Muddy Creek: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 7)

by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  Now, she entered the gym. “Blessings grace this sacred place it, all joy and peace may it embrace.”

  The gym, at least, remained quiet. Since it might be her last time, though, Taryn decided to take a chance. “Say cheese,” she murmured, lifting Miss Dixie from her chest.

  The flash of light from her camera had not even dissipated when the cries rang through the room. The sounds of children laughing and screaming shot out like bullets, full-on war cries of play. “Get her!” they called. “Go, go, go!”

  Taryn looked but saw nothing. The scene before was still in shambles, still desolate. The only movement was from a lone field mouse that ran around, searching for a long-lost crumb.

  But the children didn’t stop. She heard a shriek, then a laugh, and then what sounded like a very real sound of fear. “GO, go!” someone squealed again.

  Taryn looked around in confusion, trying to force the scene she heard to appear before her eyes. But there was nothing.

  “What is it?” Taryn demanded.

  And then she looked down.

  The cries of laughter and sounds of recreation were not coming from the room in which she stood now, but in the one brought to life on her camera.

  The power was still on; the lens cap was still open. And the static images on Miss Dixie’s LCD screen had come to life.

  Taryn raised her camera back up to her eyes and studied the screen with fascination. On the one side of the camera, the scene was bleak. A room full of garbage and debris. Look a few inches back, however, and the same room was bright, cheerful, and had returned to life. A line of children stood in the middle of the floor; yellow Styrofoam balls held high in their hands. Their contorted faces were gleeful but not with happiness. There was something else, something almost ugly. Taryn shrank from the scene when she saw what they were looking at: Lucy Dawson stood against the gym wall, hands covering her face, while her classmates aimed their weapons at her head and stomach, ready to strike. She was the only one on the other side of the line. It was an uneven sixteen against one.

  It wasn’t the look of fear on Lucy’s face that had Taryn almost crumbling to the ground–it was the disappointment and defeat. The wild-eyed rejection was something only a child could convey.

  “Those bullies,” Taryn sputtered, angered by something she couldn’t understand. “She’s just a little thing.”

  Where were the adults? The teachers? Taryn’s pictures flipped through a slideshow Miss Dixie had taken on her own accord, the images moving so quickly they flashed before her like an old flip-book movie. Lucy leaned forward and covered her head with one hand while making a feeble attempt to beat off the offending balls with her other one. The other children offered no mercy. As soon as they threw one ball, another one would bounce off the wall, or Lucy herself, and land right back at their feet. With each throw they grew closer and closer until all of Lucy Dawson’s little classmates surrounded her and resorted to beating her from all sides, the balls clutched tightly in their little fists.

  “Oh no,” Taryn cried. “Oh!” Feeling utterly helpless to stop what she was seeing, Taryn turned and began to run from the room.

  She was barely to the door when the singing came again. The teacher again, singing about being the person’s flame–always being there for them and standing strong. Their loud voice filled the hallway and, like the pied piper, drew Taryn forward until she was standing at the door to the classroom.

  “Mrs. Evans, you did this,” Taryn sniveled, still haunted by what she’d just witnessed. “But why, why did you do it?”

  Lucy had known the teachers were going to be there that night; the newspaper had reported that six of them would be riding the bus over…

  The names of the teachers listed one-by-one in the paper, all victims of the explosion…

  “Has there ever been a song in your life that you just hated?”

  The wooden sign above her began swinging back and forth. Taryn placed her hand on it and brought it to a stop. “Mrs. Evans’ Classroom,” it read.

  “Oh.” The realization of what she’d missed hit her like a ton of bricks. “Oh!”

  She’d been wrong before, but perhaps never as wrong as she was now. Taryn slumped against the door frame and closed her eyes. The music continued to swell, deafening and passionate.

  She’d have to see, of course.

  “I think I might regret this,” Taryn whispered, bringing Miss Dixie up to her cheek.

  Three pictures she took in a row, one right after another. When the last one finished, the music came to a screeching halt.

  She thought it might be over then. She’d seen and heard everything the school had wanted. But then, as was custom, the racket followed. Taryn knew enough to stay out of the way, to dodge the flying debris. She was ready with her camera this time, however.

  With the commotion continuing, she pulled her back and looked at what she’d just taken. It was no longer trash and broken furniture soaring around the room–it was staplers, tape dispensers, and other office supplies.

  The last thing she saw was the row of papier-mâché pumpkins, all made by blowing up balloons. Where they’d been drying on the windowsill, they now lay smashed on the floor, flattened by angry stomps.

  Taryn knew she shouldn’t keep scrolling back. If she stopped now, then she would be innocent. But if she didn’t keep going, she’d be just as guilty as though who knew and did nothing.

  The first picture quite literally made her sick to her stomach. Once the vomiting started, she didn’t think it would ever stop.

  Twenty-Nine

  Lucy refused to make eye contact with Taryn when she opened her door. Taryn, for her part, didn’t say a word. She clasped Miss Dixie in her hands for support, ignoring the droplets of sweat that ran down her arms and pooled on her hands.

  Once inside, Taryn lowered herself to an old rocking chair in the corner of the room. Lucy walked over to the fireplace and busied herself with a figurine of a cocker spaniel, after she turned down her stereo. Neither woman spoke.

  It was Lucy who broke the silence at last. “So you know, then.”

  Taryn nodded. She tried to speak, but a cry was caught in her throat. Her words came out as a croak.

  “I’m relieved in one sense,” Lucy sighed. “Although it’s not exactly a happy conversation starter, is it?”

  “Who knew?” Taryn was finally able to manage.

  “Everyone.”

  Taryn looked up from Miss Dixie, eyes wide. “Oh, no. That couldn’t be.”

  Lucy slumped down to the settee, resignation filling her face. “Unfortunately, it is true. I wondered at the time, how many did. In the beginning I told myself that nobody could know, that something would’ve been done if they had. But…”

  “Those walls were paper thin,” Taryn said. “The other teachers had to hear most of it.”

  “Yes,” Lucy agreed.

  “And the other?”

  “Everyone,” Lucy said sadly.

  “My God, Lucy.”

  Lucy settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. “You know, for years that messed with me a lot. The fact that everyone knew and did nothing about it made me think I was overreacting, that it wasn’t that big of a deal. Can you imagine?”

  “No,” Taryn said. “I can’t.”

  “I suppose I figured that, you know, if people knew and didn’t care then it was nothing. Nobody cared. Bad things happen in the world all the time, things that are much worse than what happened to us. I needed to move on. And I tried! Oh, I did. They did us a great disservice by not reacting. But staying quiet.”

  “By looking away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does your attorney know?”

  “No,” Lucy replied. “I couldn’t do that.”

  Taryn straightened, aghast. “Lucy! You have to tell her! You have to!”

  “Why?” Lucy spat with a brittle laugh. “For what purpose? So that everyone can see my dirty laundry?”

  “The trial will change,”
Taryn said in a rush. “They won’t be trying you the same way. They’ll–”

  “You think they’ll find me mentally deranged or incompetent? Say I was crazy?”

  “Well, yeah,” Taryn said. “Not crazy, but that you were under duress. I am sure you have something like PTSD or post anxiety or something. I mean, come on. Who wouldn’t?”

  “I can’t,” Lucy said stubbornly. “Where I am from you never talked about these things. Not in public, not in front of people you don’t know. Not when it’s about…Besides, this isn’t about me. It’s not my story. It’s not my right to tell it.”

  “But Lucy,” Taryn tried again, gently, “people might understand why you did what you did. If they knew. You wouldn’t be in as much trouble. And it might help others.”

  Lucy snorted. “Nobody would care about me, they never did.”

  “They didn’t know about you,” Taryn pointed out. “Not the ones who mattered. There is a whole other world out there that could help you; that could maybe help–”

  Lucy shook her head no. She was going to be stubborn.

  “I know another woman, a reporter. She wants to help. She’s a champion for children. She could work with you.”

  As Taryn sat there, she tried to put herself in the other woman’s shoes. To walk around all her life, holding onto a secret like that. Not telling anyone. Never talking about it. Taking abuse for it, when she’d done nothing wrong. And then trying to fix it, probably repeatedly, only to come out as a complete failure.

  “How did you know?” Lucy asked at last.

  “My camera,” Taryn pointed.

  “Good camera. You know, it was a camera the first time.”

  “Huh?”

  “A parent,” Lucy explained. “They were there in the school and got a picture. Things changed then. That’s when it stopped. I thought it was over, I was so relieved.”

  “But it didn’t stop.”

  “The damage had been done,” Lucy said sadly. “Already been done. We couldn’t change what had happened.”

  “Who was that parent?”

  “One of the little girls. I don’t see her anymore.”

  “Wendy. I have to ask. What happened to Wendy?”

  She knew now that it had been Wendy who had sat next to Lucy in that circle, that awful circle Taryn kept dreaming about. Yet she’d felt comforted by Wendy’s presence. That part was still troubling her.

  “Wendy was my best friend. I loved her,” Lucy murmured. “But she could never handle it. For years I thought she’d forgotten. She wouldn’t speak of it, wouldn’t talk about it. Nobody would. There even came a time when I’d convinced myself I’d made it all up. We didn’t speak of it at the time, nor afterward. Perhaps it had all been in my head. And then she spoke…”

  “And that night at the party?”

  “The song played. ‘The Bluest Eyes in Texas.’ You close your eyes for a second, and you’re still right back there. You can’t escape. That song came on, and Wendy went ballistic. I tried to calm her down but I couldn’t. I knew she’d hurt herself. I tried to save her, but I couldn’t.”

  Lucy began crying then, soft sobs that barely made a sound. Taryn was immediately on her feet, wrapping her arms around the other woman’s shoulders. “You tried to save all of them,” Taryn said, crying along with her. “But who tried to save you? Who tried to save Lucy?”

  * * *

  THE WOMAN ON THE OTHER end of the line had a harsh, impatient voice that grated. She clearly had no time to speak to Taryn, but Taryn didn’t let that thwart her efforts.

  “Hi, I know you don’t know me, but my name is Taryn Magill and I am a friend of Lucy Dawson’s,” she said brightly.

  The curve ahead was a sharp one, and Taryn took it too fast on two wheels. She needed to slow down, needed to pull over. But she was too wound-up to stop. She had to make the call now, couldn’t wait.

  “Yes.” It was not a question. This woman was obviously not going to encourage the conversation.

  “Listen, I know you’re busy but I need to talk to you. I have information that’s going to affect the entire case. I promise.”

  “You’ve got thirty seconds,” the other woman barked.

  Geeze, Taryn thought, considering your weak witness lineup, seems you’d be happy to talk to someone else.

  Instead, though, she rattled off the condensed version of what she knew. When she finished, the other end of the line was so quiet she thought she’d dropped the call.

  Then, “Are you serious? Is this a joke?”

  “No joke, ma’am,” she replied.

  “Do you have any proof?”

  “Yes. And we can get more. There were witnesses.”

  “Holy mother of God, I should have suspected,” the attorney exhaled loudly. “Can you meet me in fifteen minutes downtown? The fried chicken place?”

  Taryn hung up as soon as she pulled into her motel’s parking lot. She only had a few minutes to run inside, grab the photo album Misty had loaned her, and go back out.

  Frieda was walking past her door when Taryn reached it. “Frieda!” she called, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Hey, what’s up? Get your car fixed?”

  “More about that later,” she seethed, thinking of Heather and Louellen. “In the meantime, how would you like to crack a big story?”

  “How big?” she asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “The biggest.”

  “Example?”

  “Motive?”

  Her smile widened. “You’re on! When?”

  “First thing in the morning. Meet me for breakfast.”

  Lucy’s permission had been soft. She was still unconvinced; Taryn knew she might ending up hate her. The whole town was probably going to hate her, Taryn, by the time it was said and done and maybe even Lucy. Lucy was right–people were funny about these things. Many would say this was something that should have remained buried, should never have seen the light of day. Too much time had passed. It could only hurt those involved.

  But, this time, Taryn was going to do the right thing. It might be a catastrophe. But Lucy deserved it, not to mention the others.

  Thirty

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  Taryn shook her head no. “She didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I can see why.” Roxanne Martin, defense attorney, took a long drag of her cigarette and blew smoke in Taryn’s face at one of the last places in the country that didn’t adhere to any kind of ban (the restaurant, not the county). “You know what this is going to do.”

  The truth was, she didn’t know what it would do. “I’m not sure.”

  “This isn’t just Lucy’s life we’re talking about here. Look, I like Lucy. I always figured there was something, you know? And hell, in her place, I might have done it a long time ago. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that she killed people and now she’s dragging half the town down with her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the embarrassment.”

  “I’m worried about that part,” Taryn admitted. “A lot.”

  “I’m almost certain that is why this was covered up when it was, for as long as it was. The stigma behind it…”

  “It’s not a simple bullying case,” Taryn agreed. “You know, for a long time Lucy convinced herself that it wasn’t that bad. That because others ignored it and let it continue, she was being melodramatic or some shit like that.”

  “Nothing simple about this one, girlfriend,” Roxanne snorted. “Listen, do you know where we are?”

  Taryn looked around and nodded.

  “No, I just don’t mean here, I mean here. This area, this part of the country. Where boys will be boys and men will be men. Where the boys are basketball stars and football heroes and the girls win pageants and become cheerleaders and prance across talent show stages in dance numbers. Do you see what I am saying?”

  Taryn frowned miserably. “So you think…”

  “I think it’s unfair, but these things are not
handled the same way. And that will cause problems.”

  “But if I was a parent,” Taryn interjected.

  “Damn right,” Roxanne agreed, slamming her fist on the table. “If it were my child, blood would spill. But we have to think about these kids, about what it will do to their lives.”

  “So you won’t go forward with it?”

  Taryn felt her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t counted on that.

  “Naw,” Roxanne sighed. “I’ll give it a shot. But he might not talk to me, you realize. Just give me what you have.”

  Taryn reached into her purse, pulled out the two halves of the picture, and slid it towards the other woman. “If you ever want to see my camera, I can show you the rest.”

  Roxanne took the pieces and studied them. Her eyes clouded over, and she gave an involuntary shake. “Honey, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to see that.”

  * * *

  SHE DIDN’T KNOW what to do. For over an hour Taryn had walked around town, stopping at the empty storefronts and looking inside, trying to imagine what the town had once looked like, back when it had been active and thriving. She tried to imagine what it could look like, with local artisans set up with demonstrations and musicians strumming on stages of small theaters, bringing the town back to life.

  Did she do something wrong? Was this just going to perpetuate the stereotype? Bring more negative attention to an area that had already seen more than its fair share of it?

  But it wasn’t the town’s fault.

  “Will people see beyond where this took place and look at it for what it really was?” Taryn asked a lamppost. “Or are they going to look at it and laugh, just one more stupid thing from the crazy rednecks…”

  She didn’t want to be a part of that.

  When her feet and heart were hurting equally, she returned to the motel. Everyone had apparently turned in for the night; the parking lot was quiet.

  Taryn had only just put the key into her door when it was suddenly jerked open from the other side, the movement sending her flying into the middle of the floor. “Wha–”