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

Taryn’s mind often ran a mile a minute, as her grandmother used to say, and painting was the only thing that had ever really been able to steady and control it. As she painted she told herself stories and kept a running dialogue in her mind. It wasn’t always an important or serious conversation; a few days ago she’d finished a painting by lamenting the state of modern horror and having a completely one-sided argument with the director of the latest slasher film.

It was beginning to grow dark now, though, and she knew she’d need to pack it in. As she wrapped up her brushes and gathered her linseed oil, being careful not to spill it, her nose caught a whiff of something strong.

It was the scent of a large fire, the flames powerful and rich. Someone was burning leaves, perhaps, or garbage. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, and it reminded her that it was late fall, when the warmth of a bonfire cut through the cold air. But when she straightened and looked around she couldn’t see any black smoke drifting up through the trees.

Oh well
, she shrugged. Someone was burning something somewhere. Maybe, along with her newer sixth sense, her other senses were becoming stronger as well.

Not giving it another thought she went back inside and closed the door behind her.

T
he house was so quiet Taryn thought she could’ve heard a mouse sigh. After spending a few weeks in Matt’s condo with the close proximity of people around her and the heavy noise of traffic and the occasional airplane, it felt odd to be out in the country again, tucked away from everything.

He was so still beside her that she reached over and touched his back to make sure he was still breathing. The softness of his pajama top was light as a feather under her hand. She was sleeping in a nightgown and it had bunched up around her waist; now the fleece of his pants brushed against her naked leg. She could feel the heat of his skin through the bottoms, and it was somehow comforting.

He snuggled with her in his sleep without even realizing it. Whenever she needed to turn over or get up and go the bathroom in the middle of the night it always took a few seconds to unwind an arm or leg and slide out without waking him up. They’d made love (that’s what he called it–she still didn’t know what to call it) twice that night. She was exhausted. For some reason, being physical with him always left her feeling drained in ways she’d never experienced before. When she came out from under the flurry of activity Taryn found herself feeling parched, dry, dehydrated. She needed to drink and to drink long. Sometimes, before even getting dressed, she found herself in the kitchen, downing an entire can of Coke or drinking juice right out of the bottle. Her stomach turned into a bottomless pit.

The first time they’d been physical it had been awkward. She didn’t know who started it, since they were more or less asleep at the time, but her money was on herself. In typical Matt fashion they’d actually talked about it first, several days ahead of time. He wanted to; she wasn’t sure it was such a great idea. They were both already a little confused as to what they were doing with each other. Her very
presence
was confusing to Matt. But they were both lonely and underneath the weirdness of having sex with someone you remembered when they were a genderless child, it didn’t sound like an ultimately terrible idea.

She’d told him she’d think about it.

Being a practical sort, he took thought as a step in the right direction and had gone out and stocked up on candles, massage oil, condoms, and lubricant–all of which he proudly brought back in a Walgreens bag and showed her over dinner. She’d tried not to laugh and failed.

Two nights later she’d woken up to find herself topless with her leg hooked around him and his face buried in the softness of her stomach. That time it was quick and to the point but early the next morning, as the sun was just starting to chase away the shadows of the night, they’d tried it again and this time taken their time. It was sweet, slow, and gentle.

Now, it wasn’t always slow (or gentle) but it remained sweet. Taryn was afraid of breaking his heart, if not his back, but she didn’t think she could stop.

She was nervous about starting her new job but hoped once she got started she’d find her groove. And she was excited about being there. Matt was staying with her for two weeks and then returning home for a few days for a meeting he couldn’t miss. He promised he’d be back, though, right after. They had no problem with him telecommuting for a while; it was the first time he’d taken an extended period off from work in seven years.

Although Taryn should have, by all accounts, felt content, the gnawing feeling continued. She still couldn’t put her finger on it. The house was beautiful, the grounds picturesque, the college staff welcoming… she had Matt there with her. And yet…

Something was off.

She didn’t want to over-analyze anything or travel down the road of paranoia, but there was a tinge of apprehension nipping around the late autumn air. She was uneasy, but about
what,
she wasn’t certain.

“It will be okay,” she whispered aloud. Matt shuddered beside her, and she patted him on the shoulder, comforting him in his sleep. Snuggling in closer, he cupped her face in his hand, and she rested her head against him.

It would be okay. It
had
to be.

T
he surface beneath her was hard and broken; even just a tiny movement made it creak. A whiff of something unpleasant rose from the grimy floor. She was starting to get a little nauseous but continued to clutch the red plastic cup filled with the bitter whiskey; she wasn’t drinking it any longer but having something to hold grounded her a little. She needed to leave soon, she kept repeating it, but she hadn’t yet been able to get up.

The flickering candlelight cast grotesque shadows upon the wall, their forms growing and then shrinking again as the flames shimmered.

Male laughter flowed around her; a dense, heavy sound that resonated through the sparsely furnished room and chilled her. She tried to smile along with them, but her face was numb and her lips wouldn’t move into anything more than a thin grimace. In the darkness, the familiar faces took on carnival funhouse shapes, their features distorted. She shook her head to clear it as eyes bled into mouths and clown hands slapped legs and waved frantically about in the air.

She wanted to get up, leave, do
something
but the voices, the shadows–even the flames–were closing in on her. When she opened her mouth to scream, only the faintest of whispers slid through her dry, cracked lips.

T
he dream left her cold and panicky. The feeling of almost immediate depression upon opening her eyes slapped her across the face; Taryn felt as though she were in the bottom of a well, seeing the world from far, far away. She didn’t know whether she should left herself go back to sleep or jump up and run downstairs to find Matt–her instant fix for human companionship.

She opted to get up.

Her head was pounding, full of something left over from her sleep. Her hip hurt, something that had been occurring more and more often, and she felt rattled. The hardwood floors were cold under her feet, and the chilly air gave her gooseflesh, but she didn’t stop to throw on her robe or pull on her thick socks. Instead, she went straight for the stairs. Below, she could hear the sounds of Matt in the kitchen as he banged around pots and pans and turned the faucet off and on. The noises were reassuring, a sign there was life in the house.

“Hey you,” he smiled as she stalked into the room. Now that she was down there and looking at him, she felt a little silly at her sudden burst of energy and panic.

“Hey,” she sighed. It was chilly down there and she regretted not throwing something on.

“You okay?”

“Bad dream,” she shrugged, trying not to let how upset she was show. “It’s fading.” She lied, but she didn’t feel like discussing it at the moment.

“I’m making pancakes. I was going to wait and make them on your first day of school, but I was craving them this morning. Hope that’s okay.”

She sniffed the air. “You putting chocolate in them?”

“Of course.”

“Sounds good to me!” Taryn wandered over to the refrigerator and took out a cold Coke. She opened it and downed half of it before she’d taken another step.

“I don’t see how you can drink that so early,” he admonished in obvious distaste.

“Not any different than people who drink coffee and put a lot of sugar in it. It’s just cold. And I need the caffeine. Believe me, you don’t want to be around me without it.”

After they’d finished breakfast she gathered her painting supplies together and placed them on the dining room table. She was running low, but wasn’t in the mood to go into town. She’d try painting out on the front porch for a while, until it got too cold. Slipping her jacket on, she took what she needed and set her easel up on the wooden floors. It had been awhile since she’d painted trees, or a nature-based landscape of any kind, but she was looking forward to the challenge of finishing it. The sky was plain, devoid of color, and not a cloud broke up the monotony.  But the dreariness gave the surrounding fauna an almost ethereal appearance, some branches and brown leaves still holding on fading into the whiteness with the evergreens stark against the sky, reaching into the white like claws. There would be fog tonight, she could smell it, but for now it was clear. The air was as silent now as it had been the night before, but thick. Heavy. There was a dampness, too, and it closed in around her and settled on her hands and hair, dragging her down until she felt rooted to the porch beneath her feet. 

She painted for nearly a half hour without any distractions, lost in the pale world she created on her canvas. Matt was inside doing something, but she didn’t feel guilty leaving him alone. He liked his solitude as much as she liked hers, and he was never bored with his own company. He’d read, work, or play his guitar. He wouldn’t watch television because that wasn’t really his thing, but he’d find some way of entertaining himself. She’d talked to him earlier about her needing some time by herself, and he said he understood. With that being said, he’d left the curtains open so that he could look out at her.

The wind was picking up, causing the branches to sway with more potency. Fallen leaves swirled around on the ground, a multi-color dance moving across the dead grass in a frenzy. Taryn’s hands were growing colder, her joints already stiffening and throbbing from the damp air. She was just about to start packing it in when she was once again struck by the scent of smoke. It wasn’t an unpleasant aroma as it wafted through the trees and curled around the porch, lapping at her. It smelled of fresh wood and something else–maybe aluminum or metal. She couldn’t see any smoke but it was so powerful she coughed a little, sputtering into the wind.

“Matt!” she called in the direction of the window, hoping he would hear her. She was afraid to move, afraid the moment would be lost. “MATT! Come here for a second, please!”

She could hear his footsteps coming towards the door and saw the handle turn just as a wail, loud and female, pierced the air.