Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) Emily Kazmierski (ereader that reads to you TXT) 📖

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I meet her eyes. “I’ve never been more ready.” It’s definitely a lie.

Chapter 17

Day 127, Monday

Noah meets me outside my seventh period class. “I thought we could go straight over to the library from here, if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” I say, steeling myself. I know what I have to do. It’s a matter of self-preservation. Aunt Karen won’t let me go gallivanting around in search of a killer, but I can still do some digging. Plus, I have to keep tabs on Noah’s research to make sure he doesn’t find out. And he would never understand. He’s too honest, too good to understand. He’d never look at me the way he does, with his warm brown eyes shining behind his black plastic frames.

We cross campus, walking through the football field and out the back gate in a clump of students. Most leave through the parking lot, but those who don’t have cars often leave this way to avoid the crush of traffic at the front gate. Even from this distance the honking and shouting coming from the lot are clear.

I’m relieved to be with Noah this afternoon. Friday afternoon Aunt Karen couldn’t pick me up, she was held up at the grocery store, so Justin drove me home. It was all kinds of awkward. But somehow not bad. It was way better than walking home alone. There was no feeling like someone was following me, even though I know someone is. The notes alone are proof that the Mayday Killer is either here, biding his time, or has a lackey he’s using to scare me. There’s someone in this town tracking my movements. I’m not just another small town teenager heading home from a day of mind-numbing classes.

Today, Noah and I walk through downtown. “You interested in a milkshake before we hit the books?”

I chew on my lip, worried he’ll take it the wrong way if I agree. I’ve felt a little bad for turning him down ever since he asked me out a couple weeks ago, but Noah hasn’t brought it up again. He also hasn’t done anything that makes me think he’s bummed about it either. It must not have been a big deal to him. Maybe he just wanted something to do on a Friday night. Besides, it’s stupid hot out here, and a milkshake sounds divine.

“Sure, I could go for one.”

“Excellent.” He holds the door open and gestures for me to lead the way inside.

My stomach gives a tiny flutter at the attention, but I ignore it. It doesn’t mean anything when Noah offers to pay for my milkshake, and I decline.

Twenty minutes later we step outside onto the sidewalk, me sipping on a chocolate peanut butter shake and him drinking a root beer flavored one. We chat about anime all the way to the library, arguing good-naturedly about which ones are the absolute best. We laugh as we stumble into the brick building, sighing at the relief of the cool air.

“Man, I love this place,” Noah says as we make our way to the back to the table where we usually sit. “It’s so quiet, unlike at home.”

“Who’s home with Anza and Mattie this afternoon?”

“Mom’s off today. I think she needed a mental health day, you know?”

I can only imagine how difficult Mrs. Lopez’s job as a nurse in a local elderly facility is every day. I’m familiar with the concept of taking a mental/emotional rest. I could use one myself, but as Noah pulls a stack of papers out of his backpack after scanning the area to make sure we’re alone, I know today is not that day.

The top page is a crime scene photo on a plain paper with a printer low on colored ink. The image is in black and white, but it doesn’t lessen the impact of seeing a pair of bodies slouched forward on a couch, their throats slit.

My stomach revolts and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Crap, sorry. I forgot to warn you.” There’s a shuffle of papers. “It’s okay to look now.”

When I open my eyes, the crime scene photos are gone. An apologetic smile from Noah doesn’t make me feel any better.

“Sorry about that. I haven’t had a chance to look at any of this yet. I kind of wanted to wait until you were with me. I hope that’s not weird.”

“Not weird.” My stomach disagrees with a gurgle.

Noah takes another sip of his shake, his eyes still on my face. Then he slides some papers across the slick tabletop toward me. “Why don’t you start with this list of survivors? Do some googling and see if you can find any connections between them that the police might have missed.”

“I doubt they missed anything,” I say, but take the sheets. My perusal of the alphabetized list is both agonizingly slow and as fast as I can force it. I can’t get past a deep sadness for each name on the list. The person behind it whose life is irreversibly changed. Kate and Nate Anderson are not yet on the list.

“Find anything interesting?”

I shake my head.

“It’s just, you’ve been staring at that one page for five minutes.”

I push my gaze up to his. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

“I get that. Want to look at something else for a bit? I can trade you.”

“No,” I say too quickly. My fingers tighten on the papers in my hand. “This is interesting.”

After a beat, Noah goes back to scanning the rest of the file.

I wait until I’m sure he’s not paying any attention before I look down at the papers in my lap. At the top of the final page is one single name printed by itself. Clenching my teeth and breathing deeply through my nose to calm the quaking in my stomach, I silently fold the paper in half and tuck it under my butt. Then I throw myself into the rest of