most of them he was holding a flaming cutlass, like a pirate, and his face was always a skull.
Taylor thought about her dream and tried not to analyze it. So, okay, she’d had a crush on Anton Quinn in high school. A big, painful, completely unrequited crush. She most definitely hadn’t been the only one, and it wasn’t like having a crush on the “bad boy” was particularly unusual.
What had been unusual was when he’d unexpectedly shown interest in her and asked her to the senior prom. She’d only been a junior but was taking extra classes to see if she could qualify to graduate early. She’d been done with the bullshit by then and her grams had encouraged her to get out if she could. Technically all she needed was to take her GED, but she wanted that diploma. She’d been through enough, she figured she’d earned it.
Young Taylor had been too surprised and naïve to think anything of Anton asking her. They’d been friendly for a while, chatting, even meeting after school, though she’d never noticed it was always when no one else could see. She’d been flattered and grateful, which was embarrassing enough. But she’d gone out and spent real, hard-earned babysitting money on getting her hair straightened and shiny and buying a dress that actually fit (even it had been secondhand) and a sweater that matched, with little embroidered birds on it. Anton had once said he liked birds. She’d really put in the effort, even though she couldn’t do anything about the braces.
He’d shown up, which was miracle enough. Looking beautiful in his suit, even if it had been a bit too big at the cuffs and hem. They’d driven to the dance and then…
Everything had gone horribly wrong. Not quite Carrie wrong, but close enough. She hadn’t been able to trust anyone for a long time after. And if she was being honest, she wasn’t sure she trusted anyone now. Certainly not men, that was for sure.
She sighed, sipping the coffee when it was brought and then picking at her fries. Memories were such a pain in the ass. Why couldn’t she remember nice things from her childhood? Like picking flowers? Or her first time going swimming? Or how great Grams’ pies were?
Well, okay, she did remember Grams, and that was always good, if a little sad. She ate her lunch and went over her notes. There wasn’t a lot, but there was some decent town history and the beginnings of what she hoped would be a good, meaty piece. Something about small-town secrets and cover-ups. She just needed to get some actual facts so the piece would be more than gossip.
She’d made of list of people to see and places to visit. There was Mrs. Keeper at the old folks’ home; as former head librarian she might know a lot. There was Nate Powell, Senior Detective. She’d known Nate in high school and he’d been a decent guy. Quiet, nerdy. Focused. The Saints had picked on him a lot, so she hoped he’d talk to her. There were also the Riderites, a sort of fan club/historical society in town her grams had founded. They’d be useful, especially since most of the members were small-town busybodies. They’d dedicated an entire old farmhouse to Rider lore, trinkets, and assorted crap. At the very least they could fill her in on whatever Rider story elements she’d forgotten over the years. And they’d certainly provide some of the gossipy tabloid stuff and superstition her editor was looking for.
As she was flipping through her notes, which had been taken the arcane, Luddite way on actual paper with a real pen, someone sat down across from her.
“Excuse me, I’m just finishing up my lunch here and—” she began.
“I noticed. Hi,” said Anton. Taylor looked up in complete shock. “Need another cup of coffee? Or pie? They make a halfway decent apple.” He grinned. She scowled.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, closing her notebook with as much vigor as she could. She began to scroll through her phone, trying to get him to take the
Taylor thought about her dream and tried not to analyze it. So, okay, she’d had a crush on Anton Quinn in high school. A big, painful, completely unrequited crush. She most definitely hadn’t been the only one, and it wasn’t like having a crush on the “bad boy” was particularly unusual.
What had been unusual was when he’d unexpectedly shown interest in her and asked her to the senior prom. She’d only been a junior but was taking extra classes to see if she could qualify to graduate early. She’d been done with the bullshit by then and her grams had encouraged her to get out if she could. Technically all she needed was to take her GED, but she wanted that diploma. She’d been through enough, she figured she’d earned it.
Young Taylor had been too surprised and naïve to think anything of Anton asking her. They’d been friendly for a while, chatting, even meeting after school, though she’d never noticed it was always when no one else could see. She’d been flattered and grateful, which was embarrassing enough. But she’d gone out and spent real, hard-earned babysitting money on getting her hair straightened and shiny and buying a dress that actually fit (even it had been secondhand) and a sweater that matched, with little embroidered birds on it. Anton had once said he liked birds. She’d really put in the effort, even though she couldn’t do anything about the braces.
He’d shown up, which was miracle enough. Looking beautiful in his suit, even if it had been a bit too big at the cuffs and hem. They’d driven to the dance and then…
Everything had gone horribly wrong. Not quite Carrie wrong, but close enough. She hadn’t been able to trust anyone for a long time after. And if she was being honest, she wasn’t sure she trusted anyone now. Certainly not men, that was for sure.
She sighed, sipping the coffee when it was brought and then picking at her fries. Memories were such a pain in the ass. Why couldn’t she remember nice things from her childhood? Like picking flowers? Or her first time going swimming? Or how great Grams’ pies were?
Well, okay, she did remember Grams, and that was always good, if a little sad. She ate her lunch and went over her notes. There wasn’t a lot, but there was some decent town history and the beginnings of what she hoped would be a good, meaty piece. Something about small-town secrets and cover-ups. She just needed to get some actual facts so the piece would be more than gossip.
She’d made of list of people to see and places to visit. There was Mrs. Keeper at the old folks’ home; as former head librarian she might know a lot. There was Nate Powell, Senior Detective. She’d known Nate in high school and he’d been a decent guy. Quiet, nerdy. Focused. The Saints had picked on him a lot, so she hoped he’d talk to her. There were also the Riderites, a sort of fan club/historical society in town her grams had founded. They’d be useful, especially since most of the members were small-town busybodies. They’d dedicated an entire old farmhouse to Rider lore, trinkets, and assorted crap. At the very least they could fill her in on whatever Rider story elements she’d forgotten over the years. And they’d certainly provide some of the gossipy tabloid stuff and superstition her editor was looking for.
As she was flipping through her notes, which had been taken the arcane, Luddite way on actual paper with a real pen, someone sat down across from her.
“Excuse me, I’m just finishing up my lunch here and—” she began.
“I noticed. Hi,” said Anton. Taylor looked up in complete shock. “Need another cup of coffee? Or pie? They make a halfway decent apple.” He grinned. She scowled.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, closing her notebook with as much vigor as she could. She began to scroll through her phone, trying to get him to take the
Similar Books
