The Devil's Photographer

by Amy Cross

  "I guess I don't have a choice," I reply, wincing a little as the pain continues to burn in my mind.

  "It's not the cancer," he continues, pushing open the door that leads into one of the operation theaters. "If you're even thinking for a second that -"

  "I know it's not the cancer," I reply, trying to stay calm.

  "Hang on," he replies, hurrying over to a window at the far end of the room and banging on the glass. "He'll be here in a moment," he adds, before turning back to me. "You're going to be fine, Kate, but we need to fix this thing fast."

  "Fix what thing?" I ask, as the pain starts to build and build.

  "There's a reason you keep seeing Amin Bell," he continues as he starts to grab various surgical tools from a nearby trolley. "It's not a coincidence, and it's not going to stop, and you can't just ignore it. He burns through people."

  "Why's he so interested in me?" I ask, staggering over to the operating table. "Why does he keep following me?"

  "You've got his attention," he continues. "Kate..."

  I wait for him to continue.

  "What?" I ask, trying to ignore the searing pain in the back of my head.

  "I know what Dr. Mammone is going to suggest," he replies, "and it's not going to be pleasant, but I need you to think about it properly."

  I stare at him.

  "There's a technique that can be used on people who have your kind of disorder, but it's not something that can be done forcibly. You need to consent to it, otherwise it's just not physically possible."

  "He wants to drill a hole in my head," I reply, suddenly realizing why Dr. Mammone went to all that trouble earlier to show me the trepanation equipment. "That's what it is, isn't it? He wants to drill through my skull -"

  "It's a method of treating the humors -" Dagwood starts to say.

  "There's no such thing as the humors," I reply, starting to panic. "You're just a load of butchers -"

  "Butchers who cured your cancer," he says firmly. "So, clearly, butchers who know what they're doing, don't you think? And the same applies here. To us, your cancer was just a small ailment to be overcome, but this thing in your head, this connection to Amin Bell, is something far more serious."

  "I won't let you do it," I tell him, taking a step back. "You're not going to start cutting me up again."

  "It'll help," he replies. "Remember when we opened your chest? That helped, didn't it? You have to start trusting us at some point, Kate, before it's too late."

  "Before what's too late?" I ask. "I don't even know what's wrong with me!"

  "Amin Bell is part of you," he continues. "I don't know whether it's fate or bad luck or something else, but Amin Bell has linked himself to you and he's not going to let go, not unless we can find a way to force him out."

  "I don't even know who he is," I reply, close to tears. "No-one -"

  "He's the Devil," Dagwood replies calmly.

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out.

  "Amin Bell is one of the earthly manifestations of the Devil," he continues. "I know this is a lot to take in, but it's all true. I don't know why he's chosen you, and I wish I could just snap my fingers and make him disappear, but I can't. He's not going to let go, not without a fight. Maybe your photographs captured his attention, or maybe he's been a part of you for a lot longer, but the important point is that we have to get him out of you."

  "By cutting open my head?"

  "By rebalancing your humors," he replies firmly. "I've seen it done once before. It's a form of exorcism, really, except that the trepanation element means it actually works. Dr. Mammone's an expert on this kind of thing and he will save you, just like he saved you from the cancer, but you need to trust him." He pauses. "You need to trust me, Kate. If you don't, you'll end up back in the city, and this thing will keep ahold of you until it tears you apart."

  Before I can answer, a nearby door opens and Dr. Mammone enters, with Winifred and a couple of the other nurses a few steps further back.

  "I've been telling Kate about the procedure," Dagwood says after a moment, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on me. "She understands the situation and the risks, and she knows that she has to agree to this otherwise it won't work at all. I've filled her in on the whole thing. She just needs to make a decision."

  I stand in silence, painfully aware that they're waiting for me to say something.

  "Am I really cured?" I ask eventually. "The cancer... Is it really gone?"

  "Yes," Dr. Mammone says. "I'm sure you can feel that for yourself. Deep down, at least. It's all gone."

  "And this thing in my head," I continue, trying but failing to keep my voice from trembling. "It's not going to go away without... without the..."

  "The trepanation?" Dr. Mammone replies. "No. No, it's not. Your body has been cured, Kate, but we need to free your mind from this thing. Amin Bell has resided in other people in the past, and the result has always been fatal. His presence causes certain complications that the human body simply can't withstand. We have an opportunity this time to expel him, but we need your permission. If you resist in any way, the procedure will fail and your life will be in grave danger."

  "I..." I start to say, before pausing.

  "Trust us," Dagwood says after a moment. "Please. After everything we've done for you so far, trust us again."

  I close my eyes.

  Silence.

  Slowly, I open my eyes and realize that I have no other option.

  "Okay," I say eventually, my voice trembling. "Okay, but you have to promise me that it'll work and that once this is done, there'll be no more. I can't go on like this, having bits of my body hacked up and opened."

  "We'll drive him out of your head," Dr. Mammone says, heading over to one of the trolleys and starting to gather equipment. Behind him, the other nurses get to work, as if they were ready for this moment. "You've made the right decision," he continues. "Once we're done, you'll never have to worry about Amin Bell again. Of that, you can be absolutely certain."

  "Why me?" I ask, staring at Dagwood with tears in my eyes. "After everything else that ever happened to me, why has this thing chosen me?"

  "I don't know," Dagwood replies, "but it was probably a very long time ago. All we can do now is try to get rid of it. We can't destroy it, but we can make sure that it leaves your mind. At least this way, you'll be free from his influence."

  "You'll need to take a seat," Dr. Mammone says, indicating a large metal chair with several straps and restraints attached. Holding a long, thin drill in his hands, he steps over toward me. "It's okay, Kate. We're ready to begin."

  "Let me guess," I reply, staring at the drill as it glints under the harsh lights. "I have to be conscious for this too, don't I?"

  Part Five

  The Promise

  Today

  "There's no need to be scared," Dagwood says as he sits next to me. "This is one of the oldest surgical techniques in history. There's evidence of trepanation being carried out in prehistoric cultures as far back as eight thousand years ago. Of course, things have moved on a little since those days, but while the method has fallen out of favor, evidence has been accumulating to show -"

  "It's fine," I reply, staring straight ahead as I wait to feel the drill against my scalp. Having shaved a small patch of hair away, Dr. Mammone has begun to apply a swab, and I know it's only a matter of seconds, perhaps a minute at most, before he starts the procedure.

  "What would your regular doctor say if he could see you now?" Dagwood asks.

  "I'm sure he'd have a few choice words," I reply as the head brace is adjusted, fixing my head more firmly in place.

  "Who's your regular physician?" Dr. Mammone asks.

  "Dr. Martindale," I tell him.

  "Martindale?" He laughs. "That guy's a goddamn butcher. He's always hacking bits off his patients. The man should have been struck off years ago."

  "You're in good hands here," Dagwood says with a faint smile, as if he's amused by Dr. Mammone's little outburst.
"It's easy to get blinded by the theatrics of modern medicine, but at least when you're here with us, you're being looked after by people who really know what they're doing and care about the outcome."

  "Even when they're drilling into people's head?" I ask nervously.

  "I've had it done," Dagwood continues. "Just once, but it was a profoundly moving experience that changed my life forever, for the better."

  I glance over at him.

  "It was a long time ago," he adds. "When I first came to see Dr. Mammone, I was confused and conflicted. I'd been carrying out so much research into this type of procedure, but I had no first-hand knowledge. To me, trepanation was just another example of pseudo-science. I was having a crisis of confidence, and I was just about ready to throw all my work in the trash and go do something else with my life. And then I came here and saw the work that Dr. Mammone was doing, and I realized that the world makes a lot more sense if you just look at it from a different perspective. It's as if..."

  I wait for him to continue, but he seems lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

  "There's pain," he says, with a hint of caution in his voice, "but the key thing is to not focus on the nature of the surgery. Really, it shouldn't feel like much more than a small cut, but the human mind is capable of exaggerating such things by several orders of magnitude if it's allowed to run out of control. That's part of the battle, Kate. Keep your mind in order, and the pain will be absolutely bearable. There's a certain degree of discipline involved, and I'm afraid that modern life doesn't really teach most of us how to control our thoughts. Still, there's something about you that makes me think you'll be more than capable."

  I nod, but the truth is, I'm starting to wonder if I made the right choice by agreeing to this operation. Then again, Dagwood and the others have already shown me that they're more than just a bunch of amateurs, and I figure I've put myself into worse situations at the hospital. Dr. Martindale has sliced and diced me many times over the years, always in those sterile rooms accompanied by hordes of assistants; this situation with Dagwood and Dr. Mammone seems so primitive by comparison, but at the end of the day there's something primitive about any operation that require flesh to be cut open. Perhaps there's not really such a big difference between these methods after all.

  Clutching the chair's armrests, I take a deep breath and wait for the drilling to start.

  Dagwood looks past me and nods.

  "Okay," Dr. Mammone says quietly.

  I try not to flinch.

  Damn it, I swear I can hear my heart beating louder than ever.

  Moments later, I feel the head of the drill-bit being pressed firmly against my bare scalp. I shudder as I consider pulling away, but somehow I manage to force myself to stay in place.

  "Should I close my eyes?" I ask, shocked by how much my voice is trembling.

  "It's really up to you," Dagwood replies.

  "What did you do?"

  "I don't remember."

  "But is it better to -"

  "It's your choice," he says, taking my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Try not to panic."

  I open my mouth to reply to him, but suddenly I feel the drill being turned. Dr. Mammone is using an old-fashioned device from several centuries ago, so there's nothing electrical about the procedure; he's simply grinding through my skin and then, if all goes to plan, through my skull. I brace myself for the pain, and it comes slowly but surely as the drill cuts through my flesh. A couple of seconds later, I feel a bead of blood trickling across the shaved patch and then into my hair; more blood follows soon, slowly making its way down toward the top of my left ear. I take a deep breath and force myself to stay still as the pain gets worse, and finally I realize that I can hear the drill starting to grind against my skull.

  "You're doing great," Dagwood says, still holding my hand tight.

  I force a smile, but tears are starting to gather in my eyes.

  "You might notice -"

  Before he can finish, I let out a gasp as I hear a loud, deep cracking sound from inside my own head. It's almost enough to make me try to pull away, but I force myself to stay in place as a kind of thin, sharp pain arcs over my scalp. Tears are rolling down my cheeks and my bottom lip is trembling, but I know it's too late to panic. I try to smile again, but there's another cracking sound at the top of my skull.

  "Is that normal?" I ask, my voice filled with fear.

  "It's going really well," Dagwood says firmly. "Really well."

  "But is -" I stop speaking as there's another crack, a little quieter than before but no less alarming. There's a rumbling sound deep in my head, and I can't help imagining how I must look right now. The whole situation feels alarmingly primitive, and if it wasn't for Dagwood's reassurances, I'd probably have told Dr. Mammone to stop by now. Still, I figure I have to stick this through, so I turn my hand over in his and squeeze his fingers in a vain and probably foolish attempt to let him know that I'm okay.

  "Don't try to speak," he says calmly. "Just remember what I said earlier. Experience the pain for what it is, not for what it might be. It'll be over soon and I promise you, you'll feel so much better."

  I force another smile.

  Another bead of blood runs down the back of my head, eventually reaching the end of the hairline and dribbling down the back of my neck. I want to reach up and wipe it away, but arm restraints are holding me in place; besides, I'm starting to become aware of a deep bubbling sound coming from inside my head, as if a rush of water is surging through my brain. It's a disorientating sensation, and after a moment I realize that it's getting harder and harder to link my thoughts together.

  "It's okay," Dagwood says again.

  I take a deep breath.

  Seconds later, I feel the drill being removed. The wound hurts like hell, but I feel as if it could hurt more if I allowed myself to start imagining the horrific image of my skull being opened up; forcing myself to stay calm, I try not to panic as I feel Dr. Mammone's fingers reaching into the small hole that he's drilled. After a moment, one of his fingertips brushes directly against my brain; it doesn't hurt, exactly, but it feels strange and uncomfortable, and I swear I'm starting to see weird, shifting patterns of light in front of my eyes. They're beautiful, almost as if some other world is breaking through, but at the same time I know that they're just illusions created by the disturbances in my brain.

  Finally, I feel a piece of bone being lifted from my skull, followed by the sound of it being dropped into a metal dish.

  "Three-quarters of an inch by one and a half," Dr. Mammone says quietly.

  "Are you sure it needs to be that big?" asks Winifred, the nurse.

  "I know what I'm doing," Dr. Mammone replies, sounding a little angered by the question.

  "It's all going according to plan," Dagwood continues, looking deep into my eyes. "You're doing a great job, Kate, and now you just have to be patient. The next part of the procedure is simply to let the pressure drop and allow air to reach the wound. The idea is that certain elements that have been trapped inside your head are going to be allowed a chance to escape." He pauses. "Amin Bell is a dangerous man, and the longer he stays in your body, the more damage he'll do. He's already caused you a lot of pain and misery, but at least this way we're going to be able to get rid of him."

  "You -" I start to say, before taking a deep breath. The pain is getting worse, and I'm starting to feel a little dazed. There are gaps between my thoughts, and I'm not sure how long they're lasting. "You make it sound like an exorcism," I manage to say eventually.

  "I guess it is," he replies. "In a way. But I can see that you're starting to feel weak, so maybe I should just let you sit here for a while and -"

  "Don't leave me," I say suddenly.

  "Kate -"

  "Please," I continue, somehow mustering the energy to talk. I squeeze his hand, hoping that he'll realize how much I need him here. "Please," I say again, much more quietly this time. "I want you to stay."

  "The nurse will -"


  "I want you," I tell him. "Please, stay with me."

  "Of course," he replies, even though I can see from the look in his eyes that he's uncertain. "I won't go anywhere. You can count on me."

  As Dr. Mammone leaves the room, I stare straight ahead and try to focus on the need to remain calm. Dagwood's presence helps, of course, but the sensation of having part of my brain exposed is too strange to ignore, and every second I have to fight the urge to start pulling the straps from around my wrists so that I can get free. At the same time, I know that there can be no more half measures; now that I've decided to trust these people, I have to follow through and let them complete their work. If there's even the slightest chance that they're right about Amin Bell being in my head, I have to get him out before it's too late.

  After staring at Dagwood for a moment, I make the mistake of blinking.

  Twenty-three years ago

  "As I'm sure you all know," Denise says, grinning at us from the stage, "Mark Harris is one of the world's foremost photo-journalists. His images have appeared in all the major newspapers and magazines, and he's won numerous awards for his depiction of war zones in almost every continent. So without further ado, I'd like to ask you to welcome him to the stage."

  Everyone claps as Denise stands aside and an attractive man makes his way to the lectern. I clap too, just so that no-one stares at me, but I'm more interested in the guy's appearance. He's tall, with a thin, athletic frame and a hint of stubble that makes it look as if he only just got out of bed. His clothes are casual and a little faded, but there's something about him that seems to have caught my interest. I thought today's guest lecture would be another waste of time, and I almost skipped the session entirely, but now I'm glad I came.

  "The idea of war photography is something of a lie," he says once the clapping has died down. "It implies that there are places on the planet where wars are happening, and places where they aren't. In reality, there are wars everywhere. Walk down every street, and if you look at the world in the right way, you'll find conflict. Two neighbors, fighting over a parking space. A man trying to get a refund from a store. A couple, arguing about some imagined slight that's blown up out of nowhere. These are all wars, in a way, and the great thing is that you can take photos of them without having to travel to Sudan or Afghanistan or one of the other official wars. There are wars all around us. Traveling vast distances to find a particularly obvious one is, in a way, cheating."