Windwood Farm (Taryn's Camera) (24 page)

He had somewhat of an office behind the counter and she was surprised to find comfortable overstuffed chairs, a flat screen television, a panel of computer screens,
an almost feminine bordello lamp, and a coffee table with what looked like an antique teapot. “I like to get cozy and work at the same time,” he explained. “Tea?”

“Sure, why not?”

She waited while he put the water on to boil using a hot plate he kept stashed behind the counter. It was cinnamon-flavored and the warmth of the lamp and scent of the tea when he poured it into her cup was enough to relax her. Almost.

“So tell me what’s going on with you,” he prodded. “Did the ritual not work?”

“Oh, I think it did,” she answered and told him about finding the diary. “The story’s a tragic one and a bad one and I feel awful about it. I haven’t completely pieced it together yet, but I’m working on it. But I want to know why? Why now? Why me? Why is this happening?”

“Taryn,” he said gently. “These kinds of things rarely happen overnight. I can’t think this is the first experience you’ve had with the paranormal.”

Remembering that afternoon in the empty house as a child, she shuddered. “No, it’s not. There were little things along the way, of course, and I’ve always been a little sensitive to people’s feelings and emotions. But nothing like this. I even thought it was my camera, like maybe it was magic.” They both laughed a little.

“But it’s you,” he said.

“It’s me.”

“When you see the visions through the camera, do you ever see them outside? Like, when your camera isn’t on?”

“No,” she replied. “Not since I was little. I can hear things, sometimes, but I haven’t really seen anything yet. Nothing more than a shadow, anyway. And it might have been a trick of the sun.”

“Hmmm…”
He studied her thoughtfully. “And these energy forces—that’s what we’ll call them—can you interact with them? Do they know you’re there? Can you speak to them?”

“I’ve tried to talk to them but I don’t know if they’re reacting to me or not. I thought they were. Maybe the negative one is. But Clara? No. She doesn’t respond. I don’t think she knows I’m there at all. It’s just like looking at a picture. Or hearing something on television.”

The tea felt nice on her stomach and sitting here, far away from Windwood Farm and her hotel room, she even felt a little silly about the whole thing. But then she remembered the vision of poor little Clara chained up to the bed and the look of utter grief on her face and she shook her head again, trying to shake it away.

“I should be happy, right? I have dedicated my life to the past. I studied the architecture, the history, the stories. I help people try to see it. And now, I
can
see it. It should be a dream come true, right?”

“There are people who would pay for such gifts,” he agreed. “But I think every gift comes with a price. Taryn, how old are you?”

“I turned thirty last February.”

“The end of the month?” he asked. She nodded.

“That might make more sense then. You’re a Pisces, a water sign. Those signs tend to be more sensitive to these kinds of things. And, well, the 3oth birthday is a big one. I haven’t seen your astrological chart, but I reckon if we pulled one up on you, we’d see a lot of change in your life. You might have moved into a new phase and with that phase, had these new doors open for you.”

“Do you believe that? That I woke up and had special gifts?”

“No,” he laughed. “I think everyone has them, to an extent, anyway. But there might be more to it than your age and your sign. Is there anything else in the house that might have attracted you, Taryn?” he asked gently.

“What do you mean?”

“This young woman who died, her story? Do you feel a pull to it?”

Taryn looked down at her feet, the beginning of a headache tugging behind her eyes. “Maybe. I guess. My fiancé. He passed away in a car accident several years ago. He was driving…he liked to drive fast. Used to brag about breaking the speed limit. It was raining, the road was curvy, he was coming home late from a job site. I was sick and wasn’t with him.”

“Then it’s possible that the energy in this house, with this young woman who may have died with a love in her life, is picking up on your grief, too,” Rob said softly. “If you still haven’t gotten closure.”

“I don’t know. It’s possible. I feel connected to Clara. I don’t know why.
When I read her diary, I almost…envied her,” she finished lamely.

“Your fiancé, was he the love of your life, your soul mate?”

“Yes, I thought so at the time,” she replied honestly. “He was my best friend, my other half. We shared everything together, even work. He was a much better person than I am. But now, the grief and loneliness has clouded so much I just don’t—
can’t
remember.”

The two of them sat in silence for several minutes before Taryn spoke again. “So you think everyone has sensitivities? Do you?”

“
I can’t see the past like you can, but I have an audible sensitivity most others don’t. I can hear certain things almost miles away. If my mother is coughing, for instance, on the other side of town or my sister cries out in the night in another state from a bad dream, I can hear it. It sounds like they’re in the room with me. It’s not a developed gift and I can’t control it, but it’s there.”

“
Matt doesn’t have anything like that and I’ve known him almost my whole life,” she mused.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. After spending almost five years in college with the dude and his mega brain
, I can assure you there is half a university that thinks he has some kind of strange powers, the way his mind can soak up information and retain it. People’s gifts come in all shapes and sizes. This might just be yours. Maybe this was why you were called to Historical Preservation and why you’re such a fine artist.”

“Because it’s like, my calling?” The thought, for some reason, gave her chills.

“Who knows?” he shrugged. “What you do with it is up to you. But Taryn, I don’t think it’s going away. As a matter of fact, I think it’s going to get stronger.”

So that was it. She was going to have to learn to live with the spirits and whatever she saw and prepare for the fact that things might get worse in the future. Whatever she
was scared of as a child was only the tip of the iceberg of what she would be exposed to as an adult.

Awesome.

And poor Clara. Well, she could only guess what had happened to
her
. Obviously, her father killed her. Probably horribly. And he’d probably had something to do with Donald’s death, too. Melissa agreed and they parted that afternoon, both shaken and subdued. How guilty was Jonathan in the whole mess? She didn’t know. Had he come back to find his new almost-wife dead or had he had a hand in it himself when he’d learned of her betrayal? Taryn might never know.

The painting was finished, however, and as she slicked the last coat of varnish over the frame
, she felt that at least one part of her job was complete. In most cases, she would have moved on and gone to the next job. This would become a memory, an anecdote to tell other clients about in the future. In fact, she’d already taken on a new project, a historical library in Missouri. She would start in two weeks, giving her plenty of time to recuperate in Nashville.

But she wasn’t ready to leave yet. She knew she wasn’t finished.

While she waited for the varnish to dry, Taryn sat on her bed and flipped through the pictures on her computer screen once again. She had hundreds of shots of Windwood Farm, but this time, she went back to the first ones she’d taken; those pictures she had snapped when she first arrived on the job.

Her bags were already packed and the only things left out were what she would need in the morning when she got dressed. She planned on doing one more diner run for pancakes and a milkshake and thought she might stop off and tell Melissa goodbye. Seemed a cold way to leave someone, really. “Hey, your ancestor was murdered and might be buried somewhere on these grounds. See ya later!” She should at least take her some chocolate. And the diary. After all, it wasn’t
Taryn’s.

The first pictures of the house’s interior still gave her
a start. Seeing the furniture that wasn’t supposed to be there gave her chills even now, despite everything that had happened since.

But
it was the very first picture that caught her eye this time. It was of the outside of the house. She’d looked at it a dozen times, especially when she was working late at night and needed inspiration or some of the detail work. It wasn’t a great shot, at least in terms of composition, but it gave her a good view of the entire front. But why hadn’t she noticed that object in the front yard before? It wasn’t large, and it was partly obstructed by the debris from the collapsed part of the house, but it was definitely there. At least, it was there in the image. It wasn’t there
now
. She’d stood in that same spot countless times, had even laid there and felt the grass on her face, but not once had she noticed a well. But here, in this image, it was as plain as day. The old spigot, the stone wall…a little rise in the ground almost hid it, and she enlarged the image now to see it better, but there it was: right below Clara’s window.

“Holy hell,” she whispered. “I’ll be damned.”

Jumping up off the bed, she threw on her boots and a long-sleeved shirt and grabbed her keys, cellphone, and camera. It might have been in the middle of the night, but she couldn’t wait until morning. She had to know
now
.

O
f course, the debris of the house covered most of the spot where the well would have been. There were certainly no signs of it now. The round ring of rocks, where she had fallen on one of her first days there, wasn’t anywhere near where she thought the well was. That theory had gone out the window.

Her headlights illuminated the front of the house and, camera in hand, she marched around, taking pictures as quickly as she could. The bright flash lit up the sky like little lightning bolts. Still, her LCD screen showed nothing but grass.

“I
know
it was here,” she sighed in frustration. “Why is it not showing up?”

In exasperation, she sat down on the ground and put her head in her hands. “I was so close,” she cried,
discouraged. “I really thought I could do this.”

The house and yard were quiet, not even a tree frog
chirped in the night. It would’ve been a great time for one of the spirits to have made themselves known or to have given her a sign. Everyone in town talked about how scary the place was and here she was, out there alone by herself in the middle of the night. But there was nothing.

She was rising to her feet and getting ready
to give it up and go back to the hotel when she suddenly felt a hard, heavy object hit the side of her head. The last thing she thought as she fell over to the ground was,
Well, I didn’t see that one coming.

T
aryn woke up to the sensation of being dragged. She felt her body moving along the ground as the dry grass scraped at her cheeks. Someone was tugging on her feet. She had the distinct awareness of feeling grateful that no rain had fallen in the past 24 hours, or else the ground would’ve been wet and she would’ve had grass stains on her jeans. It was a crazy thought, but it was also a crazy situation. When she tried to open her eyes to see who was pulling on her, however, she found her eyelids too heavy. 
Maybe I’ll just go back to sleep
, she thought. The pain on the side of her head was dull and throbbing.

She was only dragged for a couple of feet before the culprit abruptly dropped her legs to the ground. She could hear them walking away and even in her state
, Taryn knew that was the time to act.
Gotta get up
, she thought.
Gotta get moving before the bad guy comes back with a chainsaw or something
.

Trying to ignore the pain
in her head, she rolled over to her side and rose to her knees. It was still dark out and she could still see her car, although the headlights were off. So she was still at Windwood Farm. She couldn’t see anyone else, however. Feeling in her pocket, she found her car keys and tried to judge how quickly she could make a run for it. It was only about fifty feet away, but she didn’t know what or who waited for her in the darkness.

As she jumped to her feet, however, she heard the cock of a gun. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” came a thin, reedy voice.

Taryn knew the gun was pointed at her and as the figure stepped into the moonlight, the shadow of the house silhouetted behind her, she was only mildly surprised to see the bird-woman.

“You’re not really going to shoot me, are you
, Phyllis?” she asked conversationally, still fingering her keys.

“I don’t want to
—too messy—but if you leave me no choice, dear, then I might have to. If I’d been a little younger, that shovel would’ve knocked you plumb out and done a lot worse, and I wouldn’t be worrying with you now,” she said plaintively.