Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) by Emily Kazmierski

Author:Emily Kazmierski [Kazmierski, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emily Kazmierski
Published: 2021-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Day 136, Wednesday

After my parents were murdered, I never thought I’d be in the right headspace to try growing orchids again. I stalled, all growth stunted by the grisly images that filter through my mind every other second of every day. But as day after day passes, I think about the blood, the screaming, less. Not never, just less. The worst part is no longer the mental picture of my parents’ bodies sprawled on the floor in pools of their own blood, but the guilt. The knowledge that I could have stopped it.

Or that my body should have been crumpled and broken on the ground beside them.

That buzzing in my fingers has returned. The desire to touch something green and watch it grow under my tender, careful care. I’m blaming it on Noah’s optimism and strolling between field after field of growing pumpkins on Sunday. Amid all those signs of life, how can I not want to be a part of it?

Aunt Karen said there were grow lights in the garage.

My head cocks to the side as I unlock the door leading into the unfinished room, wondering what other junk the previous occupants abandoned.

Shelving lines three of the walls, boxes in tall, rickety stacks. Their labels are almost indecipherable. It doesn’t matter, though. On the bottom shelf in the corner are the grow lights. They’re huge, long and industrial. Whoever was using these was serious about their weed. I sniff, trying to detect the smell of pot, but all I get is must. Damp cardboard. It’s been so long all traces are gone.

I draw up short. After a time, are all traces of my parents going to disappear from my life? Already my memories of them are growing softer, their edges blurry. I press my eyes closed, trying to picture them. I let out a relieved breath when they materialize in my mind, reading companionably on the couch after I’d headed to my room for the night.

Running my fingers along one of the long industrial lights, I shake my head. These fixtures are way too big to use in my bedroom. Maybe Aunt Karen will let me grow a couple of plants in the east-facing window in the kitchen instead. Small ones with bright blooms.

In the house a door shuts, making me jolt against the nearest shelving unit. On the bottom shelf, a large manila envelope slides out of a half-closed box and onto the concrete floor at my feet. Bending down, I pick it up. Peek inside.

My eyes expand as my heart thuds against my ribs. What the hell? Trembling fingers make the image shake even as I try to absorb what I find. It’s a photograph of me talking to Esau, sitting on his truck’s tailgate. The same photo that was on Justin’s murder board in his house.

Tremors cut through me as I dump out the items in the envelope. A gasp tears from my mouth when I see the contents—photos, articles, maps. All of the bits and pieces from Justin’s stalker board are here, stuffed into a box in Aunt Karen’s garage.

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