Black Raven Inn: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 6) (15 page)

M
att had told her that a person
could only safely go about five days without sleep.

Taryn was working on her fourth.

She’d finished the courtyard canvas the night before. It was back at home, safely drying on an easel in the corner of her cramped living room, the past gazing out in harsh judgement at her modern discount warehouse sofa and flea market rocking chair.

She’d meant to work on the lobby today. She was going to do it and then the hotel’s exterior, leaving Room #5 for last.

That had been
her
plan; the Black Raven Inn had another one in mind.

Now, Taryn found herself entering the cold, damp motel room again, balancing supplies on her hip with a towel slung over her arm. She needed something to spread onto the chair. No way was her bottom going to
not
have a protective covering between it and the surface of anything in that room.

It was a typical late autumn day, a forecast of the winter days to come. The sky was colorless, casting a chalky white film over everything. Muted sunlight was filtered through a thick layer of clouds, doing little to add light or warmth. Taryn wore jeans, thick boot socks, old cowboy boots, a flannel shirt, and a man’s cardigan she’d picked up from Goodwill. (She had a collection of them.) Too physically exhausted to do anything about her matted, oily hair she’d plaited it in a braid that hung down her back and topped it off with a newsboys’ cap.

She wasn’t sure how she was moving at that point, much less driving. Her whole body felt like it was full of molasses. If she stayed in one spot for very long, she was afraid she’d become rooted to it.

And yet, her mind wouldn’t stop.

She’d replayed the whisper and sensation of the man behind at her the shrine over and over in her mind so many times that she’d actually made herself physically ill. She’d worried so much about things she had zero control over (the environment, the stock market, terrorist attacks abroad, the price of gas…) that she’d thrown up not once but three times.

Taryn could
not
shut off her brain.

“Is this house people on Adderall feel? Is
this
what it’s like to have ADHD?” she asked the room.

If it knew the answer, it wasn’t talking.

“What the heck’s the matter with me?” she demanded, wearily removing her collapsible easel from its case and setting it up in front of the chair.

The room didn’t have an answer for that, either.

Once she had all her supplies set up, from a bag Taryn removed the two spotlights she’d picked up at Target. Ruby had asked her to send her the bill but Taryn decided that wasn’t necessary. She worked in dark, isolated places a lot. She might need them again. These, she placed on the bureau and one of the nightstands. She plugged them into long, industrial extension cords and ran the cords outside to an outlet in the wall. The building’s power was on–it just didn’t work in that particular room.

“Of course,” Taryn muttered to herself. “Because this room is
special
.”

When she stepped back inside, Taryn shuttered at the chill in the air. “How is it possible that it’s colder in
here
than it is out
there
?”

It was, too. The motel room had to be at least ten degrees colder than the sixty-two degrees it was outside.

“And how it is that sixty degrees in the spring feels so much warmer than sixty degrees in the summer and fall?”

She was full of questions today. She really needed to sleep.

Taryn felt bad for Aker. Keeping an eye on things basically meant keeping an eye on
her
so he had to continue sitting in the parking lot where the motel room’s door was in his line of vision. She’d tried to talk him into at least sitting in his car, where the wind would be off him, but he’d declined. Instead, he’d brought a portable heater and generator and was parked back in his chair, thermos of coffee in one hand and a book (something about the OJ Simpson trial) in the other.

“I’m fine,” he’d barked, annoyed by her concern and pestering. “Weather doesn’t bother me. Part of my training.”

Yeah well
, Taryn thought,
it might have been “part of his training” but he was no longer a spring chicken.

But he was a grown man, and could do what he wanted. She wouldn’t argue with him.

The lack of sleep was making it difficult for her to eat, or keep anything down when she did manage to eat. For the past three days she’d lived on soft cheese and crackers and the occasional cup of tomato soup. Her tummy rumbled now as thoughts of pasta and cheeseburgers danced through head. They were immediately replaced by a wave of nausea.

“Let’s do this,” she sang, settling into the uncomfortable chair and focusing on the scene before her. If anything, the lack of sleep and gnawing hunger were making her mind more alert and focused. She figured that must be why people fasted.

Still, she’d be glad when it was over.

The
knock
on the door startled her. The hand working a delicate floral pattern on the bedspread, sending a line of red paint towards the ceiling on her canvas.

When Aker let himself in, Taryn gazed at him with glassy eyes, trying to focus.

Why is
he
here
, she thought with agitation.
What was
he
doing in her room?

She couldn’t see the glasses or the black jacket hiding his muscular frame. Instead, she was looking at a head of shockingly blond hair, lively indigo eyes, and a thin body clothed in jeans and a paisley-patterned western shirt.

“Why are you here?” she asked, disconcerted.

The paintbrush in her hand continued to tremble, sending flecks of red paint across the canvas. Taryn either ignored them or didn’t see them; she was focused on the figure in front of her.

“It’s after 3:00 pm,” the voice answered. “You’ve been in here since 9, almost six hours. When you didn’t come out for a bathroom break or lunch…”

The voice drifted off and Taryn became aware of the fact that he was studying her, drinking her in.

“Taryn,” it began gently, “when’s the last time you ate? Slept?”

The figure moved towards her then and she flinched, dropping the brush.

“Whoa, whoa! It’s okay, it’s okay.” He took a step back towards the door and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I just needed to check on you.”

The room began vibrating, a small sound that grew bigger by the second, until a dull roar erupted around them. Aker held his hand against the grimy wall, confused. “What the hell is that?” he demanded.

Parker’s picture fell off the nightstand again and landed on Aker’s foot. The television trembled and Taryn watched through film that covered her eyes as another long crack emerged and slowly worked its way across the screen. The ceiling fan overhead began turning, kicking up the stale air and dispensing it around the room until both Aker and Taryn were coughing.

A jumble of voices began then, filling the room with laughter and life. They were men and while she couldn’t make out a single man’s voice, or tell what they were saying, the sound built up around Taryn and Aker until it enveloped them. It seemingly came from everywhere at once–from under the bed, inside the bathroom, outside the windows, and even from Taryn’s plastic tub.

The sound was cheerful on the outside, but it felt superficial. There was an undertone of desperation in the voices, as though something unfriendly lurked beneath the words. Even in her confusion it was clear to Taryn something much more threatening was being implied.

She was afraid, afraid of the menacing undercurrent, afraid of the rumbling around her, and even afraid of Aker’s presence. The fear that built up inside of her was completely unjustified but she felt threatened nonetheless. The urge to leave, to run, was strong.

She was rising to her feet, spilling the paint tubes resting on her lap, when it all came to an abrupt stop.

Taryn shook her head and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Aker was standing by the door, looking around the room in bewilderment. His jacket was open and, for the first time, she noticed a gun at his side. His hand was resting on it now, ready to spring into action.

Gone was the man with the blond hair and western shirt. Gone was the breeze from the ceiling fan. Gone were the voices and growling. They’d all been replaced by the familiar. Though Taryn’s confusion and exhaustion remained.

“You need to go home and get some rest,” Aker said gently, refusing to let his voice show the horror etched upon his face. “You didn’t even know who I was.”

“I know,” Taryn agreed softly, looking down at her paint covered hands. “But I can’t sleep. I’ve tried.”

“Let me help you pack up,” he said.

He walked towards her with uncertainty, but Taryn didn’t flinch this time. Instead, she remained still, helplessly staring at her hands.

“Huh. Well.” Aker was gazing down at her painting, his brow creased.

“What?”

Taryn looked up then, and saw her painting. When her hand shook, the paintbrush had danced. Now, the bed, ceiling, and parts of the floor were splattered with crimson.

By accident, she’d inadvertently created the scene of a grisly murder.

S
omething was in her living room
.

Taryn had been watching it from the corner of her eye all morning. With the heavy rainfall and thunderstorm warning, she and Aker hid decided not to chance the motel. Instead, she was working from home. Or rather, she was
meant
to be working from home.

It was hard to concentrate when a shadowy figure from her small hallway continued to move back and forth in her line of vision.

She hadn’t seen it in all its glory yet, but she knew it was there. Every time she’d return to her canvas and get to working well, she’d see it move and flit from one side of the hall to the other, moving at a lightning-fast speed.

It unnerved her to know that someone else was in the apartment room with her, for sure, but it was more annoying that it was playing with her.

“Leave me alone,” she called out. The
thing
flew around the room so quickly it left nothing but a black blur behind.

Taryn jumped, surprised, and took a step back. The bar that separated her kitchen from her living room slammed into her back. She could already feel the bruise starting to form.

Room #5 gazed at her from its canvas, an echo of a place trapped in time–a place that hadn’t existed in reality for decades.

Taryn took a step forward, intent on returning to her work, but the five-foot long snake coiled around the leg of her easel stopped her in her tracks. The coil came to her knees and the rattler was pointed straight up, moving from side to side in warning. The snake turned its triangular head to face her and as its tongue darted out in an ominous “hssss”.

Taryn screamed, her earsplitting cry filling the room with terror.

The snake disappeared then, as though it had never existed. And perhaps it hadn’t.

Leaving her painting where it rested, Taryn ran to her sofa where she collapsed at the end and buried herself in a mountain of blankets, their softness and weight a comfort. The shadowy figure dashed from the hallway again, deliberately distracting her from her security.

No matter where she looked, something was watching her. She was too tired to drive, too exhausted to get out of the house. Helpless, she pulled one of the Sherpa blankets up over her head and closed her eyes. At least if something was there she couldn’t see it.

A crash came from her bedroom; something had fallen from her chest of drawers or dresser. Taryn jumped and then cursed herself.

“Mind over matter,” she whispered. “Mind over matter.”

With a resounding clatter, a painting she’d done of an old barn and had framed for her grandmother’s birthday came hurtling down from its position over her console table, sending a porcelain fairy to the ground where it exploded.

It broke her heart to know that something she’d loved was broken, the fairy had been a present from Andrew, but still, she kept her head covered.

The creak of footsteps on the old wooden floors was just inches behind her. Whatever was in the room was standing next to her and the couch. Taryn held her breath and listened as it walked back and forth along the length of the couch, pausing at each end before turning around to go back in the other direction.

She was beyond scared, she was terrified. She wasn’t sure she could move if she wanted to. The fear that ate at her was all consuming, rendering her paralyzed.

Now the creak of footsteps was on the other side of the couch, stalking her from the front. She listened to each footstep, flinching when something hard brushed against her protruding foot. She wanted to lower the blanket and look upon the figure intent on driving her insane but she was too afraid. Instead, Taryn reached into her pocket and drew out her phone.

“Matt,” she whispered as soon as he answered. “Matt, I’m in trouble.”

“What’s wrong,” he asked in alarm. “What do you need? Do I need to call the police?”

“No, but there’s something here with me. It won’t go away,” she whispered again. “It’s standing right here next to me.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears.

It was slowly backing off and moving away. She could hear the footsteps growing fainter and fainter as it marched towards the hallway and then into her bedroom.

“I couldn’t stop seeing things. There was something everywhere I looked, every five seconds. So I got on the couch and covered my eyes and my head but that’s when the noises started,” Taryn cried. “I don’t know what to do. I’m so tired but I can’t sleep. I’m hungry but I can’t eat. And this
thing
. It won’t leave me alone.”

“Is it gone now?” he asked gently.

“Yes, as soon as I started talking.”

“Taryn, you need to get some sleep. You could be hallucinating.”

Taryn wiped her nose on her T-shirt and sniffed. “But it seems so real.”

“Well, it
is
real in a sense. Your mind can do some crazy stuff.”

“I’ve been trying to sleep but I can’t.”

Matt groaned, a sound of frustration from him. “You should talk to your doctor.”

“Maybe…”

“Do you want me to come up there and stay with you for a few days?”

Yes
, Taryn thought to herself.
Yes I do.
But she was too proud to ask.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll talk to my doctor. Maybe I am just exhausted.”

“I’ll come if you want me to. But if you don’t get some sleep tonight then I’m coming up there anyway,” Matt warned.

“Okay,” Taryn replied, feeling a stirring of hope. Sometimes Matt did treat her like she couldn’t handle things on her own, and that got old, but it was true that she needed him more often than she didn’t. And vice versa. She’d have been down there in a heartbeat if something was happening to him.

“Matt,” she lowered her voice again, afraid of what she was about to say. “I don’t think Parker died the way they said he did. I think he was murdered.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw it in my painting,” she whispered. “I think that’s why he’s still there, still in the motel. I think he wants me to help him, to help him find out what happened and get him to move on.”

“Taryn,” Matt’s voice was alarmed. “I think you need to leave. I don’t think you should go back. Please come down here and stay with me…”

“No.” Taryn shook her head. “I can’t let him down. He needs me.”

“When are you meeting David? When’s his thing?”

“Tonight,” she answered. “I’m supposed to meet him at 6:00 pm and then we’re going to dinner. I might take a cab over there to the college. I’m too tired to drive.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

The conversation trailed off then, as both of them became lost in their own thoughts and worries. By the time Taryn hung up the phone she was experiencing some relief, reprieve for half an hour in which nothing popped out of the shadows or things flew from the wall.

It
was
exhausting, but somehow Taryn had managed to wash her hair and even style it. Simply raising her arms in the air to work the shampoo in had been enough to nearly have her collapsing but now that it was dry and looked good, she felt better. She’d also thrown on a long-sleeved, light wool dress and applied makeup. It was a far cry from the jeans and hat she’d been wearing as a uniform every day for the past week. Looking good physically made her feel good mentally, even if it was superficial.

The parking spots around the college were all full so she had to park on Music Row and walk. It was a nice night, though, almost balmy. The rain had cleared the air and now everything smelled fresh and new, even though they were downtown.

She’d hoped to catch David before his presentation but she was moving slower than she liked these days and it had taken her longer to get moving than it normally did. He’d already been introduced and was walking towards the platform when she entered the ballroom.

As Taryn suspected, the room was full of college-aged girls watching the front of the room with rapturous attention. The young men scattered throughout the folding chairs set up for the event didn’t look that much less enchanted.

For over an hour the audience listened to David talk about Jekyll Island and St. Simon’s and some of the research he and his team were doing there. He shared slides of the graves they’d discovered, talked about methodology, and even held up artifacts uncovered through their efforts. He spoke of Native American heritage on the island, the history of its settlers, and even mentioned the pirates.

The true story of Jekyll Island couldn’t have been given better treatment by a Hollywood screenplay writer.

Of course, if they’d known what had happened to
her
on the island, it really would’ve rocked their world.

Nearly thirty minutes of questioning followed his session and then, when it was over, Taryn had to wait while he patiently talked to those who came up to ask personal questions and fawn over him. Taryn remained in her chair, a trashy romance novel open in her lap, while she waited.

“So was I that bad?”

David towered above her, more than 6-feet tall, and smiled down at her.

“Huh?”

“The book,” he gestured. “Did you read it the whole time I was up there, or just during the boring parts?”

Taryn laughed. “Just using it to pass the time with. Your lecture was great. I learned some things and I already knew about most of it!”

“Yeah, well, I try to make it interesting for people. If they knew how much of my job was just sitting in the dirt with a brush or data entry they’d be much less impressed,” he said.

“Hungry?”

“Starving. Let’s go.”