Taylor's End

  Taylor’s End

  By N H Brown

  Copyright © 2019 N H Brown

  N H Brown has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

  www.nhbrown.net

  This is a work of fiction. All characters are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-6482768-1-4 (Print)

  ISBN: 978-0-6482768-2-1 (Ebook)

  Edited by Invisible Ink Editing

  Cover design by BespokeBookCovers.com

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter One

  For weeks now, the sleepy rural community of Taylor’s End had watched the sky, waiting for the crisp sun-filled days to give way to winter’s vicious bite. The arthritic elderly, plagued by the cruel disease that crippled them, were grateful for the reprieve. Although they had been around long enough to understand that clear skies and mild temperatures at the end of the first month of winter were a decidedly bad sign of things to come.

  Old-timers who had lived through the dreadful winter of ’62 predicted a repeat of that utterly merciless season sixty-odd years earlier. They were not alone in their predictions. Many locals were bracing themselves for what they feared would be a particularly fierce winter when it finally came. Hopefully, when the cold front rolled in, folks would be adequately prepared. Full-page advertisements plastered the community newspaper. They warned the residents to stormproof their homes in preparation for this week’s winter snowstorms.

  Out in the east paddock, which ran along the now-defunct blacktop that had served as one of the main roads into town until the construction of the new highway a few years ago, Tom McCormack grumbled to himself as he tinkered with his bitch of a tractor. It had spluttered to a lurching stop the previous afternoon. The timing couldn’t have been worse, if he believed the blasted weather reports. And although Tom didn’t give two shits for the weather reporter on the six o’clock news, he reluctantly agreed with the twit’s forecast of an approaching storm that would rival the Great Ice Age.

  A greasy nut slipped out of his hand and fell among the dried tufts of grass at his feet. He cursed the ancient machine—not quite as old as himself, but not far from it—and spat a thick green wad of phlegm onto the ground behind him. At the rate he was going, winter would have come and gone, his livestock starved and dead, their skeletal remains littering the paddocks before he managed to repair the temperamental machine.

  He was starting to wonder if it would be necessary to admit defeat and make a call to the guys at Fodder & Farm Machinery. After forking out most of his savings for a truckload of winter feed, the prospect of finding money to pay for a mechanic to come out to the farm and attempt to revive the tractor was particularly unappealing. No, he’d stick it out for a while longer. If he hadn’t managed to get the tractor to turn over in another couple of hours, then he’d make the call.

  Cussing under his breath, Tom stooped to search for the nut that had fallen from his hand. Movement on the road caught his attention. He shielded his eyes against the glare of the midmorning sun with his gnarled hand to take a better look. It was at least two hundred yards to the fence and the road beyond, and Tom’s eyesight wasn’t the best, but he’d be damned if some fool girl wasn’t walking along the blacktop, just strolling along like she hadn’t a care in the world. Never mind that the farm was over ten miles from Taylor’s End, or that she was wearing a flimsy slip of a dress that barely reached midway down her thighs. He squinted, watching as she walked toward town. She had a scarlet coat draped over one arm, and Tom wondered why she didn’t put it on. Although the sun was shining, and it was a good ten degrees warmer than ordinary, it was still too cold to wander around with bare limbs. The silly girl would catch pneumonia if she weren’t abducted by some sicko pervert first.

  It made absolutely no sense to him. What was she doing all the way out here anyway? These days, most people passing through Taylor’s End on their way to someplace else used the highway, especially since those GPS gadgets had been updated to include the new road. It shaved at least ten minutes off the average trip thanks to improved conditions. So what exactly was she doing?

  It occurred to him that she might have gotten a flat tire or, even worse, been involved in an accident. People unfamiliar with the road had often miscalculated the bends, taking the turns too fast and finding themselves in someone’s paddock, surrounded by a herd of curious cattle.

  “Hey!” he called out, walking toward the road. “Hello there, is everything all right?” For a moment, he thought she didn’t notice him and was going to walk right on by. He raised his arms and waved them above his head to get her attention. Still no reaction. “Is everything all right?” he asked again. That got her attention.

  She paused midstride and turned in his direction. He waved again and hurried across the paddock to the fence that ran parallel to the narrow blacktop. The girl seemed reluctant to approach. Tom beckoned to her, and she picked her way down the slope toward the paddock.

  “Hi. Is there a problem?” Tom asked. She joined him, maintaining a polite distance as she looked him over curiously. A strong breeze had picked up, whipping her long, dark hair into a mess of tangles. She brushed a lock of hair from her face.

  “A problem?” she asked, seemingly perplexed by the question.

  “Yeah, a problem. Did your car break down or something? I could go back to the house and call a tow truck for you if that helps.”

  She wrapped her slender hands around the top string of wire while she listened to Tom’s offer, her head tilted slightly. “I don’t have a car.”

  Tom frowned. He had been too busy examining her slightly disheveled appearance to notice at first. “You might want to let go of the fence. That’s barbed wire you’re holding.” The girl glanced down, a puzzled expression on her delicate features. She released her grip and turned her hands palm upward to examine the damage. Jewel like beads of crimson blood welled across her palms. “I hope you’re up to date with your tetanus shots. Those barbs are as rusty as all hell,” he said.

  For the first time during their brief encounter, the glazed, spaced-out expression had left her face, and it seemed like she was present and focused on what he was saying. Tom didn’t know much about drugs, just what he saw on television, and that was mostly sensationalist bullshit, but he wondered if the girl, who was only in her early twenties at most, was under the influence of something.

  “I didn’t even realize,” she admitted with an embarrassed laugh. “Do you think that they will get infected?”

  Tom nodded. “I reckon it’s highly likely. As I said, that wire is well rusted, and the animals often reach across it, scraping themselves. And if you haven’t washed up for a while, that’s gonna make infection even more likely.” She sighed and wiped her bloody palms on the front of her dress. Despite the black fabric and his imperfect vision, Tom could make out the ugly smears. They weren’t the only dirty marks on the dress, and he wondered when s
he had last had a shower and a clean change of clothes.

  “I’ve got a first aid kit over at the house if you want to follow me back there. I can treat those wounds before you continue on your way.” It was not a genuine offer. He didn’t have time to mess about helping some drugged-out stranger, and yet he’d opened his fool mouth and made the offer anyway.

  “Thanks,” she said. “That’s sweet of you. If it’s not too much trouble, I would appreciate the help. I’m not too keen on getting an infection.” Tom nodded and spread apart two strands of wire so she could climb through. He noticed goose bumps covering her pale skin, and more than a few discolored bruises marked her arms and legs. Wherever she had come from, she’d had a hard time of it, by the look of her.

  She followed him across the paddock. They paused at the tractor long enough for Tom to collect his toolbox before lugging it up the gently sloping hill to the farmhouse. They crossed the dirt drive, and his old cattle dog, Rosie, came out from her doghouse. She raced to the end of her chain, barking furiously at the stranger. Tom was surprised by the dog’s aggressive turn. It was rare for Rosie to act in such a violent and protective manner. She pulled at the chain, bouncing back and forth. Her lips curled back from her snapping teeth.

  “Settle down, Rosie. That’s no way to act around a guest,” the old man admonished his canine companion. “Try not to take any notice of her. She doesn’t normally act this way. I honestly don’t know what’s got her so riled up.”

  The girl gave the dog a wide berth. Her eyes never left the animal, which provoked the dog even more. Tom ushered the bleeding girl inside and led her down the dimly lit hall, dusty pictures of better days hanging from the faded, wallpapered walls. They passed through a wide arched entry to the eat-in kitchen. “You’ll have to excuse the mess,” he apologized sheepishly. “It’s just me and the grandson lives here, and we don’t always clean up as best we should.”

  “That’s OK. Truthfully, it’s not nearly as bad as you might think. I doubt a bit of dust and a few dirty dishes ever killed anyone.” She looked around the tired room with its dated cabinetry. The laminate was chipped and peeling in places. Dirty dishes crowded the sink, and a carton of juice sat abandoned on the counter. It was evident that a woman hadn’t been inside the house for a very long time.

  “Sit down at the table while I go fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom,” said Tom. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  The girl pulled out a chair and sat down, dropping her small shoulder bag on the table in front of her. It felt good to be off her feet, even if it was only for a few minutes. She had been walking all morning. Although she wasn’t certain, she would have sworn it had been twenty-four hours since she’d last slept.

  Tom returned with the first aid kit and placed it on the table beside the girl’s purse. It was leather and finely made, and there was shiny gold hardware suggesting some designer label he’d never heard of.

  “You said you don’t have a car. Were you hitchhiking or something?” he asked. “I have to tell you you’ll struggle to get a ride on that road. Since they built the new highway, it’s mostly only local traffic that uses it, and even then, there aren’t that many vehicles. Mostly the handful of folks who live out here really.”

  She watched as Tom opened the first aid kit and rummaged around inside, searching for antiseptic wipes and adhesive bandages. “Yeah, I noticed that. I got a lift last night, which helped, but they dropped me off a fair way out of town. I’ve been walking ever since.”

  Tom shook his head as he tore open the packaging of an antiseptic wipe. “It’s not safe hitching lifts with strangers. You never know what sort of psycho could pick you up.”

  She smiled in amusement at his concern. “You’re right. It can be dangerous, although the worst thing to happen so far seems to have been sticking myself on your rusty fence.”

  Tom asked her to hold her palms up so he could sterilize the wounds. She opened her fingers out, resting the backs of her hands on the tabletop. He wiped the little puncture wounds as gently as he could, hoping he wasn’t causing her too much discomfort. Even with his ministrations, she’d be damn lucky if they didn’t get infected. How on God’s green earth hadn’t she noticed the sharp metal barbs penetrating her skin?

  In a mocking tone, completely unlike the lighter girlish voice she’d used earlier, she said, “God’s green earth? You don’t actually believe that crap, do you?”

  Her eyes bore into him, dark and unflinching, and Tom suddenly questioned the wisdom of admitting the stranger into his home. “Well?” she pressed when he didn’t answer. Tom shook his head, perplexed by the sudden change in the girl’s demeanor and the icy atmosphere in the room. He pulled his hand back from hers.

  She sprang forward and snatched his wrist in an instant, dragging him forward across the table. When their faces were only inches apart, she hissed, “Answer me, pig!”

  He peered at her in horror, at her eyes black with rage. The bones in his wrist ground against each other painfully as she tightened her grip. It was inconceivable that a waif of a girl could overpower him so easily. Although he was getting on in years, Tom couldn’t believe someone who was one hundred pounds fully clothed could dominate him with such little effort.

  Confused and afraid, he stammered, “It was just a figure of speech. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Her eyes narrowed to hateful slits. They made him think of the darkest horrors of war, atrocities so violent and devoid of humanity that he’d spent the best part of a lifetime trying to forget them.

  She sensed his vulnerability, and the barest hint of a smirk twisted up the corners of her mouth. “It must weigh heavily on you, the knowledge of who you truly are, and how easily you committed heinous acts against your fellow man.”

  Tom renewed his efforts to free himself from the girl’s iron grip, but it was futile. Her hold on him was unshakable. “I don’t know what you are referring to, but you need to let go of me right now and get the hell out of my house,” he managed to say, with more command than he felt.

  She threw her head back and laughed. The sound was sharp and brittle, like shards of glass grinding against each other. It sent chills through him, and he felt his stomach roil.

  “What do you know of hell, old man?” she taunted, squeezing his wrist harder still, her nails digging into his fragile skin. “You might think you’ve been there, but those dead women in the jungle were like a leisurely picnic on a warm summer’s day. Maybe I should stick around and show you just a tiny taste of hell. What do you think?”

  A bone cracked in Tom’s wrist. He cried out pathetically, ashamed of his weakness. “No! My grandson will be home soon. You need to leave. Please . . .” he begged, hoping the threat of someone showing up at any time would deter her from further violence.

  “Mmmm. I like the sound of that. Someone a bit younger, more of a challenge. Do you think he’ll have more fight in him than you do?” She leaned forward over the table, their faces so close that he could feel her breath on his cheek. Tom desperately wanted to avert his gaze, but his eyes were locked on hers. As he peered helplessly across at the stranger, he understood she was something more than a girl wandering the roads alone.

  “Jesus, help me,” he implored.

  His plea, although almost inaudible, enraged the girl, and with a hateful snarl, she propelled him across the room with a vicious thrust. “Jesus won’t help you. Nobody will.” She pushed up from the table and stepped over the first aid kit that had been knocked to the floor. Its contents spilled across the linoleum tiles.

  Tom lay in a crumpled heap on the floor beside the doorway. The wind was knocked out of him, and a trickle of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth where he had bitten through his lip. He forced his eyes open long enough to see the girl bypass him and walk off down the hall. The front door opened, banging against the wall, followed by the sound of footsteps on the porch. Rosie barked briefly before yelping once. Then there was silence.

  Tom’s chest heaved as h
e forced air into his lungs, and he allowed his eyelids to close for a moment. Only a moment, though. He’d get up soon. He just needed to rest for a bit and catch his breath. Everything hurt, and the prospect of dragging himself to his feet was more than he could manage right now.

  Chapter Two

  A few hours later, the girl arrived at the outskirts of town. She paused for a minute to examine the large sign positioned in a manicured green space with picnic tables and colorful winter garden beds. The sign welcomed her to the cheerful community of Taylor’s End. She couldn’t quite recall the reason for passing by this way. The last twelve hours or so were foggy and unclear. Snippets of half-memories floated just beyond her recollection, taunting her with the promise of elucidation. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to remember, yet the harder she tried, the more elusive the fragmented memories became.

  Frustrated, she opened her eyes and continued into town. These lapses in memory had been plaguing her for months now. Frightening chunks of time passed without her knowing what she’d done or where she’d been. Occasionally, an image would flash through her mind, so grim and foreboding that she would shy away from its implications, preferring to continue in ignorance.

  When she’d first found herself wandering some lonely backroad with no idea of where she was, she’d dug her cell phone from the bottom of her purse, planning to call home, only to discover her voicemail full of hysterical messages from her family and closest friends. The short recordings prevented too much detail from being revealed, but she could piece together enough to know something had happened back home, and it wasn’t good.

  “Ella, please come home. Your father and I will help you in any way that we can. Please. Just call and tell us where you are,” her mother’s anguished voice had implored. The final message had been from her parents’ lawyer, advising her to get in contact as soon as possible.