’s show slayed, thanks to all of our hard work, and our bossy director’s growing online presence, so the drama club is feeling the pressure is on to kill it this semester too. Esau’s pushing hard for Othello or something else equally dramatic and tragic. Taryn’s been fluttering her eyelashes at him in a bid to change his mind. She’s thinking something lighter. Since I’m not in the club this semester, I stay out of it.
“She voted for The Importance of Being Earnest.” Esau frowns, displeased, as most of the rest of us erupt with excitement.
Viv yanks her drawing pad out of her backpack and starts sketching furiously. “I can’t wait to update our department’s Victorian costumes. The silhouettes, the fabrics. This is going to be so good. Oh! What are your feelings on period-appropriate wigs? Okay, maybe not.” She dives back into her drawing to get away from Esau’s sharp look.
“Hey, this is going to be fun, okay? Maybe you’ll take a turn on the stage with me this time?” Taryn’s been doing her best to get Esau out from behind the curtain for his last high school production, but he’s not biting. Frankly, he’s a great director, but I have my doubts about his acting ability. He’s so… laconic, yet oddly transparent. Esau wears his exacting, perfectionist emotions on his sleeve.
“Can you act?” I blurt.
The boy grumbles into his cup.
Across the table, Dariel wiggles his eyebrows. “Last time this fool was on stage he had to beat the ladies off with a stick. Which is why he hides behind the curtain now.”
“Oh really? I would love to see that.” Taryn leans both hands on his shoulder and hits him with her best heart eyes.
“Not funny.” Mr. Grumpy Pants cuts an incensed look at Dariel, who smirks.
Fiona mouths “It’s true.”
The bell rings, and everyone starts piling their stuff up on their trays and heading for the door. Swinging my bag onto one shoulder, I catch up with Viv. “Hey. If your mom gets any more notes, will you let me know?”
“You got it, chica.”
“And hey, Noah’s right. Nothing’s going to happen to us, K?”
As I walk to my next class, I have to wonder. Is it purely a coincidence that the newspaper started receiving ominous notes around the same time someone decided to impersonate the Gemini Killer to message me on my social app? I’d like to think so, but the photos and messages I got of me and Viv in the grocery store parking lot didn’t feel like a harmless prank. The skulls over our faces made sure of that.
I can’t stop thinking about something Karen told me once. Maybe she’s jaded by her work for the FBI, but her stance on coincidences makes a lot of sense. It won’t stop ringing through my brain, enforcing my worry.
Her opinion? Coincidences don’t exist.
I hope to God she’s wrong.
Chapter 5
Day 258, Tuesday
Play tryouts are insane.
Esau and Miss Crabtree are in the second row of chairs surrounding the black box stage taking notes while Fiona ushers hopefuls into the center one by one to deliver their prepared monologues. Viv is backstage with Marisa, keeping her company until it’s her turn. She’s hoping to land the role of Lady Gwendolyn, another lead like last semester.
I blame the sheer number of students in the auditorium on the newspaper. They printed a follow-up story about the murder note. Yesterday. With a recap of my role in the Gemini Killer’s trial. And since all of Hacienda knew play auditions were today, the entire school is here.
Just when everyone in town was starting to treat Taryn and me like normal people with boring, country lives, someone just had to send an ominous note to the newspaper. Mrs. Lopez is pretty nervous about it, and Noah did his best to put her at ease by talking about the sheer number of phony threats and notes police officers have gotten in the past. It did not help.
I’m gonna show you what bloody havoc I can wreak.
It’s been almost two weeks, and not a single weird incident has happened.
I keep waiting for something. Anything. A violent burglary. A stabbing. Prank calls that aren’t obviously from Dariel and his idiot friends. Anything. But there’s been nothing. Folk have started talking about it like it was some big joke, but with every day that passes like nothing is wrong, I get wound up tighter.
Coincidences don’t exist.
After CuteAshleeXOXOXO sent me that freaky message, I responded with something along the lines of, “How sick do you have to be to impersonate a serial killer on social media? Leave me alone or I’ll sick the FBI on you.”
That shut them up.
I should be relieved. Should be. I’m not. I’d almost rather they keep spouting off dumb crap instead of this silence. They could be up to anything. Setting traps and lying in wait for me to put my guard down, and I’d have no idea. It’s like there’s a land mine buried somewhere in town, and one of these days I’m going to step on it unawares.
