Don't Close Your Eyes (Don't Look Series Book 2), page 5
Taryn closes the door and approaches, skirting around the sheriff to look.
Pausing on one page covered in the sheriff’s hasty scrawl, Karen looks up at him. I scan the page, seeing something about a maroon or burgundy car. My eyes widen.
“Sheriff? This report from a witness, how credible do you think it was?” Closing the file, Karen taps its edge on the side of her leg.
Lamb nods “I wouldn’t discount it. It’s from a lady down the street. A professor at the community college.”
Then it’s true. Coincidences don’t exist. The mugging and CuteAshleeXOXOXO are connected. The professor down the street? She saw the car that streaked away after my phone was stolen when I was attacked behind the diner. It was a burgundy car, she said. And the license plate? It started with 7L.
Chapter 7
Day 265, Tuesday
Leaden, steel-gray clouds enclose the sky like a mantle, and the wind’s bite is sharp. Withered brown leaves blow across the windshield as Noah pulls his car into the library parking lot. We sprint from the beater, bursting inside and shoving the door shut behind us. It is gelid outside, and the car’s sputtering heater was not cutting it. In spite of Sheriff Lamb’s warning to keep our noses out of his investigation, we’ve been cruising around town looking for the maroon car. It’s easy to slip away when Esau and Taryn and the rest of our friends are so focused on the play.
The cast list went up yesterday, and today is their first meeting with the full cast and crew. Who knows how long they’ll be there reading through the show and talking about first steps. I kind of wish I was there. There’s a part of me that misses being on the crew like I was last semester. It was nice to feel part of something. Plus, joining the drama club as Megan allowed me to make kick-butt friends.
But the larger part of me is so focused on finding out about CuteAshlee that I don’t have the mental space to devote to drama this time around. The last thing I want is to be in the way while Esau and Taryn try to pull together their magnum opus. It’s Esau’s last show before he graduates and goes off to college, and it’s eating at Taryn. She won’t admit it, but she’s going to miss him like crazy.
Part of me wonders if they’ll survive dating long distance while she’s still in high school. Most couples who try don’t make it, do they? Esau is clearly crazy in love with my sister, but he’s so one-track minded that I could see him getting sucked into classes and work at college and forgetting to put the time in with Taryn. Which would piss her off.
Shaking my head, I force myself back to the here and now. After an hour of trawling town, we came to the library to look through the newspaper archives. Noah is pawing through the racks of folded newspapers, antsy to find an unsolved crime that occurred in Hacienda to dig into. His true crime loving brain needs something to puzzle over that is far removed from the real-life story we’re living through.
My head falls back as I surrender my weight to the wall. I’m looking forward to helping Noah since it’ll be completely and one hundred percent unrelated to the crap heap that is my life. Besides being an effective distraction, maybe we’ll be able to help in some small way. Who knows, but Noah thinks it’s worth a shot. Noah is so gentle, considerate and helpful. Truly empathetic. He catches me looking at him and stands a little straighter.
I sigh as Noah assembles a pile of newsprint. “You ready?” He leads through the shelves and stacks to our usual table in the middle of the A-framed space. The stack of papers slides across the table’s surface when he sets it down. I run my fingers over the headlines, wondering where to start looking.
“I need a snack. You want anything?” Noah sees my head shake and walks toward the vending machines.
I sit back in my chair and survey the library. From this table, we can see the front and back doors, the information desk, and out the building’s large windows. Justin is stationed in a chair by the front door, flipping through a cooking magazine he picked up somewhere.
Yep, I have a shadow again. Only this time he’s not in stealth mode. It’s much better this way. I honestly thought he’d put a stop to Noah’s and my tours around town, but he hasn’t said anything. Either he hasn’t realized why we’re cruising Hacienda’s streets, which is unlikely, or he’s okay with it since he’s right behind us for every mile.
A gleeful laugh draws my attention to where a toddler is pulling books off the shelf in the children’s lit area. The tiny cherub’s mom is trying to wrangle two other kids, throwing up her hands when she sees what her toddler is up to. The librarian is shelving books in the history section. Someone left a copy of yesterday’s newspaper on the next table, open to the front page. I can’t read it from my chair, but I don’t need to. The front page story is still fresh in my mind, thanks to Karen’s habit of reading the paper at breakfast.
Journalist Receives Another Copycat Message
I don’t know why they’re calling the message-sender a copycat, because no murders of twin parents have occurred in this entire state since the FBI neutralized Albert Baugh last October. It’s been three months, and twin families up and down the state are breathing easier.
Still, the messages are creepy. If CuteAshleeXOXOXO is behind them, why don’t they send them directly to me via the app? If it isn’t CuteAshlee, who is it? And why are they mimicking a dead serial killer? If the messages aren’t for me, who are they for? The police don’t think the notes are directed at them, but they don’t know for sure.
All Sheriff Lamb has on the sender is questions. The message Viv’s mom got three days ago is no exception.
No one understands your disturbed mind the way I do.
The worst part is that something about it is familiar, but I can’t put my finger on what. Taryn said it’s probably because the phrase is overused in romantic books and movies everywhere, but I don’t think that’s it.
Sliding my phone out of my pocket, I open my social app. Tap on the messages. CuteAshlee hasn’t messaged again since auditions last week. My free hand grazes over the silver bangle on my wrist, knowing that it sends a signal to a corresponding app on Justin’s phone every couple of minutes. If CuteAshlee wanted to scare me, they succeeded. I’ve been on edge all week, wondering if or when they would make a move against Taryn. So far, nothing.
Maybe their only goal was to scare us. If so, mission accomplished.
My finger hovers over the messages between me and the Gemini Killer. Yes, I still have them, even though I haven’t read them since before the trial. My therapist encouraged me to delete them when I’m ready. I can’t do it.
I click. Scroll through without really reading. The amount of stuff I told Albert Baugh makes me squirm. Private, deeply embarrassing secrets. Revealing truths. Worries, fears, the feelings of inadequacy that were my constant companion thanks to my parents fawning over my louder and more assertive sister.
I meant all of it, and he used my emotions to hurt my entire family.
My eyes snag on a familiar word, and I stop. There it is: No one understands your mind the way I do.
A message the Gemini Killer sent me months ago. It matches the murder note Viv’s mom got, almost word for word. How?
It hits me then: the reason for the mugging. They wanted my phone so they could read all of the sordid details. A shudder rips through me. Yet another person is privy to my darkest and most private thoughts. Putting my forehead down over my folded arms, I hide my eyes against my forearm. Someone, please make it stop.
The pop of a chip bag being pried open makes me start.
“Sorry I scared you. There wasn’t much in the vending machine, but I found a couple good snack options. You interested?” Noah slides into the chair across from me and pushes a wrapped cookie in my direction.
Thanking him, I unwrap it and try to eat it. But my stomach is buzzing with the realization about my phone. All I have to do to cut off CuteAshlee 2.0 from access to Albert Baugh’s messages is to delete them.
My finger hovers over the trash can button. It would be so easy. A single, quick press of my finger pad on the screen. But if I do it, I can’t torture myself with the messages late at night when the guilt compresses my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
I can change my password. That should keep them out for a while. Karen is not going to be thrilled.
“Did you know that one summer in the 80s three teenage girls were killed by a fortune teller?”
“Huh?” I mumble, still focused on my phone.
“Yeah. One was killed by bees, one drowned when she crashed into the levee, and a third was buried alive.”
I blink as I try to process what Noah has just said.
“I blindsided you again, haven’t I? Sorry about that. It was just so strange I wanted to share it with you.” Noah sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and bites it, a penitent look in his eyes.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry about it. A fortune teller, huh? That is weird.”
“Yeah. And then a fourth girl disappeared. Most people figured she’d run off to be with her boyfriend.” His finger runs down the page, picking out details and reading out loud.
“I’m not surprised. It’s always the boyfriend, right?”
The tips of Noah’s ears go pink. He swallows. “Good thing we’re not dating. Sheriff Lamb might look at me sideways.”
“Yeah, good thing.” I think I sounded pretty normal for a girl who just lied through my teeth. Our eyes meet as we both fall into a silence that feels pretty darn awkward.
I wish I knew how he felt. If he’d just give me a sign, I’d ask him out. But there’s been nothing. And I’m not willing to blow up our friendship over a one-sided crush. Noah is too important to lose over a romantic rejection. Does it sting sitting across from him, walking to classes together, hanging out at his place, and not being able to be completely honest? Yeah, it does. But being rejected would be worse. So much worse. So I keep my mouth shut.
Justin appears at the end of our table, his hand on his gun holster. His eyes skim over me as he cases the entire library. “We need to go. Come on. Get your stuff. Noah, we’ll see you soon I’m sure.”
“...Okay. Is there something wrong?” Noah’s palms land without a sound on the table top, bracing his upper body half out of his chair.
“Nothing to be concerned about. It’s just time to go.” The tight coil in Justin’s muscles makes me start to shake. He’s lying. Tiny tremors begin in my core and move outward until my fingers are trembling as I attempt to zip up my backpack and stand.
“You ready? Let’s move.” Justin’s hand is still on his holster.
“I’d like to come, if it’s okay. I can help.” Noah stands fully, eyes locked on Justin. Chin lifted slightly.
I don’t move, don’t know if I can. The worried vibes Justin is giving off are freaking me out. I’d rather stay here in the library, where I’m safe. Where being overwhelmed by the words of thousands of authors woven into finely-spun stories is the worst thing I have to worry about.
“I need to get you home.” Finally, Justin’s eyes land on me and everything I see in them makes me want to barf. Care. Concern. Determination. Something is wrong.
Anger rises to combat the helplessness I’ve felt for so long. I am not helpless. I am not a child to be coddled and prodded. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.” Mustering my best glare, I lob it at Justin.
“Not here. Come on.” He pivots away from us.
“No.” I don’t move a muscle other than my mouth.
Noah rounds the table to my side. His pinky wraps around mine. He’s got my back.
The muscles in Justin’s throat tighten. “I’d like to get you home first, so Karen can be involved in this conversation.”
“Give me an overview, then. I refuse to be controlled by fear. Not for one more day.”
Justin inhales deeply, his eyes never stopping their patrol of the library. Briefly, his gaze locks on mine. Square jaw tight. “There’s been another murder, in Arizona. We almost missed it because it wasn’t flagged, but we caught it. Twin parents.”
“A copycat.” My lower lip threatens to tremble, but I bite into it savagely. I’m afraid if I look at Noah I’ll see a curious gleam in his eyes, but when I force myself to peek all I see is sadness. How dare I think he’d be more interested in the copycat than the lives ended today? Shame on me. I wrap my pinky tighter around his.
Someone familiar with the Gemini Killer’s sick MO murdered the parents of twins yesterday, probably for the attention. Someone saw Albert Baugh’s name plastered all over the news and wanted that notoriety for themselves.
My shaking stops as my fists clench.
I’m not out. This isn’t over. But this time, I’m not hiding. I’m going to stop it.
Chapter 8
Day 268, Friday
Taryn
Viv is fitting Marisa and some of the other cast members for their preliminary costumes in the hallway outside the costume closet. The gushing is audible where I’m standing, at center stage, removing some of the pieces of blocking tape Esau laid down at our last rehearsal.
When I asked him about trying the scene we’re working on in a different way—okay, there might have been some unabashed, flirty nagging involved—he was willing, so I got here early to redo it.
Okay, honestly? Technically he didn’t say it was okay. He just didn’t say it wasn’t okay, and I’m taking that as permission. If he hates it, I will personally fix the tape. But he won’t hate it. My idea for the scene is going to kick it up a few notches. I can see it all clear as day in my head.
Strips of black tape make a satisfying squelch as they yield. It creates an oddly shaped blob that sticks to the seating platform when I toss it that way. Justin sits a few rows back, watching a group of the stage crew in a huddle in the corner. Fiona gives out work assignments while Dariel stands by, nodding and pretending he’s co-leader of the crew. He feigns being affronted when Fiona gestures that he should be in the lighting booth, but grins and gets moving. She laughs.
My eyes swivel to my twin sister. Watching Audrey retreat into herself is the worst. I didn’t know how much I was missing her until she appeared in front of me again, smiling in her favorite pair of loved Converse and a hoodie with wolf-eared anime characters on the front. But after weeks of coming out of her shell, being more open about what she wants, she’s retreating again.
Right now, Audrey is tucked into one of the chairs, doing homework. Or she’s supposed to be. Her eyes are glazed as she stares at the seat back in front of her. Problem is, when I bug her about what’s bothering her, she refuses to say. Girl finally admits that she hates the vegan smoothies I’ve been making for us, but she won’t tell me why she looks like a ghost half the time.
I crouch and plant a large blue tape X on the stage’s worn-smooth boards.
The way she scans the headlines in Karen’s paper every morning gives her away. Plus, Audrey’s entire body tenses when a certain alert beeps on her phone. I stole it one day while she was in the bathroom and discovered that she’s set up notifications for any news related to the Gemini Killer or the apparent copycat. That’s when I realized what it was that’s eviscerating Audrey from the inside out.
She’s waiting for another murder. Absolutely sure there will be another. Positive that it will, in some way, be her fault. And yet, seven days have passed since the murder the media is saying was done by a Gemini Killer copycat. There hasn’t been a single additional related incident.
Something twists painfully in my stomach. It feels like we’ve gone back in time, only on this go around I believe my sister when she tells me that someone is taunting her. This time, we’re more prepared. Instead of Justin trying to follow on the sly, he strolls along. It’s a carefully-crafted facade. If danger presents itself, he’ll snap into action.
I sigh, glancing over to where Karen is entering the theater with two steaming coffees. She may look at ease, but I recognize the tight line of her shoulders and the unceasing shift of her eyes as she evaluates the drama room. She looks almost as intense as when Esau tries to kiss me goodnight on our front porch after a date. I won’t lie: it’s a huge pain in the butt. I thought dating with a chaperone was a hundred years out of favor, but here I am—going on dates with my boyfriend and an FBI agent who files any and all PDA under “must express disapproval with a glare that threatens personal bodily harm.”
Which is why I spend all of our drama club meetings flirting shamelessly with Esau. He’d call it arguing, but he loves it. He’ll say something; I contradict it. He glares: I grin. He snakes a hand around my wrist to pull me backstage to argue; I turn it into an impromptu makeout session. We’ve only been busted by Miss Crabtree once.
WORTH. IT.
Because Esau and I both know our playful arguments aren’t really about the blocking or the stage cues or the lighting.
The door swings open again and Noah and Esau come in, chatting as they walk. My boyfriend nods as Noah slides into the row of seats and plops down beside my sister. She jolts, giving the boys a tired smile. Audrey and Noah look so cute together, totally oblivious to the fact that they’re totally in love. Esau made me promise not to meddle, or I would have gently and kindly shoved her into him weeks ago.
Speaking of the devil, he turns toward me and freezes, eyes locked on the tape I’m in the middle of ripping off the stage floor. His gaze slides up to mine and watches as I finish peeling the tape off the wooden planks, grinning widely. Oh yes, this is happening. What are you going to do about it?
My boyfriend’s nostrils flare. He stalks between the rows of chairs, entering the stage area on a prowl until he’s way too close. And also way too far away. His huff is warm over my ear. “What are you doing to the tape I worked so hard on last week?”
“Nothing.”
“Looks like something.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“I’m aware. Take you, for example.”
