by Amy Cross
"That sounds good," he continues. "I've got some information that might be useful for you, and I'm kind of hoping you might have something for me too. Do you know that Italian place across the road from St. Abraham's?"
"I can find it," I reply, noting the slightly unusual coincidence. St. Abraham's again?
"How about eight tonight?"
"I'll see you there". I pause again, trying to think of some way to signal to him that this is definitely not a date. "I'll bring some notes I've made," I add, "so you can see the kind of thing I've been looking at. Though I can't stay too late, I've got work to do after we're done".
"Sounds good. I'll see you later".
Once the call is over, I take a deep breath. I can't remember the last time I went out to dinner with someone, but I remind myself that this is in no way a date. Frankly, although there's nothing obviously wrong with John Dagwood, I'm in no fit state to start seeing anyone. Taking into account the photos, and the cancer, I've got more than enough on my plate, without getting involved with some guy. At least I saw Robert yesterday, which means I shouldn't have too much trouble keeping myself under control; all my sexual energy has been exhausted for a day or two, and I'm hardly the kind of person to get drunk and jump into bed with someone. This is just going to be a polite, professional working meal.
Unable to shake a feeling of unease, I get my things together and take the book back out to the main desk. Although the morning has been kind of a disappointment, I'm going to spend the afternoon taking photos and then the evening discovering whether John Dagwood has anything that might help my work. There's still time to turn the day around and make this a productive day. Slowly but surely, I feel as if I'm edging closer to some kind of truth.
Twenty-five years ago
"So have you had any photos developed?" my mother asks as she butters some toast. "I thought you'd have been straight down to the mall to get your first roll of film processed."
"Please," I mutter, staring at the food on my plate, "I'm not that predictable."
"But you're enjoying the new camera, aren't you?" she continues, clearly a little worried. "I thought -"
"It's great," I tell her, keen to avoid discussing the pictures I took yesterday. "I just have to wait a few days for the processing to be done, that's all. I didn't want to waste money on overnight development." I scoop up some beans with my spoon, but the thought of swallowing them is too much to handle; I'm convinced I'll vomit as soon as any food reaches my stomach.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks. "You look a little peaky."
"I'm fine," I reply, trying not to sound too irritated.
"Let me look," she continues, leaning over and grabbing my chin before tilting my head up toward the light.
"I said I'm fine!" I tell her, pulling away and getting to my feet. I'm scared she'll realize I'm sick, so I figure I can just act like an angry asshole and pretend that I'm too annoyed to eat. "You can't just grab me like that," I tell her. "Haven't you ever heard of personal space?"
She stares at me, and I can see that she's shocked by my reaction.
"I'm fine," I say firmly. "There's nothing wrong with me, okay? I just want to get on with using my new camera. Is that okay?"
"Eat some -"
"I'm not hungry," I reply, before turning and heading to my room. I hate playing the sulky daughter card, but it's better than letting her know that something's seriously wrong. That moment's going to come soon anyway, but I can at least delay it for a few more days. Sooner or later I'm going to end up back at the hospital. I've already beaten the odds once, and I'm not sure I can do it again.
Today
Although there are still plenty of churches in New York that I haven't photographed, I find myself drawn back to St. Abraham's. Or rather, to what's left of St. Abraham's, since the scene is one of total destruction. According to news reports, the raged all night and was only brought under control a little while before dawn. When I reach the scene just before 2pm, the area is still cordoned off and there are fire crews sorting through the rubble. Whatever happened here, it was clearly a major incident, and the street running down the side of the building is closer to traffic and pedestrians. Frankly, the whole area is a mess. Strangely, though, there hasn't been much about the incident online; it's almost as if some kind of news blackout has been imposed, with just a few sites referring to the fire and none of them going into much detail.
Part of the stone facade has collapsed, leaving the entrance and the steps destroyed. The rest of the building seems to have fared a little better, although all the windows have been broken and the stonework has been partially charred. Pieces of stonework have collapsed into the street, and have been cordoned off while they wait to be removed. There's also a black patch over on the other side of the road, where the stretcher caught fire while the priest was being transported to the ambulance. I still don't quite understand what happened there; how does a body erupt into a fireball without any source of ignition? And why does this part of the incident not seem to be getting much media coverage?
Taking the camera out of my shoulder bag, I start getting some shots of the damage. Although I mainly came down here so I could document the effects of the fire and get some images for reference work, I'm also curious to see whether the figure from yesterday might show up again in my images. To date, I've never managed to catch the man in the same place twice, but something about the fire at St. Abraham's makes me wonder whether this location is in some way different to the others. There are too many coincidences pointing toward St. Abraham's, and although I keep reminding myself to stop reading too much into things, it's hard not to think that perhaps this particular church still has a few secrets to give up. Given that Amin Bell's book was a disappointment earlier today, I feel as if I have some catching up to do, and this is the most obvious place to start. I can't shake the feeling that there's something here, and that the truth will suddenly be revealed if I can just find the right perspective.
"You want to come back in about two hours," says a male voice nearby.
Turning, I see a man leaning in the doorway of a small liquor shop. He's an older guy, with gray hair and a weathered face, and he seems to be amused by my activities.
"Why's that?" I ask, lowering the camera.
"They reckon the roads are gonna be re-opened by then. You'll be able to get much closer. Really stick that thing into the rubble and have a noise about".
"Thanks," I say, turning back to face the church and take some more photos.
"That's until they knock the place down, anyway," he continues.
"They're going to knock it down?" I reply, turning back to him.
"I don't see how they can leave it up," he continues. "Structurally, the place must be a total wreck. Subway station's still closed underneath, so they'll want to bulldoze over the church and make sure the ground's properly supported. I guess they'll build a new church eventually, if anyone really gives enough of a damn. Either that, or they'll just put up another block of apartments. Might as well. There's no real point having a church in this part of town. I's not like the place got much use from worshipers. Not during the daytime".
"Night services?" I ask.
He smiles. "Not quite," he replies, before turning and heading into the shop. After a moment, I hurry after him, finding myself in a small shop that seems to be filled from floor to roof with shelves of cheap alcohol. "You thirsty?" he asks, glancing back at me. "What's your poison? I've got thirty types of vodka, forty types of whiskey and baskets full of cheap wine. I've got beer, I've got ale, I've got champagne. I've got every damn thing you could want. I'm like a doctor, except my medicine's cheaper. For a pretty young lady such as yourself, I might even be able to cut a bit of a deal".
"What did you mean when you mentioned night services?" I ask.
"You interested?"
"Do you mean Midnight Mass, that type of thing?"
He laughs. "Not quite. You know what? You buy a bottle of anything in this sto
re, for at least ten dollars, and I'll tell you all about it".
I pull some cash from my pocket and set ten dollars on the counter.
"I swear to God," the man says as he takes the money, "the only time I ever saw that church being used, I mean really used, was late at night, about twice a month. The lights used to go on just after midnight, and stay on until dawn. I don't know what they were doing in there, but the door was always closed and I never used to see anyone arriving or leaving. After a while, I kind of got used to it, but at first it was a little spooky. It's easy to let your imagination get carried away, if you know what I mean. My wife was convinced they were sacrificing goats in there, although she's always been a kind of highly-strung woman". He looks up at the ceiling. "God rest her soul".
"She's dead?"
"No, she's asleep on the sofa upstairs".
"What do you think they were doing in there?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Just being weird. Never under-estimate the human capacity for weirdness. People do weird crap all the time, and you'll go nuts trying to figure it out. I guess they just fancied doing their business at night. More privacy, maybe". He grabs a bottle of wine from the shelf behind the counter and holds it out to me. "Your ten dollars wouldn't normally stretch to this, but I'll make an exception. Told you I'd cut you a deal, didn't I?"
"It's fine," I say, leaving the wine and heading over to the door.
"You don't wanna take my photo?" he calls after me.
"Not really," I mutter as I step out onto the sidewalk. Wandering back over to the police cordon, I take some more photos of St. Abraham's. I don't even know what I'm looking for, but I get the feeling that there's something here. After a moment, I lower the camera and look over at the crumbled facade of the building. Suddenly it strikes me that I need to change my approach. So far, I've focused on the exteriors of churches, and I've barely bothered to go inside. This time, however, I feel as if I need to explore a little more thoroughly. Glancing over at the workmen who are sorting through the rubble, I decide to come back later tonight when the place is abandoned. And this time, I'm going to bring a flash.
Twenty-five years ago
"He got pissed when he saw me," I say, as Bella stares at the photos of Mr. Hermann. "I guess he didn't like me being there."
"No kidding," she replies, flicking through until she comes to the images of the trestles. "Who's that guy?" she asks, holding up the first picture that shows the unexplained figure.
"Just some guy who was out there," I tell her, secretly relieved that at least she can see him. He was definitely there, which means that I must have blacked out or mis-remembered the whole thing. I'm starting to think that whatever's wrong in my gut, it might be affecting my mind too.
"Creepy," she continues, taking a look at the other photos. "You wanna be careful, yeah? There are some assholes out there." She gets to the photo that shows the man peering straight into the lens. "He looks like a bum," she says after a moment. "You're lucky he didn't try to do anything to you."
I smile politely, but the truth is, I've already decided to go back out there and take another look for the guy. Whatever's going on in my head, I need to make sure that I'm not losing my mind.
Today
"It's a date," Bella says, as I hold the phone under my chin.
"It's not a date," I reply, setting a sandwich down onto the kitchen table before taking the phone back into my hand. "It's just dinner. We're just going to discuss some work-related things".
"What work-related things? You don't work".
"It's just business".
"Business?" She laughs. "Kate, you change your story more often than Dominic when he's got a new girlfriend. Seriously, why are you being so coy? You're going on a date. It's a good thing".
"It's not a date".
"Honey, you meet a man for dinner, it's a date. Seriously. How blind and stupid are you?"
"It's not a date," I say again, taking a big mouthful from the sandwich.
"The guy left a note in an old book," Bella continues. "He didn't just call you up and ask you out. He went to all the trouble of trying to make the whole thing seem romantic. He went out of his way to be cute and to grab your attention. You know what that means?"
"He's a dick?" I say, though my mouth is so full of food, I doubt she can understand me.
"He wants to impress you, Kate. He wants to give you a little bit of a buzz. Seriously, how long has it been since you got a buzz? And before you ask, yes, I'm talking about both the emotional buzz and the buzz in your pants".
"I get buzzes," I reply, before taking another mouthful. I've never told Bella about my little black book of numbers, and about my penchant for hot, twenty-something guys who can be paid by the hour to meet me in hotel rooms. I'm not sure whether she'd be impressed or shocked if she knew the truth. Probably both. Either way, there's a side of my life that Bella knows nothing about, and I'd rather keep things that way.
"Is he hot?"
"Kind of," I reply.
"Kind of?"
"I guess".
"So he's not smoking hot?"
"He's..." I pause for a moment, trying to think of a word that'll satisfy her. "He's more attractive than Mark. How's that?"
"Not bad. How old is he?"
"I have no idea?"
"Is he much older than you?"
"Hell, no. In fact, he might even be a year or two younger".
"Toyboy. Nice, I like it. And he's an academic?"
"At the university," I say, sighing under the pressure of these constant questions. Then again, I knew it'd be like this when I called Bella in the first place. I guess there's a part of me that's just a glutton for punishment.
She pauses for a moment. "Academics aren't renowned for their good bodies," she says eventually, sounding as if she's putting some real thought into the matter, "but they tend to compensate by having refined good looks and a generally intelligent manner. It's not a trade-off that I'd necessarily embrace, but I can see it working for you. I dated an academic once. Well, he wasn't actually an academic. But he wore glasses and he said he liked poetry".
"The world isn't full of stereotypes," I tell her.
"Oh, it fucking is!" she shoots back at me. "God, Kate, haven't you noticed? Everyone's a stereotype. Nearly everyone, anyway. I know I'm a stereotype. I embrace the fact. It makes me feel like I fit in. I basically just watched TV until I saw someone I wanted to be. This guy you've met, he sounds like a typical hot, smart academic who wants to pull your panties off between the library shelves. Go for it".
"You're getting way ahead of yourself. It's just dinner".
"There's no such thing as just dinner, Kate. Not between two consenting, attractive adults. Will there be wine?"
"I doubt it".
"You know it. There'll be wine flowing throughout the evening, and eventually you'll let your hair down a little, and before you know it, you'll be back at his place and the rest will be glorious history. Just don't get too serious, too soon. I know you, Kate. You get attached too easily. Just focus on the sex, for once".
"I'll try," I reply, smiling as I think of my 'dates' with Robert.
"And if you want to seduce him, but you're worried about how to do it, let me give you a tip. The most subtle way to show a man that you're interested is to wait until he's not looking, and then just hitch the front of your dress down a little until you're showing some nipple. That way, you can bring the conversation around to the subject of breasts, and once you've done that, you can just reel him in".
"And that's your idea of being subtle?"
"Speaking of which," she continues, "I've got a little date of my own tonight".
"With your husband, I trust?"
"God, no!" She laughs. "Dominic's out of town, so I'm seeing Horatio".
I take a deep breath. "Horatio?"
"Isn't it a gorgeous name? You'll never guess who he is".
"That's right," I reply. "I won't even try, because I don't -"
"He's t
he dancer from the theater last night. He's the tall, strong, athletic, toned young gentleman who played the part of the naked Satan in 'The Devil's Touch'. You must remember me enthusing about his performance".
"I remember you enthusing about his body".
"It takes a lot of guts to be naked on Broadway," she continues. "I swear, Kate. It was love at first sight. The moment I saw him stride onto that stage with his thick, meaty member dangling between his legs and those big old horns balanced on his head, I knew I had to have him. And have him, I shall. Tonight. While you're fucking your academic, I'll be fucking one of Papua New Guinea's finest exports. Aren't we just a couple of hoots?"
Sighing, I realize that there's no way I can change her mind. In her mind, I'm going on a hot date. Not that it's any of her business. I guess I'll just have to go and have dinner with John Dagwood, come home, get some sleep, and wait for Bella to call me in the morning and fret about the fact that she's cheated on Dominic again.
"You still there?" she asks suddenly.
"I'm still here," I reply, as I finish the last of my sandwich.
"So what are you gonna wear tonight? Your little black dress?"
"I don't have a little black dress. I gave it to the goodwill place down the road".
She sighs. "You need to accentuate your curves, Kate. Men like curves. This academic guy has probably spent his entire life cooped up in a dusty library, going over old manuscripts. He's probably never even seen a real girl. My God, he might even be a virgin. Anyway, it shouldn't be too hard to get his juices flowing. Just wear something tight. It has to hug your figure and really show off your boobs, but it also needs to be sophisticated. Try to wear something low-cut, so you can try my little nipple trick if things start to go dry. And wear your hair down, unless your dress is off the shoulder, in which case wear your hair up".
"I need to go," I reply, looking over at the rolls of film waiting to be developed.
