by Amy Cross
"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".
Twenty-five years ago
I hate the mall.
With an hour to kill before my photos are ready, I find myself wandering aimlessly past store windows. I feel bad for paying extra to get my photos developed so fast, but I figure it's okay to splash out this once, plus it's all in the name of research: once I've got the images, I can compare them to the notes and see whether my technical skills are vaguely in the ballpark. For now, though, all I can do is wait and try to amuse myself by looking at all the crap that people buy when they come to this place.
After a few minutes, I stop by a store and reload my camera. I start taking photos of the mall, focusing mostly on weird angles and the fronts of stores, but eventually I spot a couple of kids hanging out on a bench. I stop a few meters from them and take a couple of shots, and finally one of them looks over at me.
"What the fuck's your problem?" he shouts, getting to his feet and coming toward me.
"Nothing," I mutter, lowering the camera and turning to walk away.
"I'm talking to you!" he says, grabbing me by the shoulder and pushing me against the nearest shop window with such force that the glass shakes. "Are you taking my photo for a reason, bitch?" he asks.
Overcome with fear, I shake my head. It never occurred to me that someone could react like this, and although plenty of people have turned to look at us, no-one's coming to help.
"You think you can just walk up to someone, huh?" the guy continues, looking down at my camera. "Nice," he adds. "That looks expensive."
"It's -"
"Let me see," he says, grabbing the camera and trying to pull it from my hands.
"No!" I shout, pulling back.
"What's wrong?" he asks, pushing me against the window again. "Are you scared of me?"
"I just wanted to take a photo," I tell him. "I didn't mean anything by it, I swear!"
He stares at me for a moment, and then he smiles.
"You're fucking hilarious," he says, reaching down to the camera, turning it around and fiddling with the back for a moment before pulling the slider open and ripping out the roll of film, which he quickly unspools before dropping it to the ground. "Just be glad I only ripped up your fucking film," he continues, taking a step back. "If you ever take another photo of me again, I'll smash your camera into so many pieces, it'll look like a pile of fucking dust."
I stare at him.
"Get the fuck out of here," he adds.
Turning, I hurry away. My heart is racing, and although I'm angry at the loss of a new roll of film, I know there's no way I can confront that guy. All I can do is hurry around the next corner before finally I stop and lean against the wall. It's starting to become really obvious that some people don't like being photographed, so I guess it's going to be much safer if I stick to taking pictures of inanimate objects. As I try to stop panicking, I check my watch and see that there's still forty minutes to go before my images are ready. Still, I don't dare to keep looking around the mall. I'll just stay here and wait.
Sniffing back tears, I look down at the camera and realize that in future, I need to protect it better. There's no way I can let some idiot get his hands on it again.
Today
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.
Twenty-five years ago
With the sun starting to dip in the sky, I walk home alone. Rush-hour traffic is shooting past, but I'm engrossed in the photos I picked up from the store a few minutes ago.
I'm a photographer.
I'm a real, proper photographer.
I can't help but smile as I look at the images of Mr. Hermann washing his car. There are half a dozen pictures, and while there are a few rough technical edges, the content of the images is really strong, especially the last one where he's turned to stare at the camera. I know I'm probably getting way ahead of myself, but I could totally see these pictures being hung in a gallery.
After the pictures of Mr. Hermann, I get to the images I took out by the trestles. To be honest, the light isn't quite as strong as I'd hoped, but they're still good shots and I can't help but feel a little impressed by my work. If this is what I can do on my first proper day, I'm sure I can get better and better as time goes by, and eventually I might be able to do some really impressive work. There's always -
Stopping suddenly, I stare at the next photo and, after a few seconds, I feel my blood start to run cold. It's an image of one of the railroad trestles, and it'd be fairly ordinary if not for the fact that standing slight to the left of the frame there's a man. He looks somewhat disheveled, with long, messy hair, and he's wearing an ill-fitting old suit. His wild eyes are staring straight at the camera, but I swear to God, he wasn't there earlier. I would definitely have noticed if there's been someone nearby, and I didn't see a soul.
When I look at the next photo, I find that I've captured the man again, except this time he's much closer to the camera, still peering directly at the lens. With trembling hands, I check the next photo, and this time he's just a couple of meters from me, his body covering most of the shot as he stares at the camera. I don't care how absent-minded I might have been earlier, there's no way I could have missed the fact that a guy came and looked right at me.
Finally, I get to the photo I took of myself. It's a little out of focus, but I can see the look of pain on my sweat-soaked face. Over my shoulder, however, the man is still staring at the camera. He must be only a few inches from me in the picture, but I know for a fact that there was no-one around. I start double-checking the images, convinced that there must be a mistake or some kind of double exposure, or maybe someone else's photos are mixed in with mine, but finally I'm forced to recognize that these are definitely my images and they definitely show a man approaching me.
Standing by the side of the road, I flip through the photos over and over again, convinced that eventually I'll be able to explain the man's presence. There's no way he could have just appeared out of nowhere, but I can't deny the pictures in my hands: he was there, staring right at me the whole time.
Today
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 streets. 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 earl
y 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!"
"That's great. You can tell me all about it next week".
"He was so hot," she continues. "I know it's an awful thing to say, Kate, but I'd do him. I'd totally do him. I swear, I could have climbed up on stage and done him there and then, in front of the whole audience. At one point, Dominic even asked me why I was squirming in my seat. Screw God, Kate; the Devil's the one with the big dick!"
"That's nice. You should go to sleep".
"Dominic's gone out again," she says, sounding a little sad. "Probably to one of his whores. What are you doing? You want to come over and help me raid the wine cellar?"
"Another time," I say, cringing a little at the thought of Bella stumbling drunkenly around her apartment.
