Done thinking, I snatched my hoodie and tugged it on over my head. Grabbing my keys and my cell phone, I left the house.
I’d done an incredible amount of stupid things in my life. Petting the baby opossum was one of them, walking out in front of the MAC truck was another. I’d even gotten pissy once about the pirating of books and had posted this manifesto on my blog that hardly made any sense.
This, though, probably topped the list.
But as I hit the highway, hands clenching the steering wheel, I was a much different person now. I could kick major ass if need be, and I wouldn’t let Blake get away with this.
I parked my car two roads down from where Vaughn lived and stepped out into the frigid air that smelled of snow. Tugging the hood up over my head, I shoved my hands into the middle pocket and hoofed it back toward Vaughn’s house. The irony of bitching out Daemon due to his lack of plans didn’t pass me by, but now I understood that sometimes certain situations called for well-thought-out stupidity.
This was one of them.
Vaughn’s house looked empty as I approached from the rear. Luckily, the two houses closest to his were spaced out. One had a foreclosure sign, and the other was just as dark. Little flakes of snow started to fall as I crept around to the front. My breath came out in puffs, hanging in the air like clouds.
The driveway was empty.
Knowing that didn’t mean the house was completely devoid of people, I debated what to do. I didn’t come all the way here to stare at the outside of the house. I wanted in there. I wanted to find evidence linking Blake to Vaughn, and I wanted to see if there was anything on the location of Dawson and Bethany.
I went to the back of the house and tried the door. It was locked as expected, but I remembered both Daemon and Blake mentioning how easy locks were to manipulate. It should be a piece of cake.
An alarm system would be a whole different story.
Pressing against the door, I closed my eyes and pictured the lock. The rush of static crept down my arms, jumping from the tips of my fingers through the wood. The click of the lock turning sounded like a nuclear bomb going off in my head.
I took a moment to prepare myself for what could be waiting on the other side of the door. If someone were in there, I’d have to defend myself. The idea of hurting someone, possibly killing him or her, sickened me, but I knew whoever it was wouldn’t stop twice from locking me up in a cage.
Telling myself I could do this, I opened the door and slowly stepped into the kitchen. A light was on above the stove, casting the room in soft light. I shut the door behind me and drew in a deep breath. This is insane. I crept forward, grateful for the thin soles on my boots.
Timid Katy no more…I’d moved onto good old B&E.
Balling my hands up under the sleeves of my hoodie, I moved down the hallway. The dining room was empty with the exception of a rolled-up sleeping bag on the floor. Two couches were pressed against the wall in the living room. There wasn’t a TV. It reminded me of a model home where everything was fake.
It gave me the creeps.
Holding a breath, I went upstairs slowly. Nothing about this house seemed real. It had no homey smells like leftover food or perfume. It smelled vacant. At the top of the stairs, there was a bathroom that had clearly been in use. There were hair products on the sink—gel and two toothbrushes.
My stomach tightened as I left the bathroom. All the bedroom doors were open. Each of them just had a bed and a dresser. All were empty.
The last room at the end of the hall was an office of sorts. A large desk sat in the middle of the otherwise empty room. There was a monitor on the top, but no hard drive. Moving around the desk, I pulled out the center drawer. Nothing. I checked the side drawers, becoming frustrated when they were all empty. I yanked open the last one.
“Jackpot,” I whispered.
I pulled out a file folder that was thick and heavy at the bottom. Lifting the file out carefully, I laid it on the desk and flipped it opened. There were pictures, hundreds of pictures.
My hands shook as I went through them. A buzzing filled my ears as I turned over picture after picture.
One of me walking from my car to the front of school in short sleeves. There were several from outside the Smoke Hole Diner, and I could just make out Dee and me sitting in front of the window, then one of us walking out the door, my arm in a splint and Dee laughing. Several more photos showed us together, at school, on my front porch, and in her car. There was one of us hugging in front of the FOOLAND, the first day I’d met her.
Then there were pictures of Daemon, eyes narrowed and face drawn tight as he was snapped walking around his SUV, keys clenched in his hand. Another was him standing on his porch, shirtless and in jeans, with me on his steps, glaring at him.
I picked up one, holding it in the light that came through the window. I was in my red two-piece bathing suit, standing on the bank of the lake. I’d been looking off to the side, and Daemon had been watching me, smiling—really smiling—unbeknownst to me. I hadn’t known he ever smiled around me at that time.
I dropped the picture as if it burned my skin. And it did on a surreal level.
There were more. Photos chronicling from the time I arrived in this place up until a few days ago. There were pictures of my mom heading to work, some with her and Will. There were no pictures of Blake and me together.
But the worst picture, the one that almost dropped me to my knees was one of Daemon carrying me back from the lake the night I’d been sick. The photo was dark and grainy, but I could make out the white sleep shirt, the way my arm hung limp, the look of pure concentration on Daemon’s face as he had one foot on the porch step.