by Amy Cross
"Well, that's good," she continues, with obvious relief. "I still remember the day you were first diagnosed. My God, you were a mess. I don't mean that in a bad way, of course, but it was heartbreaking. All the sobbing and the running mascara. I don't want to see you ever go through that again, Kate. I don't want to see anyone go through that again".
"And you won't," I reply, taking another sip.
"Of course, that's when I really started to see that Mark was a bastard," she continues. "I know he was still upset about the accident, but even so... Guys like that are ten-a-penny, Kate. You remember when you had to go for your first chemo session, and we were waiting outside your apartment and Mark didn't arrive to pick you up? And then he turned up at the hospital two hours later, claiming he'd been called out to some meeting at work, but he was quite clearly drunk? I swear to God, from that moment on, I was just counting down the days until you dumped his sorry ass. I don't mind telling you, I opened a bottle of champagne after you called me with the news".
"He wasn't all bad," I say. "Just... mostly".
"It took you long enough to break up with him," she replies. "Did the guy have a twelve-foot ribbed cock or something?"
Smiling, I shake my head. "It's just hard when you've been with someone for so long. But it was definitely the right choice".
"And there's been no-one since?"
"I'm not looking".
"You don't have to be looking, Kate. There are plenty of guys out there who are always looking. You must have got cards, or phone numbers, or something?"
I shake my head again.
"Maybe you should smarten up a little. Wear your hair down. Stop going around in that leather jacket. It kind of puts men off. Nice men, anyway. In fact... You know what? I've got the most amazing idea". She leans closer across the table, and I can see that she's almost trembling with excitement as she lowers her sunglasses to let me see the whites of her eyes. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to submit yourself to a complete makeover, would you? Hair, make-up, clothes, the works. Even a little plastic surgery here and there, if you're interested? I'll pay for everything. I'll design everything. Just put yourself in my hands, Kate, and I'll spruce you up like you've never been spruced before. And it'll all be very tasteful, naturally".
"Thanks," I say, "but no thanks".
"Your loss. I gave my niece a makeover once. Before I got to her, she was an angry little virgin living in her mother's attic room. Now she's a married mother of two, with a lovely little house in Sacramento and a proper, dependable husband named Ted".
I take another sip of wine. "I promise, Bella, that if I ever want to be a married mother of two, with a lovely little house in Sacramento and a husband named Ted, I'll seriously consider taking you up on your offer".
"Bullshit," she replies, checking her watch.
"You got to be somewhere?"
She shakes her head. "No. Well, yes. Well, not really. It's just Dominic. He's taking me to the theater later. We're seeing that play, the new one. What's it called? The one about Satan and the apple and all that crap".
I shrug.
Rifling through her purse, she eventually pulls out a leaflet and passes it across the table. I'm immediately struck by the image on the front, which shows a handsome man with dark make-up and a pair of fake horns. He's bare-chested, and he appears to be completely naked; his modesty is only protected by a large logo, in which the title 'The Devil's Touch' is spelled out in broken bones.
"Doesn't it look fabulous?" Bella continues. "If you want, I could try to wrangle a spare ticket for you. Might be fun. Apparently the guy playing Satan is seven feet tall and well-endowed. There's supposed to be a nude scene too, which frankly is the only reason I'm going to stay sober until the curtain goes down. Come on. You want to come and see Satan with his pants off?"
"No," I say. "Thanks, but I've got things to do".
"Like what?" She laughs. "What's better than coming to see the Devil's dong, live on Broadway?"
"Like..." I take a deep breath. There's no way I can tell her that I'm planning to spend my entire evening looking at a bunch of old photos. "I just want to unwind, you know? Have a glass of wine, listen to some music, maybe read a little. I know it doesn't sound too exciting, but after the stuff that's been going on for the past few years, it's kind of nice to just... do nothing, you know? I'm still in that zone where I want to sit back and spend a little time by myself".
"Well," she says, raising her wine glass for a toast. "Here's to the art of doing nothing, as perfected by Kate Logan".
"Cheers," I reply, clinking her glass. There's a part of me that desperately wants to tell Bella about the work I've been doing, just to see the shocked look on her face. I will tell her, one day, but for now I need to keep it to myself. I'd seem like a complete crackpot if I started talking about some of this stuff, so it's better if I just keep working in secret and wait until I have a convincing pile of evidence. If the day comes when I feel that I can prove my point, I'll be ready to start telling people; if that day never comes, however, I'd rather just keep quiet. There are already enough people loudly proclaiming their idiocy to the world; I want to be absolutely certain before I even contemplate opening my mouth.
"Just promise me one more time that you're okay," Bella continues, eying me suspiciously as she starts gathering her things together. "Promise me that there's nothing wrong, because I know you, Kate. I know when you're lying to me. Maybe you think you can keep things wrapped up inside, and no-one's gonna realize, but don't think for a second that you can slip anything past me". She stares at me. "Promise me that you haven't had any bad news about your health, and that if anything ever materializes again, you'll tell me straight away. You're simply not allowed to go through any more shit by yourself. Understood?"
"Understood," I reply.
"So promise me".
"I promise".
She smiles. "Okay. Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to the ladies' room and then settle the bill, and before you complain, I insist on paying. You just sit tight for a moment". She turns and heads over to the counter, leaving me to look out at the slowly darkening sky of the New York evening. Letting out a small sigh, I realize that I've managed to get through another meet-up with Bella without letting slip anything meaningful. She constantly pushes and probes, trying to find out what's going on in my life, but I seem to be getting better at deflecting her attention. Turning and watching as she pays the bill, I try to imagine how Bella would react to some of the things that I've seen and done over the past few days. Frankly, I don't think she could handle it. There are some things that are just so dark, you can only deal with them if you've experienced that kind of darkness before.
Reaching into my bag, I take out one of the pills that Dr. Martindale prescribed for me. I'm reluctant to take anything that might affect my ability to work, but I figure there's no harm in giving the damn things a try, especially if they help my liver. I swallow a pill, before washing it down with a glass of water.
"You ready?" Bella asks as she comes back over.
"Yeah," I reply, smiling as I get to my feet.
"And you promise you're okay?"
I sigh. "I promise. I'm more than okay. I'm great".
Chapter Nine
As usual, Bella insists on paying for me to get home by taxi, and as usual, I protest at first but eventually I let her get her way. I swear to God, sometimes I feel as if she sees me as this destitute, threatened creature who's constantly on the verge of getting into trouble. The problem with Bella is that in some ways she's a force of nature, so it's useless to argue with her when she's got a wad of cash in her hand and an idea in her head. She's convinced that if I take the subway or a bus, I'll end up getting jumped by some guy and left for dead. When she and I first lived in the city, Bella loved being out and about, and she'd put herself in some totally sketchy and dangerous situations; these days, with most of her life being spent cocooned in her luxury apartment or bouncing from one designer boutique
to another, she's developed a totally twisted view of New York. She sees danger everywhere, lurking in every shadow.
Lost in thought as I stare out the window, it takes me a while to notice that we've been stationary for a while. Eventually I glance ahead and see that the traffic is completely snarled up, and there seem to be a lot of flashing sirens in the distance. I've lived in New York long enough to know that this kind of thing can last for hours, so I immediately start plotting an alternative route home using the subway. Bella would kill me, of course, if she knew that I was even contemplating such a thing; she'd want me to sit tight in the back of the taxi, but I can't wait much longer to get home. I need to see if that photo has developed with the man's image.
"We might be here for a while," the driver says, looking at me in the rear-view mirror.
"Do you know what's wrong?" I ask.
"In this city, could be anything".
Sighing, I wait a little longer. I should have known that on one of the few nights when I want to get home nice and early, the entire city seems to have come to a standstill.
"I'll get out here," I say to the driver eventually, thrusting Bella's money into his hands. "Keep the change". He mutters something, but I'm already halfway out the door and over to the kerb. All I can think about is the photo at home, and the fact that I need to know whether the mysterious figure has appeared again.
Making my way along the sidewalk, I decide I'll just go to the nearest subway station and get home that way. It's still only early evening, so it's not like the city's deserted. Passing rows of stationary, honking traffic, I walk quickly through the crowd, enjoying the noise and smell of a New York evening. Where Bella would see danger, I see life; where she'd see dark shadows, I see variation. In some ways, I feel as if Bella's increased prudishness has pushed me in the opposite direction, and I've begun to embrace the city with a little more passion. It's certainly a far cry from the day, all those years ago, when the pair of us stepped off the bus to start our new life here; in many ways, we've gone in completely opposite directions over the intervening years. I couldn't live her life; I feel much more at home out here, in the real city. Bella carries a gun in her purse, to make herself feel safe, and I carry a camera.
When I get to the corner of the next block, I'm about to head down into the subway when I realize that there are flames in the distance. Stopping and staring, I feel as if there's something familiar about the area, and that's when I remember: this is where I was earlier today, when I came to take photos of St. Abraham's. In fact, the flames seem to be coming from the direction of the church. Deciding to delay my journey home a little longer, I cross the road and make my way along the next block until I reach a long line of police tape that's been used to cordon off the area. Some other people are standing and watching as flames roar from the side of the church, while various police and fire vehicles are parked nearby. Whatever's going on, it seems like a pretty major police operation.
"Don't they have sprinklers in churches?" asks a concerned voice nearby.
Stepping closer to the cordon, I stare in awe at the fire as it rages in the building. I've seen apartment blocks on fire before, but never a church, and there's something particularly shocking about the sight of flames as they roar out of windows. Instinctively, I reach into my shoulder bag and pull out my camera. After adjusting the lens, I take a number of shots.
"A stone building can't burn down, can it?" asks a woman standing a few meters away. "It's not like it's made of wood or anything".
"You can't go any closer," says a police officer, hurrying over to me. "I'm afraid you'll have to find an alternative route home tonight".
"What happened?" I ask, lowering my camera for a moment.
"We don't know yet," he replies. "Started a couple of hours ago. Whatever's burning in there, it's like jet fuel. The fire trucks have had to pull back so they can come up with another plan. They even tried using this experimental new military-grade gel to stop the flames, but nothing's working. I wouldn't count on the road being clear much before midnight".
"Do you know how it started?" I say.
"It'll take a while for that kind of thing to get sorted out. They'll send in investigators once the flames are out, but right now the priority is bringing the whole thing under control. It's gonna be a long night".
"But if -" I start to say, before I spot an ambulance parked nearby, with paramedics carrying a tarpaulin-covered body from the church. There's no great urgency to the way they're walking, so it's clear there's a dead body on their stretcher. As I stare at the stretcher, I spot movement nearby and I turn to see one of the other bystanders taking her phone to take a photo of the paramedics. My mind immediately goes back to the conversation I had on the sidewalk earlier today, when the priest came out of the church to see what I was doing.
"Who's that?" I ask the cop.
"We think it's the priest".
"He was inside?"
"Not quite. He was on the sidewalk. Looks like he managed to find a way out, but the fire took hold too fast for him to get away completely. He was badly burned. Didn't have a chance".
As I watch the paramedics opening the back of the ambulance, the body suddenly seems to catch fire again. They all drop the stretcher as it's engulfed in a rapid, raging blaze, and the cop runs over to grab a fire extinguisher. Despite everyone's best efforts, they can't get the flames to stop, and eventually the paramedics step back as a group of fire-fighters come running over. The whole scene is complete chaos, and more and more people are arriving to gawk at what's happening.
"Get back!" the cop starts shouting at people, as camera phones start to flash. Another cop hurries over and they force the crowd further from the scene, while rolling out new tape to extend the cordon.
Turning, I head back along the sidewalk. This could all be a coincidence, of course, but it seems too neat. I've photographed a bunch of churches over the past year, and I've never actually ended up talking to a priest. Today, just a few hours after I had a brief conversation with that guy, his entire church is ravaged by fire and his body goes up in flames. I don't want to start getting paranoid, and I know it's way too soon to start thinking that this is all in some way connected, but I've learned over the years to never ignore coincidences.
"Going to hell?" asks a voice as I head down into the subway.
Stopping, I turn to see an old man sitting on the sidewalk.
"Going to hell?" he asks again, as a broad smile breaks across his face. "Or just downtown?"
Sighing, I turn and hurry down into the subway. The lights flicker as a train rumbles along the tracks below, and a man hurries past me, blabbering excitedly into his phone as he talks about the burning church above. After a moment, I spot several cops standing up ahead, and one of them holds out his hand to stop me.
"Sorry," he says, "station's closed 'cause of a fire up there". He looks straight up, and I realize the subway station is more or less directly below St. Abraham's. I guess they're worried that the blaze could cause structural damage.
Without saying anything, I turn and head back out of the subway and onto the sidewalk. The traffic is still at a standstill, so I hurry down another road, figuring I'll grab a taxi somewhere nearby, or jump on a bus, or maybe even just walk home. I'm getting increasingly impatient to reach my apartment and see the photo I took at St. Abraham's earlier. If my theory is correct, I'll find the image of the man somewhere in the frame, which means that he'll have made some kind of appearance at almost all the churches I've photographed. As I make my way through the shadows, I have to keep reminding myself that I'm probably just seeing patterns where none exist.
Chapter Ten
With the St. Abraham's fire causing traffic chaos, I end up walking all the way home, which takes a couple of hours. Sure, the buses are technically running, as are the taxis and the subway trains, but I figure it's just a hell of a lot easier to make my way by foot. It's not exactly a horrible journey, and I make sure I stick to busy, brightly-lit street
s. Besides, if I'm going to get mugged, it could just as easily happen outside my front door, or in broad daylight. Partly to remind myself to stop being so scared, and partly as a private rebellion against Bella's constant fear-mongering, I make my way home and eventually reach my door shortly after ten. It feels good to have got some air, and it feels as if I'm managed to clear my head a little. Still, I pause at my door, dreading the idea of going inside.
Even after all this time, I'm still not quite used to coming home to an empty apartment. I don't know if I'll ever get out of the mindset that expects to hear the sound of other people in the rooms I inhabit: from the big noises like a baby crying, to the little noises like someone turning the page of a book, I keep noticing how overbearingly silent an empty apartment can seem. As I shut my door and slide the extra bolts across, I force myself to stop being so silly. I'm alone because I choose to be alone, and the silence is a sign of order and calm. Besides, if I wanted to have noise around here, I could just switch on the radio or play some music. I'll get used to the silence eventually; it's far too early to give up just yet. I don't want to be like Bella and grab a man just because I'm scared of being alone.
When I check the timer, I see that there are still a few minutes to go before the photo will have hit the full development time. I could go and take a look now, of course, but I like to do things properly, so I figure I'll wait a little longer. I pull my camera out and remove the roll of film. Just as I'm about to grab something to eat, to take advantage of a rare moment when my stomach feels fine, I hear my phone ringing. It's Bella, and although I don't want to talk to her, I figure I'd better just reassure her that I got home safely. She has a habit of overreacting, especially when she's had too much to drink, and it's totally possible that she could jump into a taxi and come over to check on me.
"Hey," I say as I answer. "I'm fine".
"You should have come tonight," she replies, clearly drunk. "It was so amazing!"
