The Devil's Photographer

by Amy Cross

  He sighs. "Maybe you're right. I guess I've been so fixated on Bell's work, I've allowed myself to be seduced by some of his ideas".

  "It's an easy mistake to make," I reply. Although I'm tempted to tell him what I know, and to explain that I, too, have been catching images of Amin Bell in my photos, I decide to hold back. The last thing I want is to get closer to Dagwood, and to enter into some kind of shared experience with him. In fact, I feel like I'm already getting a little too comfortable. "I should probably get going," I say suddenly. "I've taken up way too much of your time already".

  "No, it's fine," he replies. "Please, won't you stay and have another drink? We can move on from the water. If you're not averse to another glass of wine..."

  "I really need to get on with some work," I say, already making my way to the door. Damn it, why did I allow myself to get sucked into this whole evening? For a moment, I actually contemplated spending time with this guy, when what I really need to do is avoid distractions and get on with my work at St. Abraham's. "It was nice talking to you," I say, glancing back at him as I haul the camera bag onto my shoulder. "I'm sorry I couldn't be much more help with your picture, but honestly, I think you're reading too much into it".

  "You sure about that?"

  "What else could it be? You think the ghost of Amin Bell is wandering around a New York church?"

  He smiles. "No. No, I don't think that. I just want to know what's really happening".

  "Something perfectly mundane," I reply. "Something explicable".

  "Sure I can't persuade you to stay for a glass of wine and a leech?" he says, following me to the door.

  "Really. I have to go". There's an awkward pause, which ends when I hold out my hand for him to shake. "I had a good evening, and I hope your research goes well".

  "Ditto," he replies, opening the door for me. "If you don't mind, I might leave more notes tucked in the book if anything pops into my mind".

  "Sure," I say non-comittally. "Good night". With that, I head out of his apartment and along the corridor, forcing myself to not look back. It was so stupid of me to accept the invitation up to his place; I should have stuck to my guns and waited in a bar. Then again, at least I know now that the man in my photos is Amin Bell, which means I can really focus my work in a new direction. As I emerge into the New York night, I check my watch and see that it's almost 11pm. I don't care how long it takes those workmen to pack up and go home; I'm getting into St. Abraham's tonight.

  Twenty-five years ago

  It's hard to keep my hands from trembling as I start going through the photos. Sitting on a bench in the mall, I peer at the first image, which shows the trestles.

  There's no sign of the guy from yesterday.

  I check the next photo, and then the next, but he's still not there. I guess I should feel relieved, but as I continue to go through the images, I can't help wondering what the hell happened to me when I was taking the first set of images. It's looking more and more likely that the guy was there originally, and I just didn't notice him or - worse - I somehow forgot that I'd seen him.

  As I reach the last photo, I spot something at the edge of the frame. Looking closer, I realize that there's something in the bushes, and when I go back to some of the earlier photos, I find that the same thing is there. I flick through them all again, and finally I find one where it's just about possible to see the man's face. It's him, the same guy as before, except this time he was obviously keeping his distance and trying to watch me without being seen.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm. Nevertheless, it's clear that I seem to have attracted his attention. Either that, or I'm losing my mind.

  Today

  The workmen leave just before midnight. Loitering in the shadows opposite, I watch as they lock their equipment away and roll the tarpaulin back over the holes in the front of the church. There's not much security, presumably since no-one expect there to be much risk of trespassers. Still, I need to be extra careful, so I wait a while even after the workmen have driven away. By half past twelve, however, I'm confident that the site isn't going to be disturbed for a while, so I hurry across the busy road and slip between two panels of the temporary fence that has been erected around the building.

  As I walk up the steps toward the tarpaulin that covers the front door, I reach into my shoulder bag and remove the camera. At the top of the steps, I pause to fix the flash and check that it's fully charged. I fiddle with a few other settings, before finally realizing that I'm delaying the moment when I actually go inside. After taking one final glance over my shoulder to make sure that I haven't been noticed, I pull a pen-knife from my bag and slice a hole in the tarpaulin, before slipping inside. I've never done anything like this before, but I have to see for myself what it's like in here. Besides, there's no reason to be scared; whatever's going on with these photos, there has to be a rational explanation. Ghosts aren't real.

  The interior of the church is pitch black. Fumbling in my bag, I eventually find the pen-torch I brought with me tonight. A bigger, brighter torch would be more useful, but I'm worried about attracting attention. Shining the narrow beam straight ahead, I see rubble and broken stonework strewn across the floor, along with various pieces of equipment left behind by the workmen. The one thing I hadn't anticipated about tonight was just how cold it would be in here, as an icy wind blows in through a gap near the top of the wall. Still, a little chill shouldn't be too much trouble, and I figure I won't be here too long anyway. The whole idea is just to get in and get out, and hope that I manage to capture something on film.

  I double-check that the flash is up and running, and finally I'm ready to start shooting. I can't see a thing, so I just hold the camera up and hit the button. There's a bright flash of light, and for a fraction of a second I see the entire ruined interior of the church lit up. Soon I'm back in darkness again, with the flash making a dull whining noise as it re-charges, but at least I've got an idea of the shape of the room. It looks as if there are a number of tall columns running along the length of the space, so I make sure to walk slowly. My feet disturb fragments of broken wood and stone, and after a few paces I stop and take another photo. Once again, I get only a brief flash of light, but it's enough to see that there's an altar straight ahead, and that the floor is covered in places with pieces of broken wood. If I'm not careful, I'll end up walking straight into one of these obstructions, so I make sure to walk slowly and steadily, holding my hand out in case I come close to a column.

  Using the pen-torch, I try to pick a route across the floor and toward the altar. It's a slow process, and I have to take numerous detours around various pieces of damaged masonry, but eventually the beam from the pen-torch picks up the first step leading up to the altar. At this point, I raise my camera and take another photo. The brief flash of light illuminates the bare slab of the altar, with what appears to be a bare wall just a few meters further back. Reaching out into the darkness, I make my way carefully around the altar and then turn to face back toward the entrance. I raise my camera again and take another photo, and this time the camera lights up the whole room. I see the columns, and the debris-strewn floor...

  And a man.

  As the light fades, a cold shiver runs up my spine. There's no doubt about it. There was a man standing over by one of the columns, looking in my direction. I didn't get a good look at him, but he had the same general gait as the guy from my earlier photos. The difference, though, is that whereas he previously only appeared on photos once they began to develop, I just saw him with my bare eyes. I take a deep breath, telling myself that I need to stay calm. I'm probably just imagining things and allowing myself to be tricked by the unusual atmosphere, but deep down I know the truth: it was him. I can lie to myself and try to force myself to believe I imagined it, but I know what I saw.

  I pause for a moment, and then I take another photo. This time, there's no-one over by the column, and I allow myself to relax a little. There must be hundreds of things in this vast c
hurch that could, in the right circumstances, fool me into thinking that I saw someone. It was probably just an unusual combination of shadows. Still, as I make my way back around the altar, I can't shake the nagging feeling that this explanation doesn't work. For one thing, the brief flash of the figure was very distinct and clear; for another, I swear he looked exactly like Amin Bell from my other photos.

  Raising my camera again, I take a deep breath and remind myself that I need to stay focused. I press the button, and this time - when the flash briefly lights up the room - I'm shocked to see the man again, except this time he's much closer, only a few meters away and staring straight at me. I get a much better look at his dark, ringed eyes, and I realize that his head is tilted slightly to one side. Startled, I step backward and bump into the altar, and I hear something fall to the ground. Fumbling around in the complete darkness, it takes me a moment to realize that the flash has become dislodged from the camera. I fumble for the torch-pen, but the narrow beam doesn't help me find the flash on the floor. I'm starting to panic now, because I know for a fact that I saw Bell staring at me. After trying to stay calm for a moment, I turn and start running, but in the pitch darkness of the church I have no idea where I'm going. I only get a few feet before my foot catches on something and I start to fall, though I quickly hit a column and manage to stay upright. Turning, I stare into the darkness. Is he still here? Is Amin Bell standing right in front of me?

  "I'm just here to take photos," I say, feeling my chest tighten. "That's all. Just photos". I reach into my pocket again, and this time I manage to find the torch-pen. Shining it straight ahead, I don't see anything, but the beam is too narrow to be of much use. He could be right behind me, or in front of me. He could be anywhere.

  "I'm going," I say, turning the beam to the floor and hurrying toward what I hope will be the exit. The truth, though, is that I've lost my sense of direction completely, and for all I know I might be heading further into the back of the building. Every time I think I hear a noise, I turn and shine the torch-pen back the way I came, but there's nothing to see. There's just darkness all around me, even though I know he's here somewhere. I keep trying to tell myself not to panic, and that there's no point running blindly, but eventually I find that I can't keep myself under control. Turning, I start running across the hall, dropping the torch-pen in the process. Seconds later, I bump against the side of another column, and once again I almost fall flat on my face. Managing to stay upright, I pull my phone from my pocket and use it in an attempt to light my way forward. Although I half expect to see Amin Bell standing nearby, all I see is an empty stone corner. I turn and see that I've run too far to the right of the main door, so I make my way to the wall and then I start feeling my way to the door. If I've got my bearings, I should be only a few meters from finding my way out, and seconds later I start to hear the nearby flapping of tarpaulin. Just as I think that I might have found my way to the exit, however, I raise the phone and find that its blue glow is once again picking out Amin Bell's face, staring at me from a distance of just a few feet.

  Turning, I try to run but my foot catches on a piece of rock and I fall to the ground, smacking the side of my face against the base of a column. I immediately try to get to my feet, but something feels very wrong with my head and I stagger backward for a moment before falling again. For some reason, I can't concentrate on finding a way out of here, but I can hear someone shuffling toward me. I roll onto my side, desperate to find a way out, but finally I realize I'm too weak to move and I let my head droop. The last thing I notice is that the shuffling footsteps are getting closer and closer, before everything goes black.

  Twenty-five years ago

  "I'm sure she won't do it again," my mother says with a polite, embarrassed smile. She turns to me. "You won't, honey. Will you?"

  We're sitting in the front room of my parents' house, and I swear to God this is the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me. Mr. Hermann, the asshole from along the road, has come to complain to my mother about the fact that I was taking photos of him yesterday. When I got home, they were already deep in a long conversation about how awful it was that I didn't respect his privacy, and although I just want to go to my room and relax, I'm being forced to sit here and face some contrition.

  "I'm very sorry," I say, trying to sound like I mean it. "I won't do it again."

  "People don't like having cameras shoved in their faces," he replies.

  "It wasn't shoved in your face," I reply, "it was -"

  "I think it's clear what Mr. Hermann means," my mother interjects. "You have to be tactful, Kate. If you want to take a photo of someone, you should ask them. Mr. Hermann might very well have agreed if you'd just approached him and told him you wanted to get some shots of him while he was washing his car."

  "But then it wouldn't be natural," I point out, although I guess it's clear that she's never going to understand. "Fine," I add. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again." Feeling the pain in my gut again, I feel as if I just want to get to my room, but Mr. Hermann seems to have settled in for a long, serious chat. I swear, the guy seems to have nothing better to do with his time.

  "I want the photos destroyed," he says after a moment. "And the negatives."

  "That sounds reasonable," my mother replies.

  "I want to use them for a project," I reply.

  "Kate," she says firmly, "will you please go and get the photographs and the negatives?"

  Sighing, I get to my feet. There's clearly no way she'll ever understand, but I'm not in the mood for an argument. As I head to my room, however, I have to stop for a moment as the pain tears through my gut. Steadying myself against the dining table, I take a series of deep breaths, but I know it's too late to hide the fact that something's wrong.

  "Kate?" my mother says, sounding worried as she comes over to me. "What -"

  "It's nothing," I gasp, taking a step forward before the pain hits me again, this time knocking me down onto my knees. "I'm fine," I whisper, barely able to speak as the pain builds and builds. "Please, just let me ride it out..."

  "I'm calling an ambulance," she replies, grabbing the phone.

  "No!" I whimper, but it's too late. As she waits to be connected, I roll onto my side, but nothing seems to help ease the pain. It's as if something is burning through my body, tearing me apart from the inside. As I roll onto my back and look up to see a startled-looking Mr. Hermann staring at me, I realize that I'm going to be taken back to the hospital and there'll be more exams and tests. I don't want that, though. Right now, all I want is for all the sickness to end. If that means dying, then it's fine by me.

  I just want to stop the pain. I don't care how it happens.

  Today

  "It's okay!" shouts John Dagwood, leaping back as I sit bolt upright. "It's okay. You're back at my apartment. It's fine. Don't panic. I wasn't touching you or anything. I just wanted to clean you up a little".

  My heart racing, I turn to see that I'm on a sofa in his study. Dagwood himself is sitting nearby, holding a white towel that appears to be stained by a small amount of blood. On a nearby table, there's a box of cotton swabs and a bowl of water.

  "What happened?" I ask, reaching up and feeling a jagged cut on my left cheek. For a moment, it's as if nothing makes sense. All I know is that this is wrong; I'm not supposed to be here, on this couch, in this apartment, with this man.

  "You fell over in the church," he says, keeping his distance. "I think you tripped over some fallen masonry or..." He pauses for a moment. "I don't actually know what happened, but I heard you shout out so I came inside. It was dark in there and it took a while to find you".

  "You heard me shout out?"

  He nods. "I was outside, by the door". There's an awkward pause. "Look, I know you're probably going to think I'm inexcusably strange, possibly even some kind of stalker, but I was just worried about you when you left. I could tell something was wrong when I showed you the photo. So I decided to follow you, and..." He sighs. "See? I t
old you you'd think I'm strange. It kind of all made sense at the time".

  I stare at him. He's right. I do think he's strange. As my heart-rate starts to settle, though, I realize it might have been a blessing in disguise that he was there. The last thing I remember is being in the church and seeing Amin Bell's face in the flash of my camera; I remember running, and I remember struggling to find the exit, and then... I have a vague recollection of stumbling and hitting the floor, and hearing someone walking toward me. After that, I don't remember anything until I woke up on the sofa. My head feels a little groggy, though, and I feel as if something's missing.

  "My camera," I say, looking around the room. "Where's my camera?"

  "It's probably somewhere in the church," he replies. "I didn't have time to look for it, but we can go back in the morning".

  "I need it," I continue, starting to panic slightly. "I took photos". I pause for a moment, as I realize that I probably have photographic evidence that proves Amin Bell was there last night. "We have to go back right now," I say, trying to get off the sofa but finding that my head is still a little woozy.

  "Relax," Dagwood says, gently easing me back down onto the cushions. "Your camera will still be there in a few hours. Right now, you need to rest. You're not in any danger, but you definitely took a bang to the side of your face and I'm afraid it's going to hurt. I got you some pain-killers, they're on the little table by the end of the sofa. You can't just go storming back down there". He grabs a small mirror and holds it up; for the first time, I see that I've got a small, nasty-looking gash on the side of my face, running from the cheek-bone down to the edge of my mouth.