The red sedan parked next to her contained Aker, her security guard for the next couple of months. Aker was a retired policeman and former marine. He was probably in his mid-sixties but looked forty. When she’d introduced herself and made a joke about finally being successful enough to have a bodyguard, he hadn’t cracked a smile on his hard, lined face. In spite of the gloomy sky and menacing clouds he wore dark sunglasses. She wasn’t entirely sure she could pick him out of a lineup if he turned out to be psychotic.
It was all very Hollywood.
“Wait just a minute,” Aker barked when Taryn started towards the motel’s front door.
He’d been in the middle of unfolding a chair for himself and now he sprinted towards the building, sticking his hand back to hold her off. “I need to re-check the interior and perimeter.”
So Taryn stood in the middle of the empty parking lot, camera slung over her shoulder, and waited. She felt like she was on a crime show, waiting for the Swat team to give an “all clear.”
The boards had been removed and both she and Aker had a master key to all the doors, although he was the only one with one for the gate. Now she waited impatiently as he entered the building, long flashlight raised in his hand, and screened the handful of interior rooms that ran off the lobby. She waited again once he returned and surveyed the front of the building, looking for signs of break-ins and people who weren’t supposed to be there.
“I’d say you’re safe to go,” he declared as he stalked back to her, arms crossed in front of his chest.
“Do we have to do this every time?” Taryn asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Aker replied, the clouds reflecting in his shades. “You never know who’s going to be here that isn’t meant to be.”
Taryn offered a half-hearted “thanks” and then headed towards the entrance again, Aker’s eyes boring into her back. When she neared the door she turned and looked back. He was busy setting up his folding chair again. She guessed he intended to camp out right there with her as long as she was working. It was a little weird but what could she do about it? She had worked in stranger situations.
At least it wasn’t a gaggle of little old women, sitting in a row of lounge chairs sipping on martinis while they watched her paint the country club. (True story.)
The lobby door still had all its glass, which was more than could be said for the windows surrounding it, so Taryn opened it and stepped inside as though she were a guest checking in.
The “lobby” was a grotesque ghost town. It always surprised Taryn at how some empty buildings looked as though everyone just got up one day and walked out, leaving everything behind.
The Black Raven Inn’s lobby was no exception. There were still papers on the desk, keys to most of the rooms dangling from hooks in the wall, and even outdated computer equipment hiding under multiple layers of dust.
Between the dark sky, awning, and the fact that there were only two windows to begin with, the room was so dim it was hard for Taryn to see anything. Soda cans and food wrappers littered the floor and she found herself treading over these gingerly, mindful of stepping in something she might not be able to get off her shoes later. Or on something that moved and squeaked.
The “lobby” was nothing more than a room big enough to hold three metal chairs, a desk she could barely see over the top of, a small table that held an ancient coffee maker and a coat rack.
Oddly enough, the coat rack still sported a dark-colored man’s wool coat. It was impossible to tell if it was black or navy blue yet it hung there, neatly, among the disorder that surrounded it as though the original owner was still planning on returning for it.
The coat, waiting for someone who was never coming back, tugged at something in Taryn. She found it both incredibly sad and a little creepy. It was a sign that the world moved on, sometimes when life itself didn’t.
Taryn turned Miss Dixie on and took a shot of the coat rack. The room suddenly lit up with artificial light, making it even spookier and sadder.
Ruby had told her that the electricity was working but when Taryn flipped the switch on the wall nothing happened. An empty bulb socket above her revealed the reason why.
“I’ll tell her about that,” Taryn said loudly, her voice booming in the small, quiet space.
For now, she whipped out her cell phone and turned on the flashlight app to light her way.
A short hallway ran off from behind the desk and she followed it, now a little relieved that Aker had gone in before her and checked things out.
“He might come in handy after all,” Taryn mumbled.
The first door she came to was closed and Taryn used her free hand to push it open. She was promptly met by a collection of mops and brooms, all of which threatened to fall out and attack her in one fell swoop.
“Shit!” she cried as she juggled the cleaning equipment and her phone and attempted to corral them back into the tiny space. Apparently, Aker had either not checked that room or had stuffed everything back in the way he found it.
The second door was open about six inches. She gave this one a push with her foot, ready to tackle anything that might want to jump or fall out on her.
It was just a break room.
A large table with peeling Formica set in the middle of the room, taking up most of the space. There were coffee mugs on it, some of which looked to still contain dregs that had rotted over time.
The vibrations of her feet padding across the floor sent bugs scurrying out from every corner, frantically trying to make their escape as they ran every which way in panic, some scrambling on top of one another in their haste.
Taryn, who was not particularly squeamish but still not a fan of ugly bugs, jumped aside and did a little dance over the offending insects as they headed straight towards her and the open door to freedom.
The break room was gloomy but she supposed it had done the trick at one time. In addition to the table, nearly hidden under the garbage and even a few needles (she didn’t want to think about those), there was a twin-sized bed pushed up against the wall. The mattress was lumpy, dirty, and sagged in the middle. A big dark stain was smeared across the middle. Blood maybe? Taryn didn’t want to think about that, either.
Against the other side of the wall was a dated, brown, rusted refrigerator. “No way on God’s green Earth,” she muttered as she turned away from it. Nothing would have her opening it to see what kind of hell lived inside.
She’d just pretend it didn’t exist.
“I have a feeling I’ll be thinking that a lot about this place.”
Still, Taryn had a job to do. She spent several minutes taking shots around the room, making sure to get the generic motivational nature posters, slightly discolored from the sunlight, dust, and cigarette smoke. She took pictures from several angles of the room using her wide-angle lens to get the space in its entirety. Then she turned to the windows and took shots of them from the bottom and sides.
Lastly, although she wouldn’t use them for the paintings, she took pictures of the horrific mattress with its fear-provoking stain, the filthy table with its collection of unmentionables, and even a line of what had to be roaches marching in an orderly single file line to the door.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Taryn declared, hand on hip. “I don’t mind abandoned. In fact, I like it. I don’t mind dingy. That has its own kind of charm. But I don’t do nasty. And this is just nasty.”
She couldn’t imagine Ruby Jane sauntering through the revolting floor in her expensive shoes, with the scent of decrepit neglect and what, to Taryn, smelled like the hint of feces, clinging to her willowy frame and beautiful hair.
But, hell. She didn’t really know Ruby at all, no matter how many interviews she’d read or how often she listened to her albums. Taryn had to keep reminding herself that just because she grew up with Ruby’s music didn’t mean Ruby had grown up with her.
Maybe this was Ruby’s kind of thing.
Taryn spent the rest of the dreary morning wander
ing around the mote’s boundaries, taking pictures of the doors, interior courtyard (all the rooms had back doors that opened up to a common outdoor area, complete with fire pit and picnic tables), and whatever outside furniture was left behind and not hauled off by looters.
Aker always kept his eyes on her when she was within his vision; she could feel them watching, even though she had her back to him and he pretended to flip through a stack of magazines he’d stacked neatly on a cooler by his feet.
“You okay over there?” she called out once.
He’d grunted in response and waved her off with a meaty right hand.
It was clear to Taryn that he could care less about her; he was simply hired by someone with a lot of money and his job was to keep that client happy and satisfied. Taryn was a necessary evil.
She briefly wondered what he kept inside that cooler of his. Surely not beer. He appeared to take his job far too seriously for that. Mineral water? Nah, not manly enough. Probably some kind of protein drink that came in a powder pack he had to mix up. Something with the picture of an iron fist on the packaging. Or a snake.
By noon the sky was black and Taryn could see the lightning flashes to the west. There was a terrible storm coming and she was about to be in the middle of it. The lighting was getting bad already; she might as well pack it in for evening. It would take an extensive amount of editing on what she’d already taken to make them presentable. That wasn’t something Taryn would normally worry about, but now that she knew Ruby wanted copies, the pressure of quality fell upon her.
Still, even as she felt the first few experimental rain drops fall lightly on her frizzy head, she found herself stopping in front of Room #5.
The tarnished brass room number had come unhinged by a screw and dangled upside down. The doorknob had been brass at some point, but years of grubby hands had faded it and rubbed off some of the finishing. The once bright blue door was dingy and dirty, streaked with mud and what looked to Taryn like feces. The door had been kicked in at the bottom, the wood splintered and scruffy.
Someone had taken a black spray paint can and written “Peace” at the top. Only they’d apparently ran out of paint there at the end so it really read “Peac.” Someone else had attempted to paint a red heart inside a neon green guitar around the room number but the green paint, over the blue, got lost. The color reminded Taryn of bile, the kind she saw when she’d been vomiting for awhile and had nothing left in her stomach but acid.
To the right of the room was a window. With the plywood barrier removed, she was able to see the glass, boldly intact. The tattered lace curtains that hung limply inside were surprisingly feminine for such a place; the holes in the fabric looked like they’d been made by cigarettes and moths.
As she gazed at their delicateness in a sea of hostility and deterioration, she thought she saw one of them flutter, a slight movement that had her catching her breath a little.
“Closer,” a voice whispered provokingly. “Please.”
Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she looked back at Aker. He was in his chair, a book in his hand. He could have been reading or napping; it was hard to tell behind those dark sunglasses. He didn’t appear to be watching her, though.
He certainly hadn’t whispered to her.
Taryn reached her hand out towards the door, fingers trembling a little. When her fingers touched the cold, hard knob, an electric jolt flashed through her. The blue spark that shot out from the door flashed in front of her just as a fat raindrop landed on her nose. Both had Taryn jumping back onto the sidewalk, clutching Miss Dixie for comfort.
“Oh, come on,” she laughed nervously. “It’s just static from the weather.”
Yet from the corner of her eye she saw the hint of movement in the window again; the curtains were moving. It wasn’t her imagination.
And she hadn’t imagined the voice. Something was inside that room.
Taryn stood as still as she could and watched the door and window. He had died on the other side of that wall, Ruby Jane’s band mate and, by most accounts, her lover. A heroin overdose.
When the motel was still open and operating, musicians and devotees had flocked to the room and made a virtual shrine of it, leaving behind guitar picks and song lyrics they’d composed themselves in honor of his untimely death.
Many claimed his ghost still lived in the small room, forever trapped within the four inauspicious walls.
Taryn would have to go inside sooner or later. Her curiosity would eventually get the best of her, not to mention the fact that Ruby had specifically asked for a painting of the interior.
She’d save the exploration for another day, however. If Parker Brown’s ghost was indeed living within Room #5, then she’d meet him eventually.
She always did.
Five
“So what’s the verdict, doc?”
Taryn had been waiting on the examination table for thirty minutes. Her doctor always ran late, but since she usually had a book with her she didn’t normally mind. However, today the sky was clear for the first time in four days and she was itching to get back to the motel.
She’d wanted to reschedule the appointment. This was an important visit, though, and she needed to be there.
Her doctor, a young woman with long brown hair, closed the door and pulled her stool up next to Taryn. In her hands she held a folder, several inches thick. It was Taryn’s records from the past year. She’d turned into their biggest client; Taryn liked to think her insurance payments were keeping the entire office up and running. She’d been there so much that the staff had gotten together and bought her a Christmas present the year before.
“It’s not great news,” Dr. Culver warned her.
“Ruh roh,” Taryn grimaced. “Did it grow?”
“Yes,” her doctor admitted. “You started out at 3.8 and now we’re up to 4.2.”
For those with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, the aortic aneurysm was the development nobody wanted to hear. It was the one thing that took the painful, awful connective tissue disorder that made Taryn’s tissues and organs frail and fragile become something potentially terminal. Although the condition wasn’t life threatening in and of itself, it came with a multitude of complications that caused chronic, often debilitating pain, and plagued her with symptoms that attacked each and every one of her systems.
There was no cure for EDS, but the various symptoms could be addressed and treated individually, even if the “treatment” was just a temporary fix.
When you threw in the complication of an aneurysm, however, the game changed. She’d hoped to avoid one, but there it was. And it was growing.
“Are you having any new symptoms?” her doctor asked.
Taryn shrugged. “I can feel the pulsating in my stomach more often. It hurts to eat too, but it always has so I wouldn’t say that’s new, necessarily.”
“You’re down ten pounds from last month.”
“That might also be from the vomiting. I’ve been doing that a lot more.”
“I can give you something to help that. Anything triggering the vomiting?”
“Nah,” Taryn replied. “It’s usually a little worse at night and right after big meals. I’ve been trying to eat smaller ones throughout the day.”
“What about the tummy pain?”
“Mostly with eating. It’s taken me out of the game a few times and I’ve had to lie down and keep still for a few hours, but nothing specific seems to trigger it. It just happens.”
“You know that if you get that ripping, tearing feeling that doesn’t feel like your ‘normal’ pain you need to go straight to the hospital,” Dr. Culver warned her. “It probably won’t be anything serious, but we don’t want to risk it. We’re at that stage now where we have to start worrying about ruptures and dissections.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“I’ve sent a referral to the cardiologist and gastroenterologist so you should be hearing from them soon. Your last echo was abnormal and showe
d some mitral stenosis and general hypokenesis. We need to keep an eye on those things. We’ll continue to monitor your blood pressure and try to keep your stress levels down, too. We might need to start talking surgery soon. It’s risky for you with the EDS and it doesn’t always work but it’s something we don’t want to rule out just yet. How’s your pain level?”
So Taryn spent the next fifteen minutes talking about her options, describing her latest symptoms, and scheduling more tests.
Over the past year and a half. her health had taken a dramatic turn and she was still having trouble dealing with the new developments. As though seeing the past through her camera and communicating with the dead wasn’t a big enough disruption, she now had these confounding medical issues to worry about.
And, as much as she wanted to ignore them, she couldn’t. They were progressing and she was getting worse, like it or not.
With each passing month the pain grew more difficult to manage, even with strong pain medication. It was becoming harder to walk, eating was no longer as fun as it had once been, and her energy levels were at an all-time low. She dutifully consumed her vitamins and supplements, was religious about taking her medications on time, ate a healthy diet (something that pained her since she did love her junk food), went through the physical therapy they sent her to, and did everything her EDS specialist recommended. She was a model patient.
And yet she continued to worsen.
Since there was no cure for Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, however, she was basically putting a Band-Aid on everything until…
“Until I die,” she muttered aloud as she trudged to her car, angry and frustrated. “I’m going to die and I still don’t understand the ending of ‘Lost.’”
Sometimes life just wasn’t fair.
Aker, Taryn discovered, was more accommodating than she’d initially given him credit for. After working with him for a little over a week she’d almost stopped apologizing every time she changed her schedule. Almost.
“Hey, sorry I didn’t call,” she spoke into her phone as she drove along Broadway through downtown. “I got held up at the doctor. Is it okay if we go now and work a few hours?”
Black Raven Inn: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 6) Page 4
