“There's a flashlight in the glove compartment,” he all but barked. “Can you get it?”
It was her car. She knew what was and wasn't in there. “No there's not,” she sputtered. I don't have a flashlight.”
“Yes you do. I put one in there last night. You're never prepared,” he lectured her.
The absurdity of the situation struck her as inappropriately humorous. There they were, standing under a dark canopy of trees where they'd probably run someone down, and they were arguing about a flashlight.
Sure enough, it was where he said it would be. He'd also neatly folded her road maps (she refused to have GPS and still liked darting into gas stations to get directions when she could) and had thrown away some of her garbage.
Now Taryn slid from the car a second time, flashlight in hand. “Are they going to be okay?” she called to Matt as she studied the driver-side door. She was having trouble figuring out if she should leave it open or close it–like that was the most pressing matter at the moment. She must have been in shock.
“I think so,” he answered. “Can you bring that here now?”
She'd not even taken a step when the sound of footsteps running through the brush cut through the night. “Oh God, oh God. What happened?!”
When Taryn turned, the beam of light she held in her hand focused on the figure who was now just a few feet from her. The look of terror and grief on his face was worse than the shock. He stared in horror at the front of the car where Matt squatted next to a limp figure, gently trying to feel for broken bones without moving them.
Taryn kept the flashlight on the new intruder. It illuminated his face and shone down on him like a beacon. “Dustin?” she asked conversationally, as though they were all simply out for an evening stroll. “What are you doing with that big pipe in your hand?”
Chapter 20
It was five in the morning before Matt and Taryn made it back to the park.
“I'm going to take a long nap and then I'm going to take my easel out and do the last little bit,” Taryn yawned. “You get to the point where you know it's just time to go and move on to the next thing.”
“And what is the next thing?” Matt inquired as he slipped off his shoes and lowered himself to the bed. He ran his hand up her arm and she snuggled into him, her head on his chest.
“There are a few possibilities. Remember that fire that happened at that resort? It was way before either one of us was born, down at one of those islands in Georgia. A rich person's resort, killed something like fifty people?”
Matt nodded. ”The Monte Carlo Club. It still pops up every time one of those television stations does a countdown of the worst crowd tragedies or something. But I thought it was gone?”
“It is,” Taryn agreed. “They never rebuilt it. That was back in the 1920s and right after the fire the stock market crashed. The decadence and lifestyle kind of flew out the window, too. But anyway, some rich dude has bought half the island and wants to rebuild it on a smaller scale. They contacted me to work with the architect.”
“How much of it is left?” Matt asked.
“Almost none of it. It would be a long job, at least three or four months. Good, stable income and I'd get to live on an island for awhile.”
Matt opened his mouth and Taryn thought he might protest. If he did, if he asked her to return with him, or said he'd come to her in Nashville, she might turn the job down. She might go with him. That might be what was next. She was about to suggest it herself when he broke her thoughts and said, “You know, I think that's a great idea. And it's not too far away. I could probably come see you at least once. And you could come see me.”
Taryn was a little stunned. To see each other twice in three or four months? And it was only about a three-hour drive from Matt, another reason it appealed to her.
But she smiled thinly. “That's what I was thinking, too.”
But the elephant in the room, of course, eventually stomped.
“I can't believe it was Dustin and Lydia breaking into the houses and stealing from people,” Taryn swore. “I mean, we sat right here in this room and talked about it.”
“People slay me,” Matt agreed. “We all hide our true faces from the crowd.”
“Dustin looked so ashamed, and so petrified for his wife. I just wanted to hug him.”
“He's a thief,” Matt interjected. “He broke the law. A lot.”
“Oh, Dustin and Lydia aren't criminals,” Taryn argued. “Not in their arts. Maybe in their actions...Desperate times lead to desperate measures. They'll be out on bail soon and I want to see them.”
“You have a soft heart, Taryn. The reason you see your ghosts is because you're sensitive to everyone's plights, including the living.”
Taryn sighed. “And I cry and get angry at the drop of hat.”
“You take the good with the bad,” Matt said. “You don't get to turn one side off.”
Taryn settled back into her pillows and closed her eyes. Lydia was in the hospital. She had a slight concussion and broken arm but she'd be okay. NO charges were being pressed against Matt; it was an accident. A guard was stationed outside her door. Dustin was in the jail, although he'd been allowed to visit his wife. She thought they'd be out on bail soon, if they could find someone to post bail. Unfortunately, she didn't think there was anyone in their life who could do it. It was money that got them in the shape they were in in the first place.
“Why didn't they just declare bankruptcy?” Matt asked sleepily. She could tell he'd be out within seconds.
“Dustin said they tried, but the only kind they could get was the one where you have to pay it all back. It wasn't wiped off. And they still couldn't afford the monthly payments,” Taryn explained.
“And moving? For better jobs?”
“Their baby is buried here. They have ties to this place that go farther than just liking it and it being home. And with what money could they move? Relocating for a new job means renting a truck, getting a new place, putting down a deposit, turning on utilities...and if you don't have money to start with….”
Taryn was bitter. They were good people, just trying to do their best. They'd turned to stealing out of desperation. But at least they'd worked together; they were a team. And a tiny part of her was jealous of that.
The perfume bottle on her bureau rattled.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Julie squealed as she ran towards Taryn. The dining room was crowded but Julie pushed people aside to get to Taryn's table. “We all know everything.”
“I'm fine,” Taryn assured her. “Nothing happened to me at all. And Lydia will be fine.”
“I just can't believe it,” Julie moaned. “They're the ones who broke in on me and stole out of my house!”
Taryn flinched. “To be fair to you, it wasn't personal. They didn't know you'd moved. They never would've done that to someone they know.”
Julie caved. “Yeah, I know. They're my friends. They felt horrible when they found out and I don't think they were faking.”
Andy bustled in at that moment, his voice booming over the low roar of the crowd. “And to think,” he lamented to a small group following him. It was a fellow employee right here at Shaker Village who did it to me.”
As he slid past Taryn and Matt's table his volume grew. “Of course, they feel terrible about it. They're doing everything they can to make me comfortable.”
“I just bet,” Taryn muttered. “Of course he's going to milk this for all it's worth.”
The hostess seated Andy at the small, two-person table next to Taryn and Matt and she rolled her eyes. “I was really hoping to enjoy my breakfast this morning.”
“Oh, did you hear about the terrible thing?” Andy demanded. She thought his southern accent might have deepened a little, like a southern godfather's. “Oh, but of course you did. You were there after all. And to think you are the one who caught them in action!”
Taryn took a bite of biscuit and said nothing. The bread was dry in her mouth an
d stuck. She had to take a sip of orange juice to get it down but she put on a good front and acted like she was doing nothing but enjoying herself. “It's a bad thing all the way around,” she said primly and turned back to Matt and Julie.
“I just can't believe it, he moaned to the hostess. The tables around them had stopped talking, too, tuned into the Andy Show. “So many things they stole! My television, my computer, my tablet...”
“I thought they were just stealing house parts,” Matt interceded. “And they targeted yours because it was being worked on and open.”
Taryn laughed. It was true; Andy had not mentioned any of the electronics previously.
“Well, the good thing is that insurance is paying for everything and I can stay here, free of charge of course, for the next week,” he babbled. “Who knew, though, that the Friday night I was enjoying my one evening at the movies those thieves were cleaning me out. And I get out to enjoy myself so little these days...”
Julie, who had been listening with a disgusted look on her face, frowned. “Hey Andy? When did that happen to you?”
“Two weeks ago on Friday,” he replied. “I'll never forget it. The Kentucky Theatre up in Lexington was showing Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid that night and I treated myself.”
Julie crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. “Dustin and Lydia were with me that night. I remember because they came over and got me around 5:00 pm and then we all went out to dinner together. I brought my boyfriend with me because they hadn't met him yet. After dinner they came back to my house and we played cards until almost 2:00 am. Neither one of them was ever out of my house.”
Someone tittered nearby and Andy's face grew red. Carol, who'd walked up behind Taryn without her knowing it, stepped forward.
“Do you have proof of that Julie? A receipt or something?”
“Well, yeah,” she reckoned. “I have the restaurant receipt because Tristan paid. Oh, and my neighbor saw them leaving, too. He was letting his dog out while they were leaving and after what happened to me he was worried and checked in because he didn't know who they were.”
“Well, maybe it wasn't that night,” Andy sputtered, uncomfortable.
“Maybe you should think about that a little, Mr. Tribble,” Carol suggested harshly. “In the meantime, can you come up to my office for a minute?”
“He totally made that up,” Taryn said after they'd walked off, Andy's shoulders slumped. “He didn't get robbed at all.”
“That's some funny shit right there,” Julie hooted.
“The ironic thing is that he didn't lie because he wanted the insurance payoff,” Taryn said wonderingly. “I think he honestly did this to get free nights at the park. Dream big, man, dream big.”
The women laughed together and continued to make fun of the insufferable man until Matt finally interrupted them. “I don't mean to break up the party but I am really, really hungry. Think we can make something happen about that?”
Taryn knew she'd have her paintings done by the end of the day. She'd probably need another day for touch ups but if she applied herself properly there was no reason she couldn't have them technically finished.
“I hate to leave you alone,” she apologized to Matt.
“It's okay,” he shrugged. “I’m going to walk around and take in the sights. Maybe work on a report I brought with me. I'll find ways of entertaining myself, I promise.”
It was not a good day for Taryn pain wise. From the moment she woke up her left hand had throbbed, swollen red with inflammation. The only relief she got was when Matt squeezed it, applying just a little bit of pressure. But he couldn't stay by her side all day, holding her hand. Her hip was back to throbbing, too, but she didn't want to take any medication for it. She tried to save it for days when the pain was really bad and sometimes the hard stuff left her feeling fuzzy headed and mushy. She wanted to be as clear headed as possible while she worked.
Despite the horrible thing that had happened the night before, and knowing that both Lydia and Dustin were arrested, the day was bright and warm, the sun shining down without a care in the world. It was true, Taryn thought with some bitterness. The world really did go on no matter what happened. Life was unsympathetic to the plights of others. They all might as well be ants, or the stone in Mother Nature's shoe.
Taryn painted straight through lunch and it was late afternoon before her stomach began to rumble. She ignored it and continued to press on. When she got in the zone, especially when the end was in sight, she didn't stop. Though her hands throbbed, her hip was stiff and sore, and her back was hunched forward from the pain, but she was afraid if she stopped she'd never be able to pick it back up again. She needed to do this.
The landscape on her canvas had sprung to life; it was as detailed as a photograph. The little schoolhouse's open door was welcoming, inviting everyone who wanted to come inside and stay a bit. The other two buildings were structurally solid, ready for work. The green grass spread out before them like a shag carpet, soft and lush. The large canvas, nearly three feet tall, looked ready to walk right into.
Taryn painted furiously, dipping her brush into the blobs of paint over and over again, and blending them with what was already there. The trees were nearly three dimensional, the sky bright enough to feel the sun.
By nightfall she was finished.
She would set up her easel in her room and let the painting dry overnight. There was nothing to do, however. Her job was done.
Walking back to her room, supplies in her knapsack on her back and her canvas tucked neatly under her arm, Taryn hummed a little to herself. The song, “Barbara Allen,” about the hard-hearted woman who'd shunned the man who loved her, causing him to die of heartache.
“'Sweet William died for me today/I’ll die for him tomorrow',” she sang under her breath. It was the same song she'd heard Evelyn singing. Matt had recognized it as soon as she'd offered a few lines to him.
“It's a death ballad,” he'd complained. “He ignored her when she wanted him and then, on his death bed, she ignores him. He dies from heartache, and probably fever, and in despair she dies the next day for not being there for him in his time of need.”
“Well that's depressing,” Taryn remarked. A lot of those old folk songs were. The majority of them seemed to be about death or unrequited love.
“Kind of a beautiful song, too,” he shrugged. “It's a double-edged sword to be in love.”
She could see the light on in her second story room as she approached the path that would take her to her building. Matt's shadow passed in front of the window. She felt guilty for leaving him alone all day but Matt was an introvert; he liked being on his own. Maybe they could go into town and celebrate. She liked to treat herself when she finished a project and, introvert or not, he might like to get out.
Taryn was parallel with the site of the old ice house when the fog began rolling in again. “Oh shit,” she mumbled.
Picking up her pace, she curved away from the group of trees that encircled the hole in the ground and pile of rubble, trying to get as far away as possible. To an outsider it simply looked as though the river fog was rolling in from the fields, up from the water, and had somehow thickened in that one area. Taryn knew the fog was there because it was a living, breathing thing and was drawn to the darkness that lived underground.
Although she was moving as quickly as she could, the dirty fog found her and grabbed at her feet, pulling her. She tried to fight it, to kick at it, but it clung to her and tugged. She was being dragged to the ice house against her will and there wasn't another soul in sight to help her. To protect her work, she dropped her canvas and easel to the ground. The soft thud was a reminder of the physical world and somehow comforting. For a second the fog broke up around her feet, the icy fingers retreating. And it might have been okay. She might have been able to move on from it and return to the safety of her room.
But she needed to know. It would follow her and eat at her until she did.
Like a ghost herself, Taryn glided towards the darkened indention. The trees rose up menacingly, taunting sentries. The warm night was replaced with a chill that was not of this world. Lips chattering, shoulders shaking, and exposed skin turning blue Taryn pressed forward, heading straight to the thickest part where she had no idea what was waiting for her. Her left hand throbbed painfully at her side, sending jolts of pain up her arm. Her legs from the knees down ached, like something was eating her from the inside out. She imagined an army of little aliens, all inside gnawing on her and ripping her tissue and muscles apart to shreds. She faltered a little then and stumbled, threatening to fall to the ground. She caught her balance, though, and straightened. She could do this.
The bubble of smoke down below was so thick she couldn't see the bottom. White with stringy muscles of gray coursing through it, it reminded her of sausage gravy, thick and creamy. It bubbled, as though in a pot, and pulsated. Alive.
Taryn knew fear; she'd had more than one experience with things not from this life. She'd been so terrified she could barely move, both from the dead and the living. But this was different. Whatever was down there wanted her, it was seducing her. The bottomless pit of evil was part of her doing, a combination of her jealousy, her love, her anger, her frustration, her sadness. She knew it because it was like looking in a mirror. Each time a bubble rose to the top and dissipated she recognized something from her past, something she'd tucked away. There was the guilt of arguing with Andrew before he'd gotten into his car, the anger at the cheerleader girls from high school who had not been mean to her but ignored her as though she didn't even matter, the grief of seeing her life flash by without any real ties to anything around her...and then there was the despair. The overwhelming feeling that she was meaningless in the world, that her existence was unnoticed and pointless. That nothing she'd ever done or would ever do would have a single effect on the world around her.
Shaker Town (Taryn's Camera Book 4) Page 18