by Noir, Mila
“Maybe. You don’t strike me as that bright,” Officer Jackson said, trying to get a rise out of him. Anton gritted his teeth. He had to keep his temper in check.
“Well, I won’t be winning any Nobels anytime soon, but I’m pretty sure I’m smart enough not to admit to drug trafficking,” he said and shrugged.
“Watch yourself, Quinn. Everyone’s got their eyes on you. These deaths, they’re suspicious,” Jackson said, leaning in closer.
“Really? Then why did you all report them as accidents?” asked Anton innocently, eyebrows raised. Jackson grunted.
“Just watch it, smartass,” he said, then walked back to his car.
Anton waved as the cop car pulled away, then sighed a little with relief. That could have gone a bunch of other, less pleasant ways. It certainly had in the past.
Still, it was odd. One of the Saints was poking around him, about the “accident,” when the cops were the ones who had ruled it so. Didn’t they believe their own report? Anton wasn’t a suspicious man, but he knew a lot of folks in town were, especially about the Deathless Rider. There’d be rumors that the Saints had pissed him off in some way and he’d enacted justice. Which sounded like spectacular bullshit to Anton, but there you were. He’d been inclined to think they’d all gotten drunk and run their car off the road and the precinct was just trying to cover up cops and civilians doing something so stupid and illegal.
Now he wondered. You didn’t make veiled threats at someone like Anton if it was just some stupidity or an accident. Something about those deaths was really wrong.
And he wondered again what Taylor was doing in town now, after all this time.
***
“What the hell am I doing?” Taylor asked her reflection as she put on a little mascara and fiddled with her hair. She was fidgety, nervous, and spending way too much time obsessing on how she looked. Who cared what Anton thought?
Well, she did. After all these years, their shitty history, and a lot of trying to convince herself that she didn’t…she did. It was infuriating. He was infuriating.
So why had she agreed to this date? She wasn’t entirely sure. Part curiosity, she supposed. What a “date” with Anton would be like after so many years. Their first one hadn’t gone very well.
She stood up and paced. She’d had a hard time deciding what to wear, mostly because she hadn’t packed much in the way of “going out” clothes. She was there to work. And she didn’t really want to look like she was “trying” with Anton. He didn’t deserve that. Plus, she had other things on her mind now. Like someone sabotaging her car and going through her room while she was in it. And yet this date was still stressing her out more than either of those much more serious situations.
Still, she liked looking put together at least. So she’d put on a long deep purple sweater tunic with a cowl neck that set off her hair and eyes. Gray tights with a flowery design on them. And this time, low black ankle boots, a bit slouchy, but with thick heels. Taylor firmly believed in footwear you could do damage in.
This time, over her sweater, she wore her military wool coat that she’d paid quite a lot to have custom made. It fit like a glove and, given the cost, would need to last the next fifty years roughly. Worth it, however. It kept out even the worst of an NYC winter wind.
Her mind kept going back over her meetings with Mrs. Keeper, Powell, her car, and the room break-in. She was starting to get nervous around any shadows and had been sure she’d seen someone flit among the trees near the inn earlier. Probably just a cat, but she was jumpy. With good reason. So why the hell was she staying? Stubborn, just like her grams.
She was just starting to think he was going to stand her up when she heard the rumble of a well-maintained bike pulling up outside. She looked out the window and saw Anton drive up on a sleek black bike, possibly a Harley (she’d never paid much attention to bikes), take off his helmet, and shake out his hair. Even in the dark, it was shiny and he didn’t have helmet head. Unfair, she felt.
Taylor took a deep breath, grabbed her bag, and went downstairs. No way was she going to have him up in her room. She’d meet him outside and they’d get this over with. There were more important things going on, like her story and whatever weird mystery was going in in Sweethollow. Although something kept niggling at her about it all. That it was more than just mundane, crappy human behavior.
In any case, this date was going to be as simple as possible. She figured an hour, tops. Then she’d be back and it would all be out of her system. Whatever “it” was.
In the lobby of the inn, a few regulars were wandering about, and a small family was looking around skeptically as they checked in. They looked like they might be just stopping in on their way to the city, but Taylor didn’t stay to find out. She was trying to figure out what she’d say to Anton. Her mind was just a total mess between her story, her feelings, the shit that had been happening, and being back where she’d grown up. It was like some unpleasant soup of memories and emotions.
On the porch, Taylor waited as he walked up the path, looking up at the stars at first, until he saw her. He stood still for a minute, then approached. He looked up at her from the bottom step, head tilted to the side.
“What?” she asked, irritated. He was making her uncomfortable.
“The light behind you gives you a kind of halo. Like you’re glowing,” he said and shrugged.
She stared. That was pretty poetic for a Quinn. He was surprising her a lot, and she didn’t like it. She wanted to keep thinking of him the way she had been for the past ten years—as a creep who hadn’t been worth all the time she’d wasted trying to get to know him and liking him and, okay, maybe being a little in love with him in an adolescent, immature way.
“Yeah, well, once I step down you’ll see I’m just an average girl. Like I’ve always been,” she said and moved down the steps.
“You were never average,” he said.
“Okay, awkward, then. Weird. Brace-faced,” she provided. He shook his head.
“You were always…different. The rest is just superficial,” he said.
“Too bad you weren’t. You turned out to be like everyone else,” she said, then bit her lip. She’d wanted to refrain from that kind of thing tonight. Take the higher road.
“It was your mistake for thinking I was ever anything else,” he said.
“Maybe. Let’s just leave that alone for now. Where are we headed? I’m starving,” she said, sidestepping a conversation she really didn’t want to have. If she was going to do this, she wanted the night to be as pleasant as possible so she could walk away with a clear conscience.
“It’s a surprise. A good one, I promise,” he said, holding up a hand at her arched brow of skepticism.
“Okay, I’m going to trust you on that. Which is a lot, given our history,” she said.
“I know. Thank you,” Anton replied. He got on his bike, then handed her a helmet. She put it on and felt like a little kid. She was also a little worried about what it would do to her hair.
“Do I just get on the back and hold on?” she asked, swinging a leg over.
“Pretty much. Just make sure you hold on tight. Tighter,” he said, as her arms slipped around him.
Then they were off.
Taylor had never ridden on a bike before and it was both terrifying and exhilarating. She clutched Anton’s middle and couldn’t help but notice he had distractingly firm stomach muscles. She tried to suck in her little round belly and somehow maintain distance while crammed up against him on the back of his motorcycle, so close she could smell the woodsy, faintly citrusy scent of him.
It felt weird to be balanced on the back of something without doors, windows, or any kind of protection from the world. It was dangerous and scary and, because adrenaline was in the mix, sexy. She liked the feel of him and remembered the last time they’d been this close. Which neatly undid the warm fuzzy feelings she’d been developing.
Taylor sighed, wishing, and not for the first time, that
that night so long ago had never happened. She wished he’d never shown up at her door, long hair past his shoulders, in a suit that didn’t quite fit, looking young and beautiful. She wished she’d gotten sick or backed out. She wished some kind of act of God or ghost or nature had intervened. Then she wouldn’t have to think about him and remember.
But life wasn’t like that. It wasn’t neat and easy. Sometimes people you liked did shitty things, and you had to either forgive or find some way to move on. She’d thought she had. Until she’d seen him again.
***
Anton, meanwhile, was having a similar dilemma. He hadn’t been able to tell Taylor what he’d really thought when he saw her on the porch, outlined in light. Because she’d been more than glowing; she’d been radiant, beautiful, almost too much to bear. He couldn’t say those things because he didn’t think he had the right to. And because they might sound like bullshit coming from him.
With her holding on to him, it felt like everywhere she touched him was on fire. She felt good. Soft. Comforting. But there was real heat there, too. Passion. It reminded him of that night, how good she’d felt, right up until he’d messed everything up. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he’d thought.
Anton had been determined to show her a nice, normal time out. But he liked goading her too much. And he was just too attracted to her. It was a mess. The kind of situation he should definitely avoid—which made it that much more appealing.
Even though it was dark, Anton was taking the more scenic route to their destination, one he really hoped would be a pleasant surprise for her. It hadn’t been all that difficult to arrange, which had surprised him.
Anton wasn’t the sort of man who generally went in for big romantic gestures. He might spring for some good wine and a room that was cleaned regularly, but that was about it. Generally his liaisons didn’t require much more; they were in it for the fun as well.
So why was he trying to impress a woman he hadn’t seen in ten years, had never dated, and who pretty clearly hated him?
The less he thought about that, the better.
Behind him, Taylor was having a virtual avalanche of doubts. But in the end, it came down to two things. One: she was curious about Anton, even after all this time. Two: It had been a while since her last date. Not a great reason, but still.
She hadn’t been paying much attention to where they were going until she smelled something familiar. He couldn’t be taking her there, could he?
He sure could. She laughed.
In front of them stood Adler’s Castle, the site of the Deathless Rider’s first supposed “kill,” a local man who’d been doing terrible things to children…and the spot of the skirmish between the British Army and the local militia during the Revolutionary War. It wasn’t really a castle, exactly, although it did have a stone wall and a tower. It was really an oddly designed house built by Nelson Adler, a local recluse in the early 1900s. He’d kept building onto the house in different styles until his death. The effect was very odd, with one section in the shape of an octagon, the aforementioned tower that looked like it came from medieval Europe, the Tudor front, and so on. It was one of the most hideous buildings Taylor had ever seen and was locally known as “Adler’s Folly.” The family still owned it, though they all lived out West somewhere. It was now a tourist stop on the “Deathless Rider” tour, and there was a surprisingly upscale and highly rated restaurant within that featured what had to be said were some spectacular views of the Hudson River.
What Taylor had smelled was the scent of their signature dish, the “Deathless Chocolate Cake.” They made a lot of them and even shipped them abroad for a small fortune. One wing of the building had been converted into a bakery, and everyone in Sweethollow could tell when they were close, even with their eyes shut, because of the scent of chocolate.
Taylor was laughing because this had been where she and Anton used to meet and talk in high school, when they both needed to get out of the house. They would sit on the hill that overlooked the hideous house and the water, poking a bit of fun at the adults going there for “romantic” dates. They’d been snarky the way teenagers usually are about things they secretly kind of wished they could do. She’d forgotten all about those nighttime meetings until just then. The smell had brought it all back.
Back then, Anton was always getting in trouble of some kind. Often at school, and sometimes after, involving the police. It was always difficult to tell when he’d really done something wrong and when he was being blamed because he was a Quinn. He father had been universally disliked, and with good reason. But Anton had been different. Or so she’d thought.
She’d been in school with Anton for years before they’d actually “met.” She’d admired him from afar, too awkward and nervous to even say hi. He’d never noticed her, which she hadn’t expected. She wished other people had ignored her the same way, like Nick de Marco and his crew of “Saints.”
Taylor had been so unpopular it had kind of been like being in a gutter. What she wanted was for no one to notice her so she could read in peace. Unfortunately, Nick had taken some kind of special dislike to her and made it one of his missions to humiliate her at every opportunity. Every day had been like running a gauntlet of insults and intimidation. It had been truly miserable.
One day, when she’d just had enough and couldn’t take anymore of Nick or his gross friends pushing her and yelling at her about how ugly she was, she’d escaped outside to the deserted basketball court. It had been fall like it was now, and she’d thought she was alone. Until she’d smelled cigarette smoke.
Anton had been outside, smoking near the back of the detention room. Which she’d felt was somehow on purpose. He’d been sitting there, long legs casually crossed, boots tapping a little, his head leaning back and looking up at the sky, with smoke curling around. He looked relaxed and casual, as if nothing in the world could bother him.
Taylor had been about to sneak back in when he’d surprised her, turning his head and looking at her and speaking.
“They’re just a bunch of assholes, you know,” he said, sitting up a little and giving her a small grin. “You’re better than they are.” And just like that, she’d fallen from crush to love.
They sat and chatted for a while after that, about nothing in particular. They both didn’t like Mr. Chilton, the history teacher who spent most classes yelling about how great things used to be and who didn’t actually read any of the papers he’d assigned. They both liked the art teacher, even if she was a little flakey and seemed to mostly make pottery shaped like rather suggestive flowers.
After that, they’d run into each other sometimes, often when Taylor was walking the track instead of doing the regular gym activities—she’d been hit in the head one too many times with a ball for the gym teachers comfort—and Anton was cutting math and hanging out on the bleachers around the track. He had girls around sometimes, so Taylor didn’t bother him when he was with someone. It didn’t bother her. She loved him, but she didn’t need him to love her back. She wasn’t blind or delusional; she knew girls like her didn’t get guys like him.
When he wasn’t making out with someone, though, he’d often walk the track with her and they’d laugh about something a teacher had done, or complain about the way the school seemed to bend over backwards for the Saints just because they were decent at football. They both talked about wanting to leave Sweethollow.
After a while, they’d started meeting more regularly after school, sometimes at the diner. Anton liked to tell her about his girlfriends or complain about his grades. And she listened, just happy to be around him.
One afternoon he’d come by after not being in school for a few days, sporting a nasty, still-swollen black eye. He hadn’t said much for a while. And then he’d told her about his dad.
He’d spoken quietly, without any of his usual self-deprecations or usual teenage cynicism. He’d been hurt, vulnerable. And he’d chosen to share that with her.
A week l
ater had been the “incident.” In the years since, she’d suspected that wasn’t an accident. Opening up like that had clearly been too much for him, and he’d lashed out at the person he’d been vulnerable in front of. Maybe that was just how he’d had to deal with it. Or he’d just been an asshole. She’d stopped trying to figure out teenage boys a long time ago.
All of this went by in a flash as she got off Anton’s bike. She stood looking up at Adler’s Castle.
“Wow. It’s even more hideous than I remember,” she said.
“Old Man Adler must’ve really been fucking nuts. Did you know he killed his wife? No one likes to talk about it, but he poisoned her and then walled up her body in one of the wings he was having built. She wasn’t found for a few months. Everyone thought she’d gone on a trip,” Anton said.
“I thought I heard something about that, back when I was kid. Grams and some of her friends used to talk about him sometimes, in hushed voices,” Taylor said.
“Sometimes I think this town attracts the worst kinds of people,” Anton said, standing next to her.
“It’s a small town, not a Stephen King novel,” Taylor said with a smile, not entirely sure she really believed that. As a teen, she’d often looked around and wondered why people seemed to get away with the things they did in Sweethollow. From school bullies to teachers taking bribes, there seemed to be a sort of silent permission in all things corrupt. And then there was how families like Anton’s were treated, as if his father and grandfather being awful was a guarantee that he would be.
In Taylor’s case, she’d mostly been disliked because she didn’t do things the way girls were “supposed” to. Like not making sure no one knew how smart she was or not caring about how she dressed. These were capital offenses in Sweethollow and she’d paid for them dearly. Especially with Nick de Marco. For whatever reason, he’d really taken it personally that she didn’t conform to his idea of what girls should be. And she didn’t find him charming, interesting, or anything more than creepy. That alarm went off in her head again…and then was quiet.
