Dark Hollow Road (Taryn's Camera Book 3) (15 page)

And for what? To be beaten, raped, killed? Sold to a bidder? Would human traffickers come here to feast on naïve country girls?

That scenario didn’t set well with Taryn. It relied too much on convenience and coincidence.

But there was another one that sounded right. In this one, Cheyenne is sitting in a basement bedroom, playing PlayStation. She’s woozy and sick from too much to drink and is trying her best to control her hands but they won’t stop shaking. She knows the people around her; they went to school together. She remembers them in kindergarten, learning to read. In middle school, playing basketball. She isn’t scared. She’s as much at home here as she would be in her own house, and maybe even more so. She feels like she’s going to be sick, but nothing will come up when she races to the bathroom.

And then someone hands her something else. The white oblong pill is small and weightless in her hand. “It will make you feel better,” the faceless voice in Taryn’s mind promises. “You need something to bring you down.”

With great trust and little trepidation, she takes it. And, at first, she does feel better. But then comes the feeling of pressure in her chest, the sharp pain radiating to her back. The shortness of breath. The dizziness. God, even when she laid down on the floor she had the feeling of falling. She struggles to keep her eyes open, sure if she closes them something bad will happen. The nausea reaches a crescendo and she spits up a little, but not enough. Finally, the effort is too much and she turns her head and closes her eyes, giving in to the darkness.

What happened to Cheyenne?

“
N
othing?” Matt was up to his elbows in flour, making bread. Taryn sat at the kitchen table, going through her emails. She had two job offers, both wanting her start after Christmas. One was in Arizona. The other was in central Kentucky. She wasn’t sure she was ready to return to Kentucky after her experience with Windwood Farm, but working at Shaker Village might be too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“Pictures all came back normal,” she answered absently. “House and land look exactly the same as they do now. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I think it’s because nothing actually happened there,” Matt declared. “Maybe you’re picking up on the energy because it’s the last place Cheyenne felt good.”

“Then why does it feel off?”

Neither had an answer for that.

“I’m going to have to visit the last place she was at. I know they’re not going to let me walk around or anything but I need to at least see it, maybe take a picture of the outside.”

Wiping his hands on a dishrag, Matt turned around and leaned against the counter. “You want to go for a drive later? You can hang your head out of the car, and I’ll drive the getaway vehicle.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she grinned.

I
t would’ve been a stretch to call Travis Marcum’s neighborhood a subdivision, but the houses were close together and his street definitely wasn’t isolated. In fact, it was just two miles from Wal-Mart. His house was at the end, in a cul-de-sac. It was a newer construction and looked like all the other ones around it: one-story, brick, with a garage that stuck out from the front like a sore thumb. The only differences amongst the houses around his were the brick shades and which side of the house the garage stuck out from.

It was mid-afternoon and the street was quiet. A few houses had cars in the driveway but Travis’ was empty. Still, Taryn felt like a stalker.
As they slowly cruised down the street, pretending to have an actual destination, Taryn kept Miss Dixie out on her lap, turned on and ready to shoot. “Okay,” she said as they drew close. “I’m gonna roll down the window and when you get in front of the house kind of come to a stop and I’ll take some as fast as I can.”

“You got it, captain.”

Just as they pulled in front of the house and Taryn fired off the first round she was sure she saw the living room curtain move slightly, as though someone might be watching them. Feeling like a deer caught in headlights, she quickly pulled Miss Dixie back down in her lap. “Go, go, go!” she shrilled. Matt pushed on the gas and they sped off, Taryn unable to look back behind her.

They were both laughing when they pulled back out onto the main road. “I think someone was home,” she giggled. “We’ll probably get the police called on us!”

“We can’t be the first people to have done that,” he smiled.

“No, but I feel guilty. Like we think Travis is guilty, even though he says he had nothing to do with her disappearance.”

“Well, take a look at the pictures when we get home. Maybe you caught something that will help his case.”

T
he pictures, however, were one-hundred percent normal. If there were any contradictions between the past and present, they were too minor for either Taryn or Matt to notice.

“Not what I was hoping for,” Taryn frowned, closing the top of her laptop.

“And what was that?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe I was hoping to see Cheyenne standing outside on their front porch, smoking or something.”

Both were quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Taryn was falling behind in her class. She hadn’t been overly prepared yet anyway but at least knew what she was going to talk about. Now she was basically winging it. That wasn’t fair to her students. She might have been brought in under false pretenses but the students were paying for her knowledge, however limited that might be, and they deserved to get their money’s worth.

“I just don’t think I can help this family,” she worried at last. “I’m really not that good of a detective, and I’ve hit brick walls everywhere I’ve turned. Miss Dixie isn’t picking up a damn thing and neither am I.”

“I don’t know about that,” Matt replied thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re looking at it in the wrong light.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe you’re getting more than you realize. Maybe you just haven’t been able to put all the pieces together yet.”

“That’s a lot of ‘maybes,’” Taryn answered doubtfully. “But do you think I am getting in too deep?”

“Yes,” Matt smiled. “But I always think that. Do you want me to call Rob?”

Rob Orange was a friend of Matt’s and owned a small store called New Age Gifts & More in Lexington, Kentucky. He sold ritual aids and refurbished electronics and was extraordinarily helpful to Taryn when she was working in Vidalia at Windwood Farm.

“It couldn’t hurt, I guess.”

Before her experiences at Windwood Farm Taryn hadn’t known much about the world of the paranormal at all. She certainly hadn’t known there was such a business side to it. The first time she’d found herself in Rob’s shop she was astounded by the crystals, incense, oils, how-to books, altar cloths, and wands. And the prices, too! Apparently, the paranormal was big business these days. Later, after exploring the chat rooms, blogs, forums, and websites the Internet had to offer she’d found herself overwhelmed even more. Her “gift,” if that’s what you wanted to call it, scared her a little. It certainly made her nervous. And yet there were certification courses out there you could pay big money for to increase or unlock your psychic potential. Some of the information was presented in a straightforward, almost scientific manner. Other things were so far out there she’d thought they were jokes.

People could be freaks.

She liked Rob, though, and if he could help then it was worth a try.

T
aryn wouldn’t have ordinarily gone to bed alone; she would’ve stayed awake downstairs and waited for Matt. Or she’d have been the one to stay up late and crashed sometime around daylight when she was just unable to keep her eyes open any longer. But the headache plaguing her all day was now being trumped by the horrendous pain in her left hip. She couldn’t figure out if it was muscular or nerve-related but it hurt like the dickens and getting comfortable was impossible. Sitting on the couch with her laptop hurt too much and the glare of the screen was making her head throb. She was even feeling a little dizzy.

“I’m getting old,” she muttered to herself. The television was on for the noise, but she wasn’t watching it. All the activity and colors were making her jittery.

Maybe it was her shoes. She DID buy cheap shoes. Payless wasn’t the bargain it used to be–cheaply made shoes that, price-wise, didn’t live up to their name. She’d walked around the property a lot that afternoon and maybe the ragged, off-brand tennis shoes just weren’t supporting her legs like they should’ve been. She was thirty now; she wasn’t the young whippersnapper she once was. A good bra and proper support on her feet were becoming increasingly important. It was funny: she never bought off-brand ice cream because she didn’t think the quality was the same and yet she thought nothing of putting cheap, worthless crap on her feet.

Matt had spent the evening alternating between rubbing her temples and applying heat and pressure to her hip. She’d also popped some Extra Strength Tylenol and taken a long, hot bath–what Matt teased was warm enough to boil a chicken in. But she was still in pain and it was starting to take over not just her body but her mind as well. Irritated, frustrated, and confused, she tossed and turned while the throbbing grew stronger and stronger, making her whimper and moan into her feather pillow. Small tears leaked from her eyes and puddled beneath her cheek, threatening to soak the pillowcase. She could feel her nose start to fill and the new pressure in her face just added to the pain in her head. “Damn it,” she cried, sniffing back the tears and willing herself not to be a wuss. She knew from past experience that crying herself to sleep meant she’d spend the rest of the next day dealing with sinus issues; the first year after Andrew died she’d walked around with one sinus infection after another.

She was tossing and turning, considering just getting up and going back downstairs, when the temperature in the room suddenly changed. It was a noticeable difference as the chill blasted her uncovered legs and arms and eradicated all traces of the lovely heat that had been encompassing her just moments before. The arctic blast sent chills down her spine and raised a road of goosebumps along her exposed skin.

Downstairs, she could hear Matt singing in the kitchen. He was probably still wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron while he washed dishes and wrapped up the leftover lasagna. Her television was set to low and the sound was friendly, chatty. But she was scared. The logical side of her knew nobody could’ve gotten into the house without either her nor Matt knowing but the irrational side tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As if by instinct, Taryn slowly slid her feet back under the comforter, engulfing them in the heat and safety of the blanket. Like a little kid afraid of the monster under the bed, she eased towards the middle until there was no chance of some horrendous creature being able to reach out and grab onto a dangling limb.

Except for the television, the room was otherwise quiet. But the air was frigid and still, a cold breath from something that was no longer human. Or alive.

“Hello?” Taryn whispered. “What do you want?”

The glare from the television cast shadows on the walls and floor and as she peeked out from under the comforter she could see them dancing in frantic shadows. The bedroom door was partially open and the hall light glowed brightly, a sharp contrast to the darkness. And still, the cold air poked and pulled at her, seeking her warm flesh and covering it with icy fingers.

Tempted to call out for Matt, Taryn sat up in the bed, clutching the cover to her breasts. She balled the thick fabric under her fingers, the feel of it reassuring. Lucille Ball argued with Desi in black and white and a laugh track chuckled on cue. Taryn knew she wasn’t alone. She couldn’t see anyone in the room, but could feel their presence as though they were standing beside her, breathing down her neck.

Feeling the beginnings of a panic attack coming on, Taryn took slow measured breaths and attempted to control her racing heart. She knew if she opened her mouth to call out her voice would be high-pitched and frantic. She’d worry Matt to death and she didn’t want to sound or be helpless. Yet, she was terrified.

“Oh, to hell with it,” she muttered, finally tossing the covers back in disgust. She didn’t have to sit there on her own and freak herself out; she was going downstairs.

She didn’t even have the chance to swing her legs over the side of the bed, though, when she saw it. At first, she thought the shadow in the corner of the bedroom by the closet was merely that–a shadow. Low to the floor and stubby, it looked like a pile of clothes or a suitcase with a wet towel thrown over it. But then it moved. The lumpy shape began to change in front of her eyes and while she wouldn’t call it solid, she couldn’t exactly see through it, either. As she watched in horror, it languidly stretched itself out until it was long, perhaps five feet in length, and rested couple of feet off the ground. Darkness swirled around it, a kind of grayness that set it apart from the dusk of the room. It slowly shuffled towards the bed, a large animal awkward and unsure of its movements. As she watched in horror, she began making out details–a swatch of inky hair, the separation of joints in the front that resembled fingers, feet dragging behind. It wasn’t an animal at all, but a person and it was coming for her in slow motion.

Unable to scream or even move, Taryn was rooted. She couldn’t have sat there on the bed for more than a second or two but it felt like an eternity. The length between the figure and her bed was only ten feet or so but it advanced in the night, covering the ground and space in almost a single movement. Taryn edged backwards, pulling the comforter with her. There might have been a scraping sound coming from the floor, or it could have been her own breathing.