by Amy Cross
Twenty-three years ago
It's getting late, but finally I realize that I can't delay the moment any longer:
I have to take a look at the self-portrait I shout earlier today.
The truth is, I've spent the entire evening in a kind of daze. Mark's words were the first proper encouragement I've received since I started college; most of my teachers have tended to dismiss my work as too abstract and vague, and they've been pushing me to focus more clearly on a particular discipline. I've been told to try photo-journalism and portraiture and wildlife studies and a hundred other things, but nothing has quite managed to entice me. Lately, I've been thinking about packing the whole thing in, but Mark has really turned things around.
I'm starting to think that I might be able to follow my dream.
Heading through to the dark-room, which is reality is the bathroom with a different bulb and some boards over the window, I start checking the prints I developed earlier. Most of them are just abstract architectural shots from around the city; I've become fascinated by some of the old church that are tucked away in New York's darker corners, and I feel drawn to photograph them. My teachers keep nagging me to define my project, but so far it just seem to be an instinctive thing. I guess the intellectual, academic side of things will come later. That's the plan, anyway.
When I reach the last photo, I'm immediately struck by the fact that there seems to be some blurring. Un-clipping my self-portrait, I stare at it for a moment. Most of the image is fairly clear, but there's a smudge over my face. I can't imagine what kind of technical failure could have caused something like this to happen, but it seems very focused. I run my hand across the surface of the print, but it seems to be dry. Looking more closely, however, I realize that the smudge actually has a little more definition than I'd originally realized. With a sense of horror rising through my chest, I start to make out a vague, howling face, its features locked in an expression of pure anger. It's as if some other creature is rising up from my body and staring straight at the camera.
Dropping the picture, I turn and run from the room.
Today
Once I've ditched Bella, I make my way through the dark streets. It feels good to be out here again. This is where I belong.
I could take the subway, but I decide to walk instead. It's been a long time since I made my way on foot through the city, and I feel as if I need to re-acclimatize myself before everything starts to feel too strange and too dangerous. I used to feel as if I belonged out here in the night air, but lately my life seems to have been changing and I'm having to force myself to stay out here.
And then suddenly I see it.
St. Abraham's church looks dark and foreboding as it comes into view. A lot of work has been carried out on the property lately, and various newspaper reports have been noting that money seems to be no problem for whoever has been funding the project. Now that the scaffolding has been removed, however, the church looks as good as new, although it's noticeable that there are very few lights on the building, almost as if it's trying to sink into the night.
Stopping on the opposite street corner, I raise my camera and take a moment to focus the lens. I'm still not quite used to this new camera, but at least it allows me to zoom in on the door at the front of the building, which looks to be covered by some kind of new metal grille. For an old, under-used church, St. Abraham's sure seems to spend a lot of money on security, and I can't help but wonder if there are a few more secrets lurking in the building. Although I know that I should stay away, I eventually lower the camera and make my way across the busy street.
In a way, it feels as if I'm being reunited with an old friend. In fact, as I wander along the side of the building, I reach out a hand and run my fingers along the stone wall, just to feel the place again.
When I get to the foot of the steps, I glance over my shoulder to make sure that no-one is watching me, and then I quickly make my way up toward the main door. The metal grille is held firmly in place, so I make my way along to one of the nearby side doors. To my surprise, I find that the handle turns easily and the door clicks open, which seems like a strange way to deal with security. After checking once again that no-one is nearby, I slip through the door and into the dark interior, and I take a moment to listen out for any sign of life.
Silence.
My heart is racing as I make my way forward. I reach out to make sure that I don't accidentally walk into a stone pillar, and finally I stop and take out the torch I brought for the occasion. Once the beam has been switched on, I shine it straight ahead and see rows of empty wooden seats, arranged facing the altar at the far end. Someone certainly seems to be trying to make this place look as if it's a proper church, but it's still hard to believe that anyone ever comes here to worship. In fact, as I make my way slowly toward the central aisle, I'm tempted to believe that I might be the first person who has come to disturb the air here for a very long time.
When I reach the altar, I run a finger along the edge and find that there's no dust. I guess someone must come in to clean the place, but as I turn and shine the torch back across the seats, I feel a shiver pass through my body as I try to work out why someone would keep this place up and running while never bothering to hold services.
Figuring that I need to get on with the task at hand, I raise my camera, activate the flash, and start taking photos. Every time I hit the button, the place is momentarily lit up, while the low whine of the flash unit punctures the silence. I keep my eye to the viewfinder, just in case the light happens to pick out anything in the shadows, but after a few minutes I start to realize that whereas I used to feel some kind of presence when I was taking photos of churches, now I just feel a kind of palpable absence.
I guess Amin Bell really is gone.
For the next few minutes, I make my way around the edges of the room, taking photograph after photograph. I have to stop a couple of times to change the rolls, but gradually the whole endeavor starts to feel less like a dangerous journey into an unknown world and more like an ordinary shoot in an old church. In fact, there's a -
Suddenly I freeze as the flash lights up and then fades away again.
I stare ahead into the darkness.
I guess I wasn't really paying attention, but for a fraction of a second I thought I saw a figure standing in the central aisle, staring straight at me from about twenty feet away. It wasn't Amin Bell, though; it was someone wearing some kind of robe, with a hood obscuring their face. I take a deep breath, listening out for any hint of movement, and after a few seconds I take another photo, this time showing no sign of anyone nearby at all. I pause, letting my mind race as I try to think of possible explanations. It could have been a trick of the light, like some random set of shadows that happened to come together from one particular angel and give the vague impression of a figure. Still, all my old fears have returned, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to get the hell out of here.
Turning, I pull the torch from my pocket and use it to light my way back around the edge of the room, heading for the door. I feel and overwhelming sense of relief when I get there, but this is quickly lost when I turn the handle and find that somehow the door has been locked. I try again and again, but there still doesn't seem to be any way out, and finally I turn and shine the torch back across the room, just in case someone is watching me.
Nothing.
No-one.
I try the door again, but it still won't budge. I guess there's a possibility that for some reason it can only be opened from the outside, although deep down I know that this explanation is unlikely. Forcing myself to stay calm, I make my way along the edge of the room, hoping to find some other door that maybe I missed earlier. As I walk, I keep shining the torch back over my shoulder, just in case anyone appears, but so far I seem to be alone. I keep telling myself that the figure I thought I saw earlier was just a brief illusion, and that there's no reason why anyone would lock me in here. Still, as I get to the far corner and realize tha
t there are no other doors, I feel a crushing sense of fear starting to weigh on my chest.
Heading to the altar, I make my way around to the area in the back. It's hard to keep from panicking as I shine the torch around in the darkness, but finally I spot a small door set into the stone wall. I hurry over and find that it's unlocked, although when I get through I realize that it leads only to a set of stone spiral steps leading down into the bowels of the building. The last thing I want is to go down, but at the same time I figure that there might be some kind of exit below street level, perhaps a service door at the rear of the building. Silently cursing myself for having not scoped out my options properly before I came inside, I start making my way down the steps.
When I get to the bottom, I realize that I'm in a large, low-ceilinged room that seems to run the entire length of the building. I shine the torch ahead, but there seems to be nothing down here. Making my way forward, I have to keep my head down a little to avoid banging my scalp against the ceiling, and it's starting to become increasingly clear that there's not going to be a way out if I keep going this way. Stopping after a moment, I turn to head back to the stairs.
I stop dead in my tracks.
There's a hooded figure standing by the door, and this time there's no way it's a trick of the light. I keep the torch shining straight at him, but his face is hidden.
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
Suddenly the figure steps forward, moving slowly but surely toward me.
I want to turn and run, but I'm pretty sure that the only way out of here is to get to the steps, and right now the figure is in the way.
"I'm sorry," I say eventually, taking a couple of steps back. "I know I shouldn't be here..."
Instead of replying, the figure keeps coming closer.
"I was just taking photos," I continue, figuring that I need to wait until he's far enough from the door for me to have a chance if I try to make a run for it. "I'm a photographer, and the door at the front of the building was open, so I figured you allowed people to come in at night..." I take some more steps back, keen not to let the figure get too close. "You can have the film," I add. "I mean, if you don't want anyone taking pictures in here, I totally understand. I can leave them here with you..."
The figure stops and seems content to just stare at me.
"Please," I say, trying not to let the fear enter my voice. "I don't mean any harm, I just -"
Before I can finish, the figure reaches up and pulls his hood back, revealing his face. With my torch still shining straight ahead, I don't immediately recognize him as the light casts strange, angular shadows over his features. Finally, however, I realize that this person is all too familiar. In fact, I figure I should have guessed right from the start that he'd be here.
"Dagwood," I whisper, trying to stay calm. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Part Six
The Touch
Today
"You're lucky I was onto you," Dagwood says as we walk through the main part of the church, having come up from the crypt a moment earlier. "I knew there was no way you'd be able to leave this place alone, so I made sure to keep an eye out for you. Frankly, you held out a few days longer than I anticipated."
"So you broke in?" I ask.
"No," he replies, holding up an old, rusty key. "I should probably come clean at this point, Kate. There's a small but very active congregation that worships here at St. Abraham's, and I'm one of them. We meet at night, mostly, and as you might have guessed, we try very hard to make sure that our activities don't become public knowledge. There have been a few incidents lately that have attracted attention, and we're all rather jumpy as a result. We don't want people poking about in our affairs. We just want to be left in peace to worship in our own way."
"A kind of secret church?" I reply.
"Something like that," he says with a faint smile. "Maybe I should have told you about it from the start, but I wasn't sure whether I could trust you. I'm sure you'll understand that I felt the need to be a little cautious. When you came to the facility and submitted yourself to our procedures, I began to realize that you understood more about the world than you were letting on, but I still wasn't sure how much I could tell you. While you were recovering, I'm afraid I took advantage of your amnesia to let you in on a few secrets and test how you'd react. Once or twice, you became very angry, but I always knew that the next day you'd have forgotten."
"I don't remember any of that," I tell him.
"It was a difficult period," he continues. "Every time we made an advance, we ended up going backward almost immediately. It was tiring and I have to admit, after a while I began to lose faith in the process. That was my failing, not yours, and I'm not proud of it. I just couldn't get you to remember."
"Not this time," I reply, feeling as if I've been manipulated. "My memory's back to normal."
"I'm glad to hear that," he says as we reach the side door and he starts to unlock it. "I'd like the opportunity to explain things to you properly, but there isn't time right now. The rest of the congregation is due soon for a midnight service, and I need to get the place ready. There are certain procedures that have to be followed, and I'm afraid they're going to take time. I came early in case you showed up, but now I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He opens the door and steps aside. "I'll tell you everything, but you can't stay, not tonight."
"Can't I just watch?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
"I won't get in the way," I continue, feeling a little irritated by his refusal to be more open with me. "I won't even take photos. I'll just watch and keep quiet."
"I'm sorry, Kate, it's just not possible."
"Why not? What's the big secret?"
"That's the thing about secrets," he continues. "Sometimes you just have to trust that there's a good reason for them." He smiles awkwardly, and it's clear that he's struggling to find a way of answering my questions. "I hope you feel you can trust me," he says eventually, "and that maybe this goes some way toward showing you that it's okay to wait twenty-four hours before I fill you in. I promise, it's for your own good as well as ours. Perhaps you'd like to meet me for dinner tomorrow night?"
I pause for a moment, trying to work out whether it's a good idea to accept his invitation. This whole situation feels very wrong somehow, and I can't help thinking that Dagwood seems to be the kind of guy who's hard to pin down. He has an explanation for everything, and I'm worried that by agreeing to meet him tomorrow, I'm just giving him the chance to come up with more lies. Then again, even lies can reveal aspects of the truth.
"Or perhaps not," he adds, clearly sensing my discomfort. "I can -"
"No," I tell him, "it's fine. I can meet you for dinner, I just..." I pause again, leaving the end of the sentence hanging in the air. I feel as if I'm making a mistake, but right now I can't come up with a better plan.
"Obviously this is a very unusual situation," he continues. "I understand that, but I hope you realize that if I meant you any harm, I'd have had plenty of opportunities in the past to get at you. I recognize that you must have some very considerable concerns about what's happening here, but I hope you know that I'm not a monster."
He waits for me to reply.
"You do know that, don't you?" he asks hesitantly.
I nod.
"That's not the most convincing response," he adds.
"You have to explain everything, though," I tell him. Stepping out into the night air, I turn to him, and for a moment I feel as if I'm on the verge of something that's going to change my life. "Trust me, I'll know if you're bullshitting."
"The truth's going to be hard for you to take," he replies, "but I guess I owe you the full story. I should have filled you in right from the start, and I apologize for my mistake in not doing so. Just... Tomorrow, not tonight. There's too much at stake here. Go home, get some rest and I'll be in touch. And Kate, please try to be patient. I've handled this situation rather badly, but I thi
nk you'll understand once you know the full story."
As soon as I've reached the bottom of the steps, I glance over my shoulder and see that Dagwood has shut the door and headed back inside. I might have told him that I was going to go home, but that was just a ploy to get him to leave me alone. There's no way I'm going to just head off and wait for him to tell me what's happening whenever he feels like it, so I hurry across the street and take up position in the shadows of a shop doorway, from which I have a great view of the church. It's after midnight now, and the city's getting cold, but I figure I can handle a few hours' exposure. With my new camera in my hands, poised for the moment when something happens, I wait.
And wait.
An hour passes, then two, and no-one goes into or comes out of the church. I don't even know what I'm expecting, but it's clear that Dagwood was planning something. It's hard to imagine him spending so long in the church alone, so I'm still convinced that sooner or later there'll be some other people showing up.
I check my watch and see that it's 3am.
There's still time.
As 4am rolls around, I feel my resolve starting to flag. Dagwood explicitly asked me not to hang around, and I can't rule out the possibility that he knows I'm standing here. I'd like to think that he knows me well enough by now to realize that I'm not the kind of person to meekly obey order and go home, so I guess it's possible that he's called off whatever was supposed to happen in order to ensure that I don't see it. An hour later, with the first light of dawn starting to lighten the night sky, I'm forced to accept that no-one's going to arrive.
And that's when the door opens.
I watch as a figure emerges from the church. My first assumption is that it must be Dagwood, but when I zoom in with my camera, I find that it's actually an older, balding man. Instinctively, I take a photo of him as he heads down the steps and makes his way to a nearby car. Seconds later, a few more people come out of the building, so I take a photo of them as well. The process continues for several minutes, until upwards of a hundred people have poured out of the church. Almost on auto-pilot, I manage to get photos of them all, and finally Dagwood appears, deep in conversation with another man. They seem to be the last to leave, and I take several photos of them as they head away along the street, apparently oblivious to my presence.
