Dark Hollow Road (Taryn's Camera Book 3) (12 page)

T
aryn hadn’t planned on being alone in the total darkness as she drove back out to the house. While Emma’s apartment was only a twenty minute drive away, the long driveway that separated the house from the rest of the outside world felt like a dark tunnel, channeling Taryn to another realm. The tall pines on either side reached up to the black sky, menacing now, shading the road from the glare of the moon and stars. She drove with her brights on, but still had trouble seeing more than a few feet ahead.

The normally soothing sounds of the Emmylou Harris CD she had pushed into the player now sounded eerie, a forbidding backdrop to the shadowy road and almost perfect stillness. She had to turn the song when “Love Hurts” came on, the almost dragging sound of her voice intertwined around the now-deceased Graham Parsons was just too much. Taryn slowed down to a crawl and poked around in the passenger seat for something else. A collection of Bryan Adams’ hits might have been a little cheesy, but it was hard to feel frightened when “Summer of ‘69” was blaring through the speakers.

“Well, that’s better,” she mumbled to herself. Taryn had no problems talking to herself when she was alone. One day she’d probably be the crazy cat lady with the lavender-painted house and garden gnomes lining the walkway but for now she figured it was okay.

The night was cold so she’d cranked up the heater. The coldness made her joints hurt worse than usual, and she couldn’t help but think about her grandmother; she’d always complained of arthritis in her knees and hips. “I’m getting older every second,” Taryn sighed. “Pretty soon I’ll be adding Vic’s salve and support hose to the shopping cart.”

She felt a sigh of relief when the road opened up to the meadow where the house sat, but then rolled her eyes when she realized it was as dark as a dungeon–she’d forgotten to leave a light on. “I’ll be damned,” she muttered, opening the car door to the wind and cold.

Running in an attempt to hold onto the heat of the car, she bounded onto the porch, trying not to think about the fact that when she got the door opened she’d be stepping foot inside a dark house.

When she placed her hand on the knob, though, and tried to turn it she remembered that she’d locked it behind her when she left. Still muttering to herself, she rummaged through her coat pocket, the cold leaving her fingers stiff and numb.

Taryn had just fished the key out and was inserting it into the slot when the wind unexpectedly died down and the other sound began to build. It was subtle at first, a whisper, but it had her stopping in her tracks, the key left dangling loosely in the door. Then the whimper was all around her, a sound of helplessness. It encircled her like the wind, growing louder and louder. Taryn felt it in her feet, in her hands, prickling at her brain. As it began to build in volume, so it grew in distress. It was no longer a whimper now, but a cry of terror.

Taryn turned in circles on the porch, her hands over her ears trying to block the horrible noise out, but could see nothing. She watched in shock as the keys shook on their chain and the windows rattled in their frames. The black night was a curtain and even the moon had slipped behind a cloud, leaving her completely alone with the horror unfolding around her. Taryn was at the center of a vortex, surrounded by a sound of incalculable fear she’d never felt herself. “Please stop, please stop, please stop,” she chanted, but her words were lost, consumed by the night.

And as quickly as it started it stopped. There was nothing; the night air was quiet again, with only the sounds of Taryn’s labored breathing breaking up the silence. She kept her hands over her ears, forgetting they were there. The moon and stars reemerged and shone down, illuminating the walkway and part of the porch. She took a tentative step, back towards the door and nothing happened. Now, more quickly, she scurried forward and began turning the key again.

But that was when she felt it.

With every instinct she had she
knew
there was something behind her, maybe only a few feet away. The key was stuck, probably from the rattling. As she began working faster to dislodge it, she could feel whatever it was moving closer and closer to her, an icy arm reaching out for her. A strand of her hair might have moved, tugged on, brushed aside. Drops of dirt fell at her feet. The breathing on her neck was cold, sour, and reminded her of throwing up after one too many cocktails. The scent lingered on Taryn, threatening to sink down into her skin and stay.

Taryn’s blood ran cold, her fear mounting as she fumbled with the door and lock. The fear started at the top of her head and quickly moved down to her hands and then feet as the eyes she knew were not far behind bore into her. There was a hitch of someone else’s breath and then, finally, with one frantic shove, she opened the door and stumbled into the house, slamming the door to whatever was waiting for her on the porch.

M
att had been gone for four days and Taryn barely slept a wink because of it. It was nearly impossible for her to sleep at night so she’d taken to dozing during the day and then staying up during the night, editing photos and watching infomercials (thank goodness she was currently broke or else she’d been ordering everything she saw). The few times she
had
drifted off she’d gone straight into terrible nightmares, despite the fact she still wore her grandmother’s ring. Even awake she listened to every little creak and groan the house made. And it made a lot. The night before she’d been sure she heard laughter upstairs, followed by footsteps in the kitchen. Cellphone in hand, she’d stalked the sources of the sounds and even called out in an attempt to communicate, but received nothing. It had her on edge and was enough to drive anyone insane.

Still, when Matt called she refrained from telling him about what had transpired on the porch; after all, he was working on something important and didn’t need to be distracted. She could figure this out on her own.

She’d worked in haunted houses before. Few things would ever be as scary as Windwood Farm, or as troubling as Griffith Tavern. But this felt different. In hindsight, Permelia’s ghost at Griffith Tavern was trying to give her clues and point her in a direction. And she wasn’t completely certain that what she’d seen, felt, and heard at Windwood was really ghosts at work or just leftover energy. This, though.
This
felt pointed. Whatever was going on outside was being directed at her. It was
aware
. Proactive. And she had no idea what it wanted, although she could take a few guesses.

Despite the warm autumn sun pouring through the windows, Taryn wrapped herself up tighter in her fluffy bathrobe. Matt would be back soon and then at least she’d be able to sleep through the night again. And she’d definitely eat better. Without him there she’d resorted to pasta meals and takeout. And by “pasta meals” she wasn’t talking about penne with sundried tomatoes and a white wine sauce. It was more along the lines of macaroni and cheese.

When she wasn’t preparing for class, trying to sleep, or editing her photos she was busy trying to organize her thoughts about Cheyenne’s disappearance. She’d made notes, jotted down questions to ask Emma, and gone back over her pictures a dozen times. She didn’t feel like she was closer to achieving any answers.

But she was almost positive she was being haunted by the missing girl.

It had been so long since Taryn paid for gas inside rather than at the pump that she almost found the act charming. Almost. It would’ve been more so if sleet hadn’t been coming down in angles, stabbing her from all directions. She’d forgotten to fill the rental car up, again, and couldn’t make it all the way to the college. Instead, she’d had to stop at the gas station on the outskirts–that one hadn’t yet upgraded to “pay at the pump” status but still served biscuits and gravy inside for $2.99.

Before she paid she wandered around and picked up a few essentials for her drive into class and back: a couple of candy bars, a Mountain Dew, and some stomach acid tablets since she was pretty sure she was rotting her lining out with all the junk she’d been eating.

The overweight, frizzy-haired woman at the counter paid her no mind as she bagged up her items. Instead, her face was turned away, her eyes glued to something that was going on outside. “Six dollars and seventy-three cents,” she announced vaguely, quickly glancing down at Taryn’s card before looking back outside again.

“And thirty in gas?” Taryn supplied helpfully.

“Oh, yeah. My mind’s somewhere else,” she offered as an apology.

“Is everything okay?”

“Just watching,” she murmured.

Now Taryn’s eyes were peeled to the window, too. A stocky man with a blond crewcut and goatee was kneeling by his truck pumping air in his rear right tire. Colorful tattoos ran up his arm and disappeared under the sleeve of his white T-shirt. He didn’t seem to be doing anything to warrant such careful observation. When he was finished, he jumped back up into his truck and peeled out of the gas station, black smoke billowing behind him.

Taryn was still waiting for her card when the cashier finally gave her a full inspection. “That was Travis Marcum. He doesn’t get out much, but I like to keep my eye out for when he does. You just can’t trust someone like that.”

Wanting to pry so badly, and yet feeling the need for decorum, Taryn walked a tightrope between manners and curiosity. “Is he the guy who…”

The cashier nodded with such vigor that her glasses almost fell off the end of her nose. She used one finger to push them back up and the other to punch in digits on the credit card machine. “Yep, that’s him. Everyone knows he killed Cheyenne Willoughby, or at least helped hide the body.”

Travis Marcum, Taryn rolled the name around in her mind. That would be the older friend Cheyenne was last seen with.

“So did you know Cheyenne?”

Obviously pleased with the idea of being important enough to share information with, the cashier leaned forward and stage whispered. “Known her since she was a little thing. And one day law enforcement will have everything they need and give that no-good account a ride in the electric chair!”

Dang
, Taryn thought,
talk about the night the lights went out in Georgia
. (Although she didn’t think Georgia used old sparky anymore.)

“So what’s Travis doing now?” she asked, hoping for more information.

“Nothing,” the cashier sniffed. “Nobody around here with any sense will hire him. He lost his job driving the fork lift over at the speaker factory, and I reckon his parents keep him up now. He moved back home.”

“So you probably know everyone around here,” Taryn prodded.

“Yeah, mostly. The town’s not the same as it was when I was growing up, that’s for sure, but it’s still small. Better when the college clears out. A bunch of prissy tree huggers who think they know more than anyone else. Asking for a Starbucks to come in here and complaining there isn’t a decent place to buy groceries-like the Wal-Mart isn’t good enough for them.”

Taryn nodded her head in what she hoped resembled commiseration, despite the fact Matt had also pined for those very same things.

“It’s a pretty place, though,” Taryn smiled. “I like a small town.”

“Yeah, well,” she sniffed. “It will be a lot better when certain people are locked up where they belong. At least we’ll know the streets are safe again.”

“
I
didn’t get everything wrapped up here like I thought I would,” Matt apologized. His voice was muffled and she suspected he was on the other side of room, shouting back at her. It made her want to shout back.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” She hoped she sounded more lighthearted than she felt. “I taught today and have tomorrow off. Then there’s the weekend. How’s it going?”

“Oh, I got to train a new group of student interns today. They all called me ‘Professor’ or ‘Mister.’ One of those was wrong and the other just made me feel old. You?”

“Not much. Just been working on some things here at the house.” Of course, she couldn’t possibly tell him she spent most of the daylight hours sleeping because she was too scared when it was dark. He wouldn’t have made fun of her, but he probably would’ve been back on the road and home in time for a midnight snack at the very least.

“Any new break-throughs?”

“No, but I
did
see the guy they said was the last one with her. I mean, I didn’t
meet
him or anything. I saw him from a gas station window.”

“Oh yeah? What’s he like?”

Taryn smirked. “A little bit like Apple Valley’s very own Boo Radley. He looked harmless enough, but I think if the cashier could’ve called the police she would have. You could tell she was looking for a reason.”

“Listen, I want you to be really careful,” Matt ordered, worry edging his voice. “I didn’t like leaving you there alone, and you really don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Taryn tried her best to sound casual. “Remember, I’ve been on my own for a while, and this isn’t my first rodeo with the strange and unusual.”

“Yeah, but it’s different this time. This time around all the key players are still alive. And we don’t know what happened to Cheyenne. If someone hurt her, they could very well go after someone else next. Say, a pretty redhead who asks too many questions…”

Although she could hear a smile on Matt’s lips, she knew he was anxious to get back. And she also knew he was right. This was the first mystery she’d ever been actively involved in. After all, this one had actually sought her out and brought her there. Some people might not take that lightly.

E
mma picked Taryn up at noon, only about thirty minutes after she’d gotten up and thrown some clothes on. Taryn had stayed up late the night before, supposedly working but really watching a
Friends
marathon, and hadn’t passed out until after daybreak. She’d nearly forgotten about Emma’s email and invitation for lunch.

When the maroon Chevy pulled into the driveway Taryn pulled on a Vanderbilt University hoodie, grabbed her knapsack, and pulled the door to behind her. At the last second she decided to lock it. She and Matt didn’t normally lock it behind them, but coming back to a house that had remained open all day didn’t seem prudent anymore when she was there alone. Of course, it might have come in handy to have it unlocked a few nights ago…

Lindy was riding shotgun, a baseball cap perched on her head, her long hair streaming in a ponytail out the back. In contrast to Emma’s put-together look of long skirt and leather jacket, Lindy’s tight sweatpants and tighter T-shirt made it look as though she’d just come from the gym. Both girls had fresh, young faces that would be pretty, thanks to their ages, even if they weren’t particularly attractive. Taryn felt old as she squeezed in beside Lindy.

“I had to get out of the house,” Lindy explained sourly as the sped down the gravel road. “My mom is driving me nuts.”

“But we have to stop by there because Miss Thang forgot her purse and she doesn’t go anywhere without it,” Emma added.

Lindy shrugged and studied her fingernails, wrapped in the latest Jamberry special. “It’s got my phone and shit in it. It will just take a minute.”