Don't Look Back(21)

and grabbed my bag. “I have to go,” I rasped.

“Sam.” Scott stood.

I hurried away from the table. A confused Del reached for

me, but I dodged him. Out in the hallway, I started running

and I didn’t stop as I pushed open the doors leading outside. My

feet slapped off the concrete and then the asphalt. Reaching my

brother’s car, I dropped down beside it and pulled my knees up

to my chest, dragging in air in painful gulps.

Now I understood what everyone had warned me about—it

was all too much.

Mom picked me up from school early. The ride home was tense, and I kept getting the impression that she wanted to say something but didn’t know what. And honestly, what could she say? Something like this couldn’t be fixed with a few simple words.

“Honey,” she said when we pulled into the driveway. “There’s a doctor your father knows—”

“What kind of doctor?” I twisted toward her, clutching my bag.

She grimaced as she killed the engine. “He’s a psychologist.”

Anger and embarrassment warred inside me. I should’ve never told her what had happened over the phone. “I’m not crazy.”

“Honey, I’m not saying you’re... crazy.” She looked at me, her smile pained. “But you said you saw Cassie in the lunchroom and—”

“That doesn’t mean I have to see a therapist. You already have me seeing the guidance counselor.” I climbed out of the car, slamming the door. “I don’t want to see a therapist.”

“You might not have a choice,” she said quietly.

I whipped around, and the next words came from a place hidden deep inside me. “What would your friends think, Mom? Having a daughter who needs to see a therapist?”

Mom blanched. “The same thing they thought when my daughter got drunk and drove her brand-new car into a tree. Or when my daughter was in those pictures for everyone to see! Or when—”

“Wait. What pictures?”

She gave me a pointed look, one that said she wouldn’t disgrace herself by repeating what those pictures were.

“What pictures?” I screamed.

Mom didn’t answer.

The moment we stepped inside the house, she went straight to the liquor cabinet and poured herself bourbon. She downed it in one gulp and then poured another. “Honey, I want you to get better. Not because of what my friends think, but because you are my daughter. Seeing a therapist isn’t—”

“No,” I cut her off. “I’m not going to a therapist.”

She looked away, taking a healthy drink of the bourbon. I left the room, having nothing else to say.

I spent a couple of hours in my bedroom, pacing back and forth. Every so often, I stopped and looked at the music box and then at Cassie’s picture. When I heard the garage door open, I panicked. I didn’t want to be in the same house with the woman I was driving to drink and the brother who surely thought I was crazy. Slipping out the back door, I started walking beyond the pool and the little bungalow surrounded by trees. A man was working on them, carrying thick branches to the back of a pickup truck. Sweat glistened off his dark skin.

He didn’t even look up. I was invisible to him, and I liked that.

Moving toward the end of the property, I climbed over a stone wall surrounding the yard. There was a path carved through the grass and rocky soil, splitting between trees. Up ahead was a tree house built into a large maple.

I stopped under it, wondering if my subconscious had led me here. There had to be a reason why I found this.

There wasn’t anything special about the tree house. It was more like a hut in a tree, with an open side that allowed you to look out over the grounds. It took several tries to get into the main part. From there, I crawled through a small opening and into a space big enough for me to lie down in but not stand. I seriously hoped the wood wasn’t rotten.

A cool breeze picked up a few strands of my hair, tossing them across my face. I shivered and hunkered down in my sweater.

I’m not crazy.

Didn’t Mrs. Messer say that the memories could come back in the form of disjointed images? Images that screamed at me— that bled? A horrible thought struck me. What if the image of Cassie bleeding had been a recollection of something I saw that night? But why would she yell those things at me? There was no answer to that, because I didn’t know what my life was like before Wednesday. And then there were the two notes. The last one talked about blood ... and then I saw a bleeding Cassie? I knew the notes weren’t imaginary. Scott had read one. Someone had to be placing them there. To scare me? To warn me?

What pictures?

Surrounded by birds chirping and the dragging swoosh of bare branches rubbing together, I realized another terrible thing. Missing best friend or not, I didn’t want any part of my old life back. I didn’t want to remember the terrible things I’d said and done, but I suppose it didn’t matter. Even if I couldn’t remember who I was, everyone else would never forget. No matter how badly I wanted to ignore the person I used to be, I couldn’t escape a past I didn’t remember.

I must’ve been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized someone had joined me in the little tree hut until I heard the wood creak and groan behind me.

My heart jumped in my throat, then skipped a beat when I turned and saw him sit down beside me. “Carson?”