“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.”
Chapter 14
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.
Of 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.
Taryn 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.
“Well, it was still a pretty good hit,” Taryn reasoned. “It knocked me out and my head still hurts.” She had no idea why she was trying to make this mad woman feel better about trying to kill her.
“You weren’t supposed to come out here tonight. In a few minutes, my son will be here and he’ll take care of you,” she whined. “Why are you here so late? It’s too damn dark to paint!”
“I forgot something,” Taryn lied and found herself almost on the verge of apologizing. “I had to come back.”
The bird-woman shook her head. “We know that’s not true. I know you’ve figured out what happened here, and what happened to my uncle. Poor Uncle Jonathan. He should never have gotten messed up with them folks. They ruined him, they did. He loved that little girl, Lord knows why. Would’ve done anything to marry her. Even had her daddy believing there was a gas well on here just so he could have her. Said he’d make him a rich man. He told my mama that on his death bed. There weren’t no gas wells here, of course. But that old fool didn’t know it. He was greedy, wanted money. He’d believe anything.”
Taryn was taken aback. So it was just a lie? And Jonathan really had feelings for Clara? Well, that was different. She’d been wrong.
“But Jonathan didn’t kill her, Phyllis. He had nothing to do with it,” she reasoned again. “And it happened a long time ago.”
“What’s time,” Phyllis snapped. “Nobody forgets. And I won’t have you dragging my family’s name in the mud. No, he didn’t kill her. And when Robert told him what he’d done to that other boy and that she’d died, he went out of his mind with grief. He was a good man, my uncle. Tried to make things right.”
“All towns have a haunted house, Phyllis, it’s just for fun. It’s part of their history. It’s nothing personal,” she tried again.
“You say that when it’s part of your history,” she snapped. “You’re dragging my family through the mud! Uncle Jonathan would have married that girl and her no good daddy would’ve gotten out of debt. But he went insane. Did what he did and my uncle couldn’t help it. It was all over greed. Uncle Jonathan told him that if he ever tried to drill and get another oil company involved, he’d bring the authorities right to that well, even if it meant that his name got dragged in the mud right along with it. He didn’t care! He was a good man. He tried to make things right in the end and hoped everyone would forget. And they did! Until you come around.”
Taryn wanted to ask what she meant, thinking that stalling was her best option, but Phyllis’ agitation was becoming more pronounced.
“I won’t tell anyone. Nobody even knows, Phyllis. Believe me, they don’t. I’ve asked everyone. They just think this house is haunted, they don’t know the story behind it.”
Phyllis snorted. “You’ve been all over town asking questions. Everyone knows. And how do you think I feel, having this house and this place like a freak show, a carnival ride? Right next to my family homestead? It’s a joke! How long until they put it together and my family’s name is dragged through the mud? My son’s here to dig up that well. We know what’s down there and you do, too. He knows about you, too. Was his idea for the tea and the tires. We thought maybe it would be enough. But you’re ornery.”
Taryn felt prickles of pride that she knew were silly. She tried to take a step back. “Just let me go home. Take whatever is in that well and I’ll leave and forget about it.”
“I’d like to, of course. I don’t want no death on my hands. I’m a good, Christian woman. But when you die, your family’s name is all you got left. When my mama told me our secret, I promised to take it to my grave. And that means taking it to yours, too.”
They both heard the car turning into the drive at the same time. Taryn screamed and lunged at Phyllis the same time she decided to pull the trigger. As the bullet raced through her shoulder and Taryn felt the ground under her once again, she just hoped the son wouldn’t be too hard on her or as sadistic as some of the killers on the crime shows she liked to watch.
Once again, Taryn found herself waking up to bright lights and the soft sounds of voices. Both her head and shoulder hurt, but she also felt a little floaty and drowsy and it was nice. She couldn’t be on the ground anymore because the surface under her felt too soft. And her jeans were gone. She knew because she could feel her bare legs. The material under her was a little scratchy, a little cottony. She was too uncomfortable for this to be Heaven, though.
“Hey,” came a soft female voice. “You’re awake! Look at you!”
On experiment, Taryn tried opening her eyes and was amazed to find herself back in the same hospital room. Melissa sat at her side, a carton of apple juice in her hand. “Sorry, but I drank your juice. You didn’t look like you’d be wanting it and my mouth was really, really dry. It’s still hot out there.”
“Hey, I’m not dead,” Taryn smiled. “What the hell happened?”
“Reagan got the voicemail you left him before you left the hotel. He decided to come out and check things for himself. Be glad you’re in Kentucky where men carry guns in their trucks or else you might be dead. We heard the shot on our farm, too, and my husband was heading over. He got there the same time as Phyllis’s son and the police. They’ve both been arrested. It’s kind of sad, really.”
Taryn nodded. “And so pointless. Does reputation really mean so much? I mean, for people who have been dead for so long?”
“I guess so. Heritage is a big deal. People want to protect it,” Melissa explained. “It was Phyllis’s life, apparently. She didn’t want her family associated with something so horrible. She was afraid you’d bring it all out into the open.”
They both stayed in companionable silence until Taryn broke it again. “I hoped they liked the painting, anyway.”
Melissa giggled. “Oh, and I talked to your friend Matt. I got in touch with him on your phone. I hope that’s okay.”
Taryn nodded. “Thank you. He would’ve killed me a second time. Or third. Whatever. I’ve lost count.”
“He came up with something on his own. He did his own research and guess what he found? Until the house sold, Jonathan Fitzgerald paid the taxes and kept the house up. So he must have really loved Clara.”
“Or at least felt responsible for what happened,” Taryn added. “And no wonder. A combination of his greed, Robert’s greed, and Robert’s lies killed two people.”
“Well, maybe…Some of it might not have been lies. They found Donald’s body in the well. Reagan had them dig it up. Nobody even knew it was there. Of course, it’s just bones now. But we know it’s his. We won’t know until they do a bunch of testing, but who else? The
re was a lock on that well, too, an old one. Police figured it’s been on there since the ‘20s.”
“I bet I know where the key is that fits the lock,” Taryn murmured.
“And guess what else they found?” Melissa added.
“What?”
“Oil wells. In the back.”
Taryn’s eyes grew large. “Holy shit! They’ve been busy.”
“No kidding! Reagan’s got that place torn apart. Robert wasn’t lying. Of course, he might not have known he wasn’t lying at the time, but yeah, they were really there all along. They all would have been rich,” Melissa said a little sadly. “Well, the Fitzgeralds were already rich, but they would have been even richer. That should have made them happy. That’s what Jonathan wanted all along. To be richer.”
Taryn closed her eyes and thought about poor Donald, going to see Clara. For what? Had they decided to run away together? Was he going to ask Robert for permission to finally be with her? Or was he just concerned and checking on her? “We’ll never know how Donald died. But I have theories. My worst one is he simply threw him into the well and Clara, tied to the bed, had to listen to him drown or scream until he died.”
Melissa shuddered. “That’s mine, too. I’m hoping maybe the bones show a gunshot wound or something. I don’t know if that’s possible. But she had to know he was dead. Do you think he killed her, too?”
“I don’t think so. In her diary she talked about her stomach hurting, feeling pale, and not being able to eat but feeling hungry. I’d say that under all that stress she worked herself up a good old-fashioned stomach ulcer. I believe she died from complications of it, or she vomited blood and choked on it. The coroner probably couldn’t tell the difference, especially with the blood on the sheets and her mother’s history of TB.”
Windwood Farm (Taryn's Camera) Page 18