Dark Hollow Road (Taryn's Camera Book 3) (6 page)

“And you will probably have more of them,” he concluded.

Taryn thought about his, mulled it around her head. “Yeah, but you didn’t see the guy. And you heard or felt something here. That
might
mean something,” she pointed out at last.

“It might,” Matt agreed. “But until it does, let’s try not to make a big deal out of it and just enjoy ourselves.”

T
aryn intended on enjoying herself. She enjoyed her dinner, her extra glass of wine, the nice long bubble bath she took while Matt cleaned up (hey, he insisted and she wasn’t going to argue), and even enjoyed putting her notes together for her next class. While she went over them and perfected her Power Point presentation, she let her pictures from that afternoon upload. It wasn’t late yet and she had plenty of time to play around with some of them, if any happened to be any good.

Closing down her presentation and exiting out of the web browser she was using for research, Taryn popped her knuckles and stretched her arms over her head. The pictures were finished uploading and she could take a look at them.

It only took two of them to pop up on her screen before she jumped up off the bed and let her feet hit the floor with a thud. “Matt!” she called down the stairs, letting her voice rise over the sounds of Shakira. Matt liked to dance while he cleaned, something she found endlessly entertaining. “Matt!”

“Yeah?” he hollered back, gliding out into the living room in his socks. “What’s up?”

“Come on up here. I think we can start making a big deal out of it now.”

I
n the past, Taryn had always emailed her pictures to Matt so that he could take a look at them and help her try to figure out what was going on. This was the first time he’d ever been there in person, a front seat ticket to all the action. If he was shocked he wasn’t showing it, although he did crawl onto the bed and sit as close to the computer screen as possible, his brows furrowing and his fingers tapping repeatedly in a frenzied pattern on his knee.

“Well,” he nodded at last. It was a statement.

Taryn, looking at his face to get his reaction rather than the computer screen, let out a big sigh. “So what do you think?”

“It’s hard to say,” he muttered. “I mean…”

Taryn let out a grim laugh. “I know what you mean.”

Her pictures of the house showed nothing but the way it looked now. Her pictures of the bonfire debris, however, were another story. Standing on the edge of the charred sticks and logs, the faded beer cans, and cigarette stubs was the image of a young woman, maybe even a teenager. Her long black hair was tied up at the nape of her neck in a ponytail. Her legs extended from a pair of shorts and ended in cowboy boots. A jacket was tied around her waist. By the way she was staring at the fire (which, in the picture, was roaring and shooting its flames up into the sky) she looked pensive, possibly even worried.

The image was much clearer than other shots Taryn had taken in the past. Even the details of her jacket and shirt were plain. Except for the fact that in a few places you could see through her to the trees and barn on the other side of the fire, at first glance she might’ve looked like a real, living person.

The mystery girl was in one more shot. In this one, she sat crossed-legged in the grass, her hair down and spilling around her shoulders, almost touching the ground. Her face could be seen in full detail in this one and while it was an exceedingly pretty face, she appeared tired with just a touch of sadness. She leaned forward, her head resting on her hands, her elbows on her knees. Her jacket was on in this one, her hair loose around her shoulders.

There wasn’t anyone else in any of the other pictures.

“She looks young,” Taryn offered. “I’d say a teenager maybe. Very pretty.”

“Do you think she’s…” Matt couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“Dead?” Taryn supplied for him. “Maybe. My first thought would be something someone who used to go there a lot, has a special tie to the place.”

“What about the bonfire?” Matt mused.

“That’s creepy as hell,” Taryn muttered. The thought of the pretty young girl losing her balance and falling into the flames (or worse, pushed) was terrifying.

Taryn herself was nervous around fires. She liked to watch pretty ones in a nice, contained fireplace with a smoke alarm and fire extinguisher handy nearby but she didn’t really get into the whole bonfire thing. The way it could grow taller and taller, reaching for the sky, with little to contain it was something Taryn couldn’t get onboard with. Not to mention the heat. Despite the fact she couldn’t swim, she preferred the water, although that opened up a whole other can of fears for her.

Matt busied himself by flipping through the pictures one by one, just in case Taryn had missed something. He couldn’t find anything.

Unable to reach any kind of conclusion, Taryn sighed. “I think I’m going to go watch TV for a while.” She bounced off the bed and threw on her robe and house slippers. They had cat heads at the end and were hard to walk in, but they kept her normally frigid feet toasty warm. Matt actually wore matching pajamas and a complimentary robe. Together, with Taryn in her flannel nightgown, they figured they looked pretty much the way they would when they were elderly. She knew she should probably invest in sexy lingerie, but she loved flannel and nightgowns that dragged the floor; they made her feel like she was stepping back in time.

She left Matt on the bed, still mesmerized with the shots. Knowing him, he’d spend at least an hour scrutinizing them and making notes before he wandered back out of the room, full of theories.

Back in the living room, Taryn plopped down in front of the television and flipped through the limited number of channels. She managed to find an old black and white movie called “The Uninvited” and although it was a ghost story, and probably not something she should’ve been watching considering the circumstances, she loved it.

If only
real
ghost stories could be as neatly wrapped up as the ones on TV, she thought. And if only cheap seaside mansions like the one in the movie truly existed. She wouldn’t mind chasing after ghosts if it meant she got to live in a mansion by the water and have tea time on the terrace every day.

Wearily, Taryn rubbed at her throbbing temples and thought about the teenager her camera had captured. Who was she? What happened to her? Did she want something from Taryn?

The last question was a no-brainer. Of course she wanted something. They always did.

T
aryn’s students were waiting for her when she entered her classroom two minutes late. They already had their notebooks out, polite expressions on their faces.

“Sorry I’m late,” she apologized as she set up the computer. “We got behind a tractor coming in.”

Everyone nodded their heads in understanding. Slow tractors and school buses were a given when one was running late in a small, rural town.

“I had to take a piss once,” a guy in overalls called out. “Got behind a tractor with about two dozen bales of hay on it. Didn’t think I’d make it. Finally, after about ten minutes of driving 5 mph, I emptied out a Coke bottle and used it behind the wheel.”

“Good thing your aim was good,” a girl with long black hair braided on both sides snickered. The rest of the class laughed, including Taryn.

“Nothing worse than having to use the bathroom when you’re out in the middle of nowhere or behind slow-moving traffic,” she agreed.

Today, she planned on showing the students some of the paintings she’d done of houses that were almost completely destroyed and missing key architectural structures. Then she had a little assignment for them.

“First I’m going to pass out some of these magazine pictures,” she lectured. “Pick one out you like then pass them on to the next person. I’ll talk while you’re doing that.”

It only took ten minutes for her to go through her lecture. She showed them five images, each one including a house or building with severe damage. First, she showed them the photograph then she showed them her painting. They all appeared to be duly impressed.

“Okay, now we’re going to do a little art project. You just need a pencil for this one,” she advised. “First, I want you to look down at your image. As you can see, it’s a woman’s face cut in half. Some of you all have pictures cut vertically so that you can only see one eye, half the nose, and half the mouth and chin. The rest have pictures where the image is cut horizontally so you get half the nose and both eyes. What I want you to do on your paper is place your image in the middle and draw the missing half. When you’re finished, you should have one complete image of a woman.”

Smiles flashed on most of the students’ faces as they dug out their pencils. “I’m not good with faces,” one guy professed as he studied the picture of Christie Brinkley he’d chosen. “It won’t be good.”

“It doesn’t have to be good,” Taryn promised. “I’m just trying to get you all in the mindset of figuring out what the other half looks like just by looking at the limited amount of information you possess.”

She gave them twenty minutes for their assignment. While they drew, she hunted through her computer image files and studied them. For her next assignment, she was going to post five images of five different architectural styles and have them draw the houses as quickly as possible. This would help them learn the various time periods and what was popular during those times of construction.

The only sounds she could hear were the chattering of students from down the hall as another class was released and the faint scratching noise of pencils hitting the paper. “Mind if I turn on some music?” she asked. “I can’t go long without it.”

The students nodded their heads and kept working.

Taryn chose her Jason Isbell CD and turned the volume down low so that it wasn’t overbearing. She didn’t know how she’d gone so long without discovering him but at the moment she was hooked on his voice.

By the time class let out she had a good handle on what her students were capable of. Most of them were quite good and the others made up in heart and enthusiasm what they lacked in skill.

When they began packing up their stuff to leave, Taryn called Emma to the front of the classroom. The redhead was wearing a pair of beige capris, penny loafers, and a Nitty Gritty Dirt Band T-shirt with the words “Fishin’ in the Dark” on it. She looked surprised that Taryn wanted to talk to her, but she waited until everyone was gone before she approached her.

“I loved the class today,” she confessed shyly. “I’m sorry my picture isn’t very good. I guess I’m not much of an artist.”

Actually, Taryn thought it was very good and told her so. “But don’t worry,” she added with a laugh. “I’m not going to hang them outside in the hall.”

Emma relaxed then and perched her slender body on the edge of a desk. “Did you need to see me for something?”

“Yeah, you got a minute?”

Emma nodded. “I don’t have to be anywhere for at least an hour.”

Anxiously twirling a strand of curly hair around her forefinger, Taryn hesitated. She didn’t want to put the girl on the spot but she wanted to talk to someone. “Okay,” she began at last. “I have a question and was hoping you might be able to answer it.”

“Shoot!”

“So the woman whose cabin we’re living in. Do you know where it’s at?”

“Sure,” Emma replied. “I grew up around here. Everyone knows that area.”

“Not far from the cabin, through the woods, there’s an old farmhouse. Do you know it, too?”

A shadow passed across Emma’s face, but she smiled. “We call it flat rock. Because out back behind the barn there’s a pond with a, you know, a big flat rock.” Both women laughed. “Seriously, though, that was always the party place. Kids from school here, and even from other counties, would go out there and party. Innocent stuff, you know. Just drinking, dancing, making out.”

“I know about those places. I was young once, too,” Taryn grinned. “Although I was never popular enough to get invited.”

“Yeah, neither was I,” Emma admitted. “But I went anyway. Some friends of mine thought it might be fun to kind of crash it. Once we got there we figured out nobody cared who you were as long as you brought booze.”

“Well, so here’s my question…” Taryn bit her lip in nervousness. “Did anything bad ever happen out there? Like an accident?”

“Are you talking about Cheyenne Willoughby?” Emma asked her in uneasiness.

“I don’t know. Am I?”

Emma nodded her shiny hair bouncing on her shoulders. “Probably. She died last year. Well, a little over a year ago to be exact.”

Taryn shuddered but felt vindicated. “What happened? And what does the farm have to do with it?”

Pursing her lips, Emma looked down and studied her shoes.
Great
, Taryn thought.
I’ve made her completely uncomfortable and put her on the spot. Terrific teacher I am.