Black Raven Inn: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 6) (5 page)

T
he sky was ominous for Taryn’s
first day of work at the Black Raven Inn. As she stepped out of her car and busied herself loading her various lenses into the camera bag, she felt the first fat drop of rain. It was cold on her back and had her shivering.

“Well, dang it.”

Taryn stopped, held her breath, and waited. If the sky was going to open up then she didn’t want to get anything else out and risk damaging it. None of the rain drop’s cousins followed him however, so she exhaled and continued her task.

The red sedan parked next to her contained Aker, her security guard for the next couple of months. Aker was a retired policeman and former marine. He was probably in his mid-sixties but looked forty. When she’d introduced herself and made a joke about finally being successful enough to have a bodyguard, he hadn’t cracked a smile on his hard, lined face. In spite of the gloomy sky and menacing clouds he wore dark sunglasses. She wasn’t entirely sure she could pick him out of a lineup if he turned out to be psychotic.

It was all very Hollywood.

“Wait just a minute,” Aker barked when Taryn started towards the motel’s front door.

He’d been in the middle of unfolding a chair for himself and now he sprinted towards the building, sticking his hand back to hold her off. “I need to re-check the interior and perimeter.”

So Taryn stood in the middle of the empty parking lot, camera slung over her shoulder, and waited. She felt like she was on a crime show, waiting for the Swat team to give an “all clear.”

The boards had been removed and both she and Aker had a master key to all the doors, although he was the only one with one for the gate. Now she waited impatiently as he entered the building, long flashlight raised in his hand, and screened the handful of interior rooms that ran off the lobby. She waited again once he returned and surveyed the front of the building, looking for signs of break-ins and people who weren’t supposed to be there.

“I’d say you’re safe to go,” he declared as he stalked back to her, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Do we have to do this
every
time?” Taryn asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Aker replied, the clouds reflecting in his shades. “You never know who’s going to be here that isn’t meant to be.”

Taryn offered a half-hearted “thanks” and then headed towards the entrance again, Aker’s eyes boring into her back. When she neared the door she turned and looked back. He was busy setting up his folding chair again. She guessed he intended to camp out right there with her as long as she was working. It was a little weird but what could she do about it? She had worked in stranger situations.

At least it wasn’t a gaggle of little old women, sitting in a row of lounge chairs sipping on martinis while they watched her paint the country club. (True story.)

The lobby door still had all its glass, which was more than could be said for the windows surrounding it, so Taryn opened it and stepped inside as though she were a guest checking in.

The “lobby” was a grotesque ghost town. It always surprised Taryn at how some empty buildings looked as though everyone just got up one day and walked out, leaving everything behind.

The Black Raven Inn’s lobby was no exception. There were still papers on the desk, keys to most of the rooms dangling from hooks in the wall, and even outdated computer equipment hiding under multiple layers of dust.

Between the dark sky, awning, and the fact that there were only two windows to begin with, the room was so dim it was hard for Taryn to see anything. Soda cans and food wrappers littered the floor and she found herself treading over these gingerly, mindful of stepping in something she might not be able to get off her shoes later. Or
on
something that moved and squeaked.

The “lobby” was nothing more than a room big enough to hold three metal chairs, a desk she could barely see over the top of, a small table that held an ancient coffee maker and a coat rack.

Oddly enough, the coat rack still sported a dark-colored man’s wool coat. It was impossible to tell if it was black or navy blue yet it hung there, neatly, among the disorder that surrounded it as though the original owner was still planning on returning for it.

The coat, waiting for someone who was never coming back, tugged at something in Taryn. She found it both incredibly sad and a little creepy. It was a sign that the world moved on, sometimes when life itself didn’t.

Taryn turned Miss Dixie on and took a shot of the coat rack. The room suddenly lit up with artificial light, making it even spookier and sadder.

Ruby had told her that the electricity was working but when Taryn flipped the switch on the wall nothing happened. An empty bulb socket above her revealed the reason why.

“I’ll tell her about that,” Taryn said loudly, her voice booming in the small, quiet space.

For now, she whipped out her cell phone and turned on the flashlight app to light her way.

A short hallway ran off from behind the desk and she followed it, now a little relieved that Aker had gone in before her and checked things out.

“He might come in handy after all,” Taryn mumbled.

The first door she came to was closed and Taryn used her free hand to push it open. She was promptly met by a collection of mops and brooms, all of which threatened to fall out and attack her in one fell swoop.

“Shit!” she cried as she juggled the cleaning equipment and her phone and attempted to corral them back into the tiny space. Apparently, Aker had either not checked that room or had stuffed everything back in the way he found it.

The second door was open about six inches. She gave this one a push with her foot, ready to tackle anything that might want to jump or fall out on her.

It was just a break room.

A large table with peeling Formica set in the middle of the room, taking up most of the space. There were coffee mugs on it, some of which looked to still contain dregs that had rotted over time.

The vibrations of her feet padding across the floor sent bugs scurrying out from every corner, frantically trying to make their escape as they ran every which way in panic, some scrambling on top of one another in their haste.

Taryn, who was not particularly squeamish but still not a fan of ugly bugs, jumped aside and did a little dance over the offending insects as they headed straight towards her and the open door to freedom.

The break room was gloomy but she supposed it had done the trick at one time. In addition to the table, nearly hidden under the garbage and even a few needles (she didn’t want to think about
those
), there was a twin-sized bed pushed up against the wall. The mattress was lumpy, dirty, and sagged in the middle. A big dark stain was smeared across the middle. Blood maybe? Taryn didn’t want to think about
that,
either.

Against the other side of the wall was a dated, brown, rusted refrigerator. “No way on God’s green Earth,” she muttered as she turned away from it. Nothing would have her opening it to see what kind of hell lived inside.

She’d just pretend it didn’t exist.

“I have a feeling I’ll be thinking that a lot about this place.”

Still, Taryn had a job to do. She spent several minutes taking shots around the room, making sure to get the generic motivational nature posters, slightly discolored from the sunlight, dust, and cigarette smoke. She took pictures from several angles of the room using her wide-angle lens to get the space in its entirety. Then she turned to the windows and took shots of them from the bottom and sides.

Lastly, although she wouldn’t use them for the paintings, she took pictures of the horrific mattress with its fear-provoking stain, the filthy table with its collection of unmentionables, and even a line of what
had
to be roaches marching in an orderly single file line to the door.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Taryn declared, hand on hip. “I don’t mind abandoned. In fact, I
like
it. I don’t mind dingy. That has its own kind of charm. But I don’t do nasty. And this is just
nasty
.”

She couldn’t imagine Ruby Jane sauntering through the revolting floor in her expensive shoes, with the scent of decrepit neglect and what, to Taryn, smelled like the hint of feces, clinging to her willowy frame and beautiful hair.

But, hell. She didn’t really know Ruby at all, no matter how many interviews she’d read or how often she listened to her albums. Taryn had to keep reminding herself that just because she grew up with Ruby’s music didn’t mean Ruby had grown up with
her
.

Maybe this
was
Ruby’s kind of thing.

Taryn
spent
the rest of the dreary morning wandering around the mote’s boundaries, taking pictures of the doors, interior courtyard (all the rooms had back doors that opened up to a common outdoor area, complete with fire pit and picnic tables), and whatever outside furniture was left behind and not hauled off by looters.

Aker always kept his eyes on her when she was within his vision; she could feel them watching, even though she had her back to him and he pretended to flip through a stack of magazines he’d stacked neatly on a cooler by his feet.

“You okay over there?” she called out once.

He’d grunted in response and waved her off with a meaty right hand.

It was clear to Taryn that he could care less about her; he was simply hired by someone with a lot of money and his job was to keep
that
client happy and satisfied. Taryn was a necessary evil.

She briefly wondered what he kept inside that cooler of his. Surely not beer. He appeared to take his job far too seriously for that. Mineral water? Nah, not manly enough. Probably some kind of protein drink that came in a powder pack he had to mix up. Something with the picture of an iron fist on the packaging. Or a snake.

By noon the sky was black and Taryn could see the lightning flashes to the west. There was a terrible storm coming and she was about to be in the middle of it. The lighting was getting bad already; she might as well pack it in for evening. It would take an extensive amount of editing on what she’d already taken to make them presentable. That wasn’t something Taryn would normally worry about, but now that she knew Ruby wanted copies, the pressure of quality fell upon her.

Still, even as she felt the first few experimental rain drops fall lightly on her frizzy head, she found herself stopping in front of Room #5.

The tarnished brass room number had come unhinged by a screw and dangled upside down. The doorknob had been brass at some point, but years of grubby hands had faded it and rubbed off some of the finishing. The once bright blue door was dingy and dirty, streaked with mud and what looked to Taryn like feces. The door had been kicked in at the bottom, the wood splintered and scruffy.

Someone had taken a black spray paint can and written “Peace” at the top. Only they’d apparently ran out of paint there at the end so it really read “Peac.” Someone else had attempted to paint a red heart inside a neon green guitar around the room number but the green paint, over the blue, got lost. The color reminded Taryn of bile, the kind she saw when she’d been vomiting for awhile and had nothing left in her stomach but acid.

To the right of the room was a window. With the plywood barrier removed, she was able to see the glass, boldly intact. The tattered lace curtains that hung limply inside were surprisingly feminine for such a place; the holes in the fabric looked like they’d been made by cigarettes and moths.

As she gazed at their delicateness in a sea of hostility and deterioration, she thought she saw one of them flutter, a slight movement that had her catching her breath a little.

“Closer,” a voice whispered provokingly. “
Please
.”

Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she looked back at Aker. He was in his chair, a book in his hand. He could have been reading or napping; it was hard to tell behind those dark sunglasses. He didn’t appear to be watching her, though.

He certainly hadn’t whispered to her.

Taryn reached her hand out towards the door, fingers trembling a little. When her fingers touched the cold, hard knob, an electric jolt flashed through her. The blue spark that shot out from the door flashed in front of her just as a fat raindrop landed on her nose. Both had Taryn jumping back onto the sidewalk, clutching Miss Dixie for comfort.

“Oh, come on,” she laughed nervously. “It’s just static from the weather.”

Yet from the corner of her eye she saw the hint of movement in the window again; the curtains
were
moving. It wasn’t her imagination.

And she hadn’t imagined the voice. Something was inside that room.

Taryn stood as still as she could and watched the door and window.
He
had died on the other side of that wall, Ruby Jane’s band mate and, by most accounts, her lover. A heroin overdose.

When the motel was still open and operating, musicians and devotees had flocked to the room and made a virtual shrine of it, leaving behind guitar picks and song lyrics they’d composed themselves in honor of his untimely death.

Many claimed his ghost still lived in the small room, forever trapped within the four inauspicious walls.

Taryn would have to go inside sooner or later. Her curiosity would eventually get the best of her, not to mention the fact that Ruby had specifically asked for a painting of the interior.

She’d save the exploration for another day, however. If Parker Brown’s ghost was indeed living within Room #5, then she’d meet him eventually.

She always did.