Page 3 of Forever Found

Lyndsey blinked as her tires hit a patch of black ice, slid, and then regained traction. She wondered if she were going to crash—if maybe that was the reason for her anxiety or an additional purpose for why she was in Terror in the first place. Having a sixth sense didn’t mean the reasons why were clear. She looked around for a sign. But the blue sky outside her window appeared as they did any other day. She eyed the high school as she drove past. When she reached Nevermore Lane, the traffic light turned red. She stopped, then glanced at her phone to check the GPS. Maps weren’t working, and Justin’s house was off the grid. She sighed.

To the right, several crows perched on a for-sale sign in front of an old Victorian house. They watched her with their beady eyes.

She shuddered, an unreasonable fear setting in. The light changed, and she rolled on. The birds followed, flying alongside her car. Soon after, she passed the sheriff’s office. At least that meant they had law enforcement here. She’d heard wild things about Terror…tales of people disappearing. She shook her head, not quite sure where that thought had come from.

Her tires skidded on the pavement again.

Maybe she should have put on snow chains, but since it was only the first week of December, she’d figured she had more time before she needed them. With snow chains, the beautiful ride upstate would have been bumpy and noisy. As it was, the main highway had been clear of snow. Just those couple of patches of ice so far.

After passing a dense thicket of trees, a massive gothic mansion came into view. She slowed, checking her rearview mirror for traffic before steering across the street into the mansion’s driveway. A set of gorgeous wrought-iron gates stood open at the entry. She glanced at her camera, where it rested on the passenger seat. It was where she always kept it when she was en route somewhere. A great shot could materialize when least expected—like this one.

Lyndsey drove right on in, scanning the area for a place to get the best picture of the old building. She parked the car, grabbed her camera, and got out. A chance at an awesome image was always worth the risk of getting yelled at or thrown off the premises. And she trusted her gut as to which pictures were worth the extra effort.

As she got out, she searched for the crows. They had gathered in the trees. She could feel them watching her.

Stepping away from her car, she assessed the space. The mansion had spectacular lines. The outer wings jutted forward, framing the central main entrance. A turret with bay windows accented the left side. On the right, there was a mixture of large rectangular windows. The center section had arched cathedral windows. Low, neatly trimmed hedges were covered with snow.

She snapped a few frames, pausing briefly to adjust the camera settings for different shots. Through the lens, she noticed two men strolling toward her from the manse. Zooming in, she kept clicking pictures as the men advanced. One guy was quite built, with dark hair streaked with platinum. The impression of someone being struck by lightning flashed in her mind. Jerking his head to the side, he swept his hair out of his eyes. The other man was also big, but he had golden hair. His fluid steps suggested he was calmer, perhaps less bothered by her presence.

“Hey,” the dark-haired man snapped. “No pictures on my property.”

Lyndsey couldn’t stop the pressure of her finger as she clicked once more as he halted near her. She drew her camera down beside her thigh. “I’m sorry.” But she wasn’t. “The building intrigued me. And when I get that feeling—” She paused, placing her palm on her stomach “—I just have to capture it. How old is it?”

“I do not authorize the use of those photos,” the owner said, ignoring her question. He moved his head, revealing a long scar marring his cheek. That must have hurt. It didn’t detract from his striking good looks, though. If anything, it made his cheekbones and strong jaw more prominent. His long-sleeved shirt clung to his refined muscles. He should’ve been wearing a coat, but she wasn’t about to argue with his choice. The man had an excellent physique.

She shrugged a shoulder. “I mean no harm. The photos are merely for my pleasure, Mister…?”

“I’m David Snyder.” He tipped his body slightly in a rather formal move.

When he looked at her, his eyes suddenly filled her universe. She tore her gaze away.

“Rylan Lewis,” the other man acknowledged.

“I’m Lyndsey Goeig. I’m heading to visit my cousin for a few weeks. Justin Smith? You may know him.” Still talking, she began walking to her car. She’d learned that most of the time, it was better to leave quickly before anyone thought to ask for her memory card. “I saw this place, and I had to grab a few shots.” She opened the driver’s side door. One glossy black crow flew over, then perched on the top edge of the doorframe.

She jumped backward, a shriek catching in her throat. Regaining her composure, she lifted her camera, zeroing in on the menacing bird. It turned its head toward her, opening and closing its sharp beak as if posing. She took a photo, then glanced back at the man.

“Wait,” David said, eyeing all the stuff she had crammed in the backseat. “Do you have any ID?”

“Of course.” Then, to the bird, she said, “Shoo! Go away.” She fanned her free hand at the car door. The crow flew off.

After she carefully set the camera on the passenger’s seat, she tugged the driver’s seat forward to get her purse, which was perched on a precarious stack of her belongings. As she did, the mound of items—a thermos, tripod, jacket, and more—spilled into a messy pile on the floor. She stood, huffing in frustration.

David crossed his arms and waited, a disapproving scowl furrowing his brow. She’d seen that look before when her mother had stepped into her bedroom, fussing over clothes on the floor. And when her last boyfriend had seen her office desk. And then again when her friend Jen had dropped by, and Lyndsey’s kitchen table had been taken over by her latest project. The fact was, she tended to be a messy person. Her brain worked best in a state of chaos. She’d made peace with it a long time ago. Besides, she would always put things right eventually…for a brief time anyway.

“Um, it slid under my stuff.”

The other man, Rylan, checked his phone. “Sorry, I have to run,” he said to David, turning and walking briskly to a Hummer parked in the circle section of the driveway.

“Nice to meet you,” she said with a wave he didn’t catch. Her gaze shifted back to David and his annoyed glare. “I’ll be out of your way in just a second.” She tossed the thermos, tripod, and jacket back onto the pile. Pushing the seat into place, she pulled her purse free as she did.

Removing her wallet, she showed the man her driver’s license. It wasn’t a big deal—she often had to prove she wasn’t a stalker or something. She considered it good practice for people to know what was going on around them.

Lifting a brow, he stepped back. “Okay. Don’t let me find those pictures on display anywhere. The people of Terror, well, we like our privacy.”

She hesitated for a moment as she studied him. A strange sensation came over her, a prickling of some memory, of some image, as her scarf brushed against the hair on the nape of her neck. Whatever the picture was, she couldn’t grab on to it. She blew out a whoosh of air as she slid behind the steering wheel. “Don’t worry. To publish them without permission would be unethical. I don’t operate that way. I’ll let you know if I use them. I promise.”

He gave one sharp nod.