The Phantasm Camera Riddle; Chapter Four

 

(Recap; Regina brought her modern cameras to Stuart's studio. While Stuart struggled with memories from the war in Africa, the photos they took with new cameras turned out distorted; the deceased woman in them seemingly moved...)

(Picture credits; https://flashbak.com/ghosts-in-the-machine-the-beauty-of-decayed-daguerreotypes-422699/)

 Their house was the largest one in the village. Mister Malcolm, their father, owned a large property which their ancestors earned by serving the king decades ago. It consisted of four bedrooms, bathroom, large dancing hall with a magnificent glass chandelier, grand dining room, a living room, their father's working room and basement hallway with servants' rooms and kitchen. Stuart liked escaping there in the cold winter mornings and nights because oven warmed up the space from the early morning hours. The cook would wake up at five o'clock each morning to bake bread and Stuart enjoyed keeping her company. This was formally forbidden. Master's son shouldn't have been so friendly with servants, but Oliver was the only one who knew about Stuart's unusual habit and he kept his brother's secret.

When their parents were out, two brothers liked playing hide and seek. They could hide anywhere they liked. Grown ups weren't here to stop them from peeping wherever they wanted to.

It was a cold November evening and the dark had already fallen. Malcolms had gone to the theatre and little boys were left with their nanny and servants. But their nanny was old and evermore sleepy, so their freedom was unlimited. It was Stuart's turn to count while his brother was hiding. He could count only up to hundred at the time.

He looked at their bedroom first, though he knew Oliver wouldn't be there. It was too easy to find him there. He entered their parents' bedroom. It was usually locked, but when master and mistress were out servants would leave it unlocked on purpose so that kids could play to the fullest. Oliver wasn't under their bed nor in the closet. Mum's private room was empty too and so was his father's working place. Stuart didn't dare enter his father's private chambers. Papers were spread all over his desk, the bed was unmade and strange objects were scattered all over it. Mister Malcolm was a very busy man.

He went on to seek for his brother in the basement. Servants' were relaxing and drinking vine in their dining room. He didn't want to bother them, so he silently continued to the pantry, one of Oliver's favourite hiding places. It was extremely dark inside. Combination of heavy smells overwhelmed Stuart; cheese, beef jerky, pickled vegetables and strong spices made it almost unbearable to stay inside. Stuart wondered whether it was possible for a human being to die because of such intense odour. "Oliver?". He got no answer.

Touching the wall, his hand found a soft bulb. He squeezed it. Light erupted through the room. Stuart saw someone standing behind a cabinet filled with food. This person was taller than Oliver. Besides, it wasn't male, but a young woman wearing black dress, with brown hair tied in a bun. "Wait", Stuart's voice wasn't childish at all, but a grown man's baritone. "You should be dead!"

Like so many nights earlier that week, he woke with a start, heavily breathing and face full of sweat drops. The voice of young lad selling newspapers was hearable from the outside. It was morning. He had no time to think over his dream. Regina was due to come any minute.

She wasn't her usual merry-self. She paced inside without a word of greeting. Not caring to take of her coat, she went right onto taking something from her pocket and threw it on the desk. Stuart recognized the little bag he saw when she brought her equipment to his studio.

"I thought a lot last night", touching her forehead with fingertips, she finally spoke, "thought and drunk. I understand why you refused to show me those photos. Woman's grimaces haunted me until the morning came..." She nodded towards the desk. "I realized how unfair I was when I denied you my own secret photos. I changed my mind. You may take a look at them."

Stuart was unsure whether to do what she permitted him. "I had my fair share of fear", he whispered, "those photos might have haunted you last night, but I've been struggling with my knowledge of them for days..." He barely heard his own words, lost between the recently interrupted dream and the incomprehensible reality. A touch on his cheek was like a flutter of a falling leaf. Regina's body was nearer to him than ever, but her presence never awoke a manly lust in him. It made him feel at ease and he was thankful for her help. He was worried she might run away after he showed her the photos, but her gesture reassured him that wasn't one of her considerations.

"But I thought a lot about those photos, too", she continued very silently. "About their anomalies, if you like. They haunt us both now, Stuart, but we can't allow them to do so. There must be a logical explanation. You hear me? I won't accept any superstitious theories."

But my dreams, he wanted to say, but was too scared to express his true fears aloud. Last night that woman was in my dream. She came of her own will, escaped from the photos and broke into my mind.

He truly believed the person he found in his brother's hiding place in his dream didn't belong there. He sensed its alien force and still felt it after waking up. He was afraid the mark it left shall never be erased.

"Now look", she put the bag in his hands. He did as she commanded. The photos which came out of it were all prints, hard, high-quality paper pictures newspaper's editors used. Stuart was prepared for grotesque crime scenes with loads of blood, but these photos showed no such scenery. Most of them were quite dark, with only contours of furniture visible. One showed a luxurious hallway with two stairways on each side, another a smaller apartment with radio, third one a pub. Not a living nor dead soul on any of them. "You're confused", Regina noticed, "you thought it will be something terrifying, but it's not." Stuart nodded. "I found these photos only recently. I hadn't known they existed until my father told me on his deathbed. Told me that he had hidden photos he never showed anyone. He wasn't the man behind the camera with which they were taken, but it was indeed his camera which took them. They're all similar, right?" Stuart confirmed. The colour tones, slight stains on the edges of the objects and high concentration of light around its source resembled themselves in each exemplar. "But they weren't taken in the same time. My father got one every few years."

"Got? But you said they were taken by his camera."

"That's what I'm trying to explain. It's complicated. My father knew nothing about these photos. They'd be delivered to our residence by mail, but no sender address was ever written on the envelope. This was the first one", she pointed to the photo of a pub, "and my dad knew nothing about this place. He thought it was some kind of a joke The next day he was called to the crime scene. It was this exact pub. A fight broke out the night before and one man was stabbed to death, but the murderers ran off. My dad thought then that it was some kind of a warning, but it couldn't help with the case, so he put it aside and soon forgot about it. Two years later he got this one." She pointed to the photo of a small apartment. "And the next morning he was called to take photos of the crime scene. A man had beaten his wife to death in this same room and escaped never to be found. The photos continued coming, always one day before my dad would be called to the crime scene. The criminals connected to those cases always managed to flee."

"Who was sending them?"

Regina sighed. "That's where it gets really weird. My father never found out, and guess what? It was impossible for these photos to be taken. The pub was always crowded, so how was it photographed without a single person in the photo? Only if someone broke in during the night, but why would someone do that only to take a photo? I said they were taken by my father's camera. After he got fifth photo", she nodded towards the one which showed a nursery room, "he contacted an expert for photography. He hadn't told him why the photos mattered, but he wanted to know with which camera were they taken. Not many people owned a camera back then, so he figured it might bring him closer to the sender. It was concluded that the camera was one he actually used at that time. He brought it for examination and the expert was pretty sure it was the camera with which the photos were taken. Now tell me", she raised her gleaming eyes, "you think someone sneaked in our home, which often altered its location, to take one of our cameras and somehow take a photo of a completely empty place which was to become a crime scene that same week?"

"Psycho criminal", Stuart muttered.

"No criminal could do such a thing", Regina shook her head. "But my father's first impression was the same as yours. He was scared that someone was stalking him and me. First he destroyed the camera and then he decided we should take a break. We went to Ireland. One month of relaxation in the village. He told nobody where we were."

"But the photo came anyway", Stuart assumed.

Regina nodded. She took a photo of a big hall with two parallel stairways. "But we weren't called to the crime scene this time. Nobody knew where we were anyway, so they couldn't reach us. But as soon as we returned to Scotland, my father was wanted to take photos at the recently discovered crime scene. A huge Victorian house, rich people. All had been dead for two weeks or so and nobody knew until a neighbour started wondering why hasn't anybody come out for such a long time. Murderers never found."

"What are you implicating?"

"Photos of that dead lady we took", she looked at the sofa, "aren't the first unexplainable images I'm dealing with."

"You never found out who was the photographer?", Stuart asked while trying to sort new informations.

"No. I gave them to another professional after my father died. All definitely taken by the same camera. Legit, no hocus-pocus phantasms added. But impossible to be taken at those sceneries."

"Is there a connection among the crimes following arrival of each photo?"

"No. These murders were committed across the whole country, the victims had nothing in common. Nothing except for my dad." Her hands were slightly trembling. She calmed them by engaging them in fixing her hair, though it was braided in a perfect bun. "My dad said he had nightmares every night before a photo would be delivered. As if he knew what was coming. He'd dream of people he never saw. They seemed so real in his dreams, he claimed to have seen details of their faces and would later conclude he dreamt of the future victims."

Stuart's head was pounding with unspoken words. He had dreams of dead people from the photographs just like Regina's father had dreams of people who were missing on the photos.

"But I'm still looking for a logical explanation",, Regina said eagerly, "and I'm sure we can find one together! Now listen", she adopted a calm stance, ready to reveal her ingenious plan. "Would you consider entering the crime business?"

"What?", he asked with his mouth dry from anticipation.

"Taking photos of the crime scenes like my father used to. I still have all the contacts, I'm familiar with the chief of police in Edinburgh. They're not very fond of me there. It's because I'm a woman." She rolled her eyes. "They consider females to weak to deal with such things, but my father was really admired among police circles. He was known as one of the best crime scene photographers throughout the whole Kingdom. You're a man", she folded her hands and came one step nearer to him, "and if I recommended you, the police chief would employ you."

Stuart had an urge to escape right through the door. The door of his studio. When did his own home become unsafe? Where could he escape to? Erwing and Carol's place where ghosts of the past haunted him even more than where he was now? Regina's eyes grew bigger and bigger as she awaited his response. "What's the point?", he asked.

Her answer was simple. "Experiment." He didn't understand what she meant. "There must be a logical explanation, so we'll use a scientific approach. Take more photos of the dead to see if the peculiarities shall repeat. And wait for that bastard who stalked my father to start his game anew."

"I don't like the idea."

"Stuart", her voice was incredibly persuasive, "we're up against something strange, you and I, and neither of us can avoid it. You must face your fears and get out of the safe zone in order to gain back control over your life. Pranks like these", she nodded towards the photos, "might make us lose our minds, but only if we let them. Well? What say you?"

He didn't really have a choice.

♦

The chief of the police was a stout middle-aged man with greasy hair and little eyes which carefully evaluated Stuart. The photographer stood in his office next to Regina. Compared to her unshakable standing, he seemed childishly fragile. The chief wasn't pleased with their unannounced visit and Stuart awaited for him to start barking curses at them.

"Regina", he sounded like he was holding back the explosion going on inside of him, "as I told you before, I knew your father well. We used to work together." Finding out this wasn't the first time Regina came to the police asking for employment intensified Stuart's discomfort. He was a colloquial victim in their wrangle. "But Roland is gone and there's nobody else like him. He was a master of his trade and a fine policeman before that, but that doesn't matter now that he's dead!"

"Mister Maxwell", she said almost coquettishly, "Stuart is an experienced photographer, too, and whatever else you may think of me, you can't deny that my father taught me everything he knew. Besides, I presume you hadn't found someone else to do his job since his passing? In fact, there were some rumours", she leaned over his table, "that the most recent photographer got fired after he puked all over the evidence..."

Mister Maxwell grumbled and waved with his hand to make her turn away. Stuart figured Regina had enough experience with this man to know how to provoke him. Maxwell looked at Stuart again, making him incredibly uncomfortable. "You say he's experienced?"

"Oh, yes", Regina said and gave Stuart a discreet look. Stay on my side. He nodded. Now he was an associate in deceiving the police officer. Maxwell was ignorant of the real nature of Stuart's expertise. Regina told him he'd already taken photos on the terrain and worked with modern cameras.

"You strong enough to withstand gore?", he threw question at Stuart.

"Um... Yes..." He hoped he was.

"Well", Maxwell sighed out, "I might give you a chance..."

"Sir!" A policeman in complete uniform entered the office. "There's an emergency call!" He looked questioningly towards chief's guests.

"It's okay, Bob", Maxwell said, "Regina might look cute, but she's seen too much for a lady already. And this guy's apparently tougher than he looks. They'll work for me. Maybe."

"A little girl was found dead just an hour ago in the poorer quarters."

"Damn", Maxwell swung his hands to help him get his big body up from the chair. "Hate going there. Bands quarrel, people die of dysentery and gossip that it was a murder committed by a witch, prostitutes end up with wrong customers... And nobody cares!"

"He said it was a little girl", Regina rebuked him.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Little or not, not the first nor the last one. Happens all the time. Sad but true. You two going?"

Stuart wasn't glad to accept, but his opinion had no weight. Regina eagerly nodded. "We took our equipment with us just in case. My father's camera." She smiled. "So you know it's verified."

They squeezed into one cab. Regina carried bag with her Goerz camera and appertained stand. Maxwell silently complained when she placed it next to him. He alone was taking the whole seat and was unwilling to share it with anybody or anything.

While they were driving through the city, Stuart's eyes began to close regardless of his attempts to keep them open. He hadn't slept well last night. After everything that happened, it was only natural he'd be lost in reflections of the days past and predictions of those coming. However, he did fall asleep eventually. He wished he hadn't.

He dreamt his childhood home again. He was outside in the fields and though nothing suggested it, he knew it was Oliver's tenth birthday. He remembered it as if it was yesterday, even though he hadn't though of that memory for ages. Their parents' favourite little boy was celebrating the first decade of his life! It seemed like an extremely important anniversary to the whole family, so they were preparing a big celebration with many guests, plenty food and numerous gifts for the boy. This occupied them so much they forgot that they had another son, so Stuart got lost in the fields. Oliver noticed his brother was missing at the party when they were handing out the cake, but when he told this to his parents who were engaged in too important conversations to be concerned by their less loved son's disappearance, they convinced him that Stuart must be somewhere around, "He's always roaming somewhere", his mother said and turned back to her aunt. Oliver wasn't reassured, so he informed the Cook about Stuart's disappearance. The Cook, who loved Stuart dearly, spent hours looking for him through the village until she found him among wheat. Luckily, it was May and not cold enough for a child to get sick, but Stuart had been alone for hours, lost and confused. He curled up in her arms and she carried him home. Oliver was relieved to see him and quickly escaped the crowd of guests. They were disappointed by the loss of the adored celebrant. Bothers hid in a closet in their room.

"Did you get any goodies?", Stuart asked to break the awkward silence. Young and innocent as he was, he didn't understand how carelessly everyone behaved towards him. Oliver, on the other hand, felt that their parents's behaviour wasn't just at all.

"I saved you some cake", Oliver said and took his little brother into his arms. "The Cook had to hide it, otherwise someone would've eaten it already."

"Gee, thanks!" Stuart was delighted by this surprise.

"I'll always think of you", Oliver promised, "even if everybody else forgets."

But Stuart didn't get to this part in his dream. He was running through wheat field when he stumbled upon a person. He was confused because he remembered being completely alone in the wheat until Cook found him. The person was a little, thin girl with messy, dirty blond hair.

"Who are you?", Stuart asked. "You shouldn't be here."

He saw his reflection in her pupils. He was tidy, dressed in celebratory blue suit. Then he looked at her blotchy plane dress, bare feet full of tiny wounds. "Neither should you", she spoke with a high voice. Something alien in it made Stuart shiver. "Go home, Stuart. Go home."

"And where's your home?", little Stuart asked her.

Bloody tears filled her big eyes. "I lost my home. Forever."

The cab stopped in a narrow street with compacted, time-worn houses on each side. They were greeted by a distant barking of dogs and eerily clear cry of one baby. A quarter of the poor in all its sad and fade magnificence. Stuart saw numerous women and children with charcoal dirty faces leaning against the small windows of their apartments. Following the direction of their stares, Stuart caught a sight of two policemen walking towards them. Chief distanced himself from the photographers to hear policemen's statement out of the reach of their hearing. Regina mumbled while fighting with big bags. Stuart tried to give her a hand, but the place left him in such a dumbfounded state he was hardly able to be of any help. After leaving his wealthy childhood home, he spent some time in Oliver's new house which had everything a proper bourgeois home ought to have. From there he settled in his present residence which was far from either of the two places he lived in before, but the level of misery surrounding him now was completely new to him. Lack of other food beside bread and shortage of kerosene seemed piddling compared to problems these hefty women had to face, bringing up numerous children, working for money and for husbands who were forced to spend all days at some horrible factory, colliery or worse.

"C'mon", Maxwell called them, "since you're already here, it won't hurt to test you right away."

They climbed up the stairs in a narrow hallway. Curious glances of underweight, dirty children followed them from each stair. A girl holding a hand-made doll tight in her arms attracted Stuart's attention. She might stay in this quarter forever, married to the closest neighbour, one who was the first to take away the greatest treasure she guarded. She'll survive by rubbing pots, washing clothes, sewing at the spinning mule, crouching over it day after day until some illness kills her. Another version he thought of was even worse. She might start making money by selling her dearest treasure, end up being a single mother nobody sympathizes with. She might commit a suicide or be killed by a violent stranger. Or none of it, for she might die in an accident the next morning, her unpromising life string cut before it has been sewn into a greater creation...

"I'd better get to work", Regina said proudly when the policemen showed them where the body was. The uniformed men suspiciously observed her movements, not sure what to think of a woman engaged in such an appalling job.

The apartment consisted of two equally small rooms. Spread sheets blocked the entrance. This was the room in which family slept. Connected to it by an opening without a door was a cramped room which served as a kitchen, dining room and a bathroom. It stank like stale meat.

Regina positioned camera while Stuart stayed in an incomplete sleeping room subjected to accusatory assessment of Mister Maxwell and his subordinates. Sound of photos being taken was heard from the other room. Regina called him to join her.

"They won't accept you unless you prove your professionalism", she whispered as she pushed the camera into his hands.

Regina forced him to turn towards the bathtub in which the dead girl was found. He raised the camera to his eyes and looked through the lens at the afflicted child.

The camera fell from his hands. Alarmed by the noise, the policemen checked them through the opening. Regina quickly took a commanding stand in front of Stuart and ordered officials to let them work in piece. They withdrew mumbling how the world is decaying when women are allowed to tell men what to do.

Regina hissed at her partner. "What the hell are you playing at?"

Stuart's hands were shaking. He was staring at the poor chalk-white face of the little girl, her greasy blond hair, plain brown dress. It was the person from his dream. But what frightened him the most wasn't her identity, but the way she looked when he was prepared to photograph her. He saw her standing with scarlet tears sliding down her cheeks. Alive.

Regina set the camera in his hands and pointed with her finger at the deceased child. "Don't tell me you've never seen a dead kid before? Stuart, please, we need this job! She isn't even bloody or something of that sort. She's been poisoned."

"Who did it?"

Regina sighed out. "Parents are the top suspects, but nobody has seen them for days. Lender lady found her. Now take those photos!"

Stuart swallowed his trepidation and brought camera back to his face, knowing that Maxwell was grading his work. He took a photo of a corpse lying motionless in the bath.

"You can develop them in the station", Maxwell said later. "And I guess you'll have to stay overnight..."

"We can afford a lodging", Regina interrupted him. Stuart nodded in agreement, but his thoughts were far away from the current events. He was flowing between long forgotten past and unpredictable future. How will she appear in the photos?

Stuart settled into a chair in a waiting room at the station with a cup of tea while Regina was working in the dark room. Rapidly taping his foot on the floor, he considered the chances of Regina delivering another pack of irregular photos to him. Desperately trying to move his thoughts to another topic, he remembered Carol's kind face and wondered whether it would be a good idea to pay her a visit while he was in town. Carol knew him well, and even if she hadn't, she was a woman of particular intellect which enabled her to easily read people. She'd notice something's bothering him. He dropped the idea.

Regina approached him militarily and dropped a bunch of photos into his lap. "All normal!"

He convinced himself of the correctness of her claim. Normal and commendable indeed, good enough to convince Maxwell their collaboration is a good choice.

Maxwell expressed his admiration with stingy compliments. He arranged the photos on the board in his office and rubbed his hands against each other. He suggested them to stay in a particular diner with lodgings and treated them to dinner despite Regina's counteraction. A vast dining area decorated with stuffed animals and fur covering walls made Stuart uneasy. His father used to have a stuffed deer's head in his working room, a gift from an old colleague. Similar one was starring at Stuart while he chewed stingy chop.

"Didn't you mention you have family in Edinburgh?", Regina asked.

"Oh", he pretended this coincidence hadn't already come to his mind. "Aye, I do."

"Should we visit them?"

Stuart pretended to be occupied by staring competition with a deer.

Spending the night in an unfamiliar bed was easier than he expected. In fact, he hadn'slept so well for days. Not a single dream troubled him. Both in a good mood, they were ready to leave early in the morning. None of them mentioned photos they took the day before, but Stuart knew Regina hadn't gave them all away. She reserved some for the press people. They stopped once before leaving the town. After less than five minutes, Regina came back to the cab, carrying an envelope with money instead of photos with which she entered the building of one of Scotland's main tabloids.

In Dunfermline Regina went out in the suburbs where she lived. "See you tomorrow, right?", she said without waiting for an answer before closing the door. Stuart noticed she had left an envelope in the cab upon arriving to his place. Suppressing his hurt pride, he took out the money to pay the driver. He was surprised to discover one photo crammed with the banknotes. Poisoned girl was motionless in the bathtub, her eyes closed as if she was only sleeping, arms gently laid in her lap. Stuart found himself wondering who could have done such a thing to her. Poison a child? Why? Were her parents really the ones who had done it? For someone who could say all kind of things about his parents, he found it hard to imagine people who would take the life of their own offspring.

He hid the photo when a customer entered his studio. He soon regretted allowing Regina to take unannounced day off for it turned out to be a very busy day. Locals who looked upon Stuart's work with suspicion for years suddenly wanted to be photographed. A family of ten wanted their eight children to have each their own portrait, young friends and couples had a sudden wish to perpetuate their communion, old folks got an urge to provoke their conservatism. Stuart was glad to close the studio when the night fell. He lighted up the fireplace and collapsed into a chair in front of it.

Dreams swiftly took hold of him. He was running up the stairs, a light-footed child once again, carrying a bag full of sweetened fruit the Cook had secretly given him. He hurried quietly past his parents' bedrooms and slipped through the ajar door to where Oliver was waiting. Formally, he wasn't allowed to go in there since Oliver had a fever. Only their mother and a nurse were allowed to visit him. He needed maximum peace to rest. However, nurse was fast asleep in her chair next to boy's bed, and Stuart brought presents.

"Gee, man", Oliver gladly took the bag from his little brother. "You're the best. And pass my thanks to Gilda, too!" He coughed and the nurse stirred, but remained ignorant of the world outside of her dreams. "Mum would kill you if she knew you were here! She doesn't want you to get sick."

Stuart ignored Oliver's warning. Not only because he didn't care whether he gets sick or not, but also because he knew Oliver lied. Their mother cared less about Stuart's well-being and more about Oliver not being bothered by the "annoying kid", as their father called him from time to time, although Stuart never pestered anyone.

"Get better soon, Olie", Stuart begged him, "it's sunny outside and I miss playing with you!"

"You can play with other kids from the village."

"Yeah, but it's not the same", Stuart lowered his head. "They're not really fond of me when you don't come along." He had no idea what to talk about with other kids or how to play without Oliver's assistance. He lied when he said he played with others. He gave it up after Oliver's first day in bed and spent most of his days in the kitchen, shaping the dough for biscuits. His brother was his best friend. Stuart was lost without him.

"How will you survive when I leave for school?", Oliver asked in good humour, but a glimmer of concern was hearable in his voice.

"I'll go with you!"

Oliver ruffled his hair and laughed. "Sure you will, some day!"

They heard steps in the corridor. Their mother! Stuart hurried to escape before she found him in the forbidden place, but he had no time, so Oliver urged him to hide under the bed. The door opened and someone came in. Stuart held his breath, hoping she won't notice him.

"I lost my home!" Head covered with greasy hair bent down and glassy eyes looked straight at him. The girl was crying, her lips trembled while she spoke: "Why did they abandon me?"

A horrible foreboding struck him when the dream broke into tiny pieces. Guided by unknowable intuition, he crossed the room in four steps and headed straight to the studio. Without a lamp, he hardly saw anything, but tapping with his hands on the floor he found the photo. He pulled back the curtain. Sky was clear and the moon was full. Even without his spectacles he saw clearly as he had seen through the lens two days before.

The girl in the photo stood in the bath with her eyes wide open.

♦

Regina appeared to be very angry, staring accusingly at the coal residues of the extinguished fire. Her dress was dusty from kneeling and probing through the ashes while the embers were still dangerously glowing. Her fingertips were slightly burnt.

"You actually threw it", Regina muttered, "your burned it."

Her calmness was nothing but a pretence; fury radiated from her in heavy sighs. Stuart was ashamed like a mischievous boy, regretting his misdoings, but what was his culpability really about? Memories of last night came to him like scattered pieces. The only things he remembered vividly were his dream and the photo lightened by the moonlight. When Regina's strong knocking on the door woke him up hours after his usual early awakening, he told her what he supposed happened afterwards. He worked himself into a delusional frenzy and, unaware of his doings, threw the photo in the fireplace. He tried to explain how terrified he was when he saw that the picture had changed, but left his dream unmentioned. He couldn't deal with her accusing him of insanity, and if he was to mention being under the impression of a nightmare, she was sure to take it into account when assessing the credibility of what he claimed to had seen.

"We could've used it", she said in a reserved tone, accepting their loss. "If it really had changed."

"It had", he was convincing her. He had no doubt. The girl had appeared in his dream for a reason. Simultaneously thinking about his first dream experience with her and the last night's one, he considered that he might have went through it all because his conscience somehow knew that something will be off with the photo in the end. "You must call those press people you sold other photos to and ask whether something unusual had happened..." Before he finished, Regina threw newspapers on the desk between them. There was an article about the unsolved murder by poison in Edinburgh and the photos he had taken were printed next to it.

"Others turned out just fine. And stayed that way." Sighing out, she smoothed her hair, a calming gesture hinting that she had enough of stress and was ready to move on. "Stuart, are you sure you truly saw the girl standing in the bath?"

"You saw photos of that dead woman", he reminded her, "so you must trust me when I tell you it has repeated."

She lifted her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, I believe you, I only wish we had a proof."

"What would we do with it anyway?" The question induced a silence of uncertainty.

"Take proves to the police?", Regina recommended. "Or I could call a photography expert to check them... Yes! That's exactly what we should do! In fact, why wait?" Turning to him, cheeks rosy from excitement and readiness for action, she commanded: "Bring me photos of that woman, I'll take them to him before the day ends!"

Stuart was left without a helper to do another day of work. He was muddleheaded and more than once a persons he was photographing had to ask him for how long will they have to stand, even though they had been motionlessly waiting for minutes, and Stuart had neither turned the hourglass nor started the camera.

"Gee, Stuart", an old customer whose dead first wife Stuart had photographed, before and after death, told him after Stuart gave him the daguerreotype of his twin daughters, "you're business is quickly growing!" This was more than true. Regina's commercials and some useful rumours changed people's opinion of his studio from hell to heaven. "But you look addle-headed. And you're too pale! Go easy on yourself, buddy!" He tapped Stuart on his back, almost overturning him over the counter, and left with two ten-year-old daughters obediently following.

Buddy still rang in Stuart's ears after the man left. He was finishing job in the dark room, developing last marital portraits when it came to him when was the last time someone called him a buddy.

"Nice try, buddy", Oliver had shouted to him across the playground. It was his way of teasing his younger brother. Oliver's roommate, a terribly snobbish rich boy, addressed everyone he disliked and preferred not to talk to as a buddy. Nine out of ten people he met were honoured by a nickname buddy, probably because he didn't even try to memorize their name. In Oliver's case, he was the one who disliked the rich boy. George was spoiled and picky about everything and everyone, but Oliver tolerated him until he met Stuart. Not only was Stuart the first one in the line of buddies, but George constantly made fun of his roommate's brother and considered himself extraordinarily amusing. Stuart wasn't bothered by his mocking. After all, he was used to much worse offence among his colleagues, but this was the first time Oliver heard someone openly making fun of Stuart and he wasn't going to put up with it silently. During the summer holidays, Oliver was contemplating about a revenge.

"It must be something memorable", he said as they walked to the house after finishing a game of cricket.

Stuart wanted to talk him out of it. He was scared that he'll get into trouble. Everyone would blame Stuart, of course. Their parents thought it impossible for Oliver to do anything wrong. But more importantly, Oliver could get a reprimand from the principal and Stuart knew how school was important to him. Unlike himself, Oliver was a brilliant student from the day one.

Oliver was impossible to dissuade. "No patsy rich simpleton shall insult my brother." Turning his head to the kitchen door he was about to enter through, he added to himself: "After all, they're all fools. They don't know you. You're hundred times better than any of them." Then, looking back at Stuart with pride which made Stuart feel like an adored king, said: "Let's go eat some o Gilda's strawberry jam!"

Of course Oliver wasn't a capricious kind of person and he planed everything in advance. His revenge was completed on the day when his school team was competing against another one in cricket. Before the game began, boys of opposing teams provoked each other in joke, as they usually do. Oliver called out George and said to everyone that he was the worst batter. Oliver watched many a game in which George, always the captain of his team, participated. He even made notes about his skills which he later showed Stuart. His brother didn't really believe Oliver would go as far as to dare George to take the position of a batter, or, even if he did, he thought George would never accept the challenge. But Stuart was wrong. George's pride, his most precious treasure, was hurt, and he took the bite. George was terrible in this role. By the end of the match, he became the object of ridicule. His team was disgracefully beaten. George figured out he'd been fooled. Angry and unused to such harsh treatment, he prepared himself to kick Oliver while his back was turned to him, but the teacher just came out and stopped him. George was suspended. Oliver got a new roommate. In the later years, whenever George passed by Oliver in the hallway, he'd look down at him, but with carefulness of one who knows that he's the one who's actually subaltern. He never spoke a word of mockery about Stuart again.

The bell rang and Stuart turned to greet another customer. He was glad to see Regina on the doorstep. However, she didn't seem satisfied. Taking off black gloves, she reported: "Nothing. He said that everything in the photos is legit. I haven't mentioned the woman in them is supposed to be dead. According to him, the photos are perfectly normal."

They sat in silence next to the fireplace for some time before Regina announced that it's time for her to leave. Sentenced to spending another night alone, Stuart was alerted. "Wouldn't you stay for the night?" Regina stroke him with a horrified question in her eyes. "I'm scared", he admitted. "I don't want to be on my own. I'm starting to get nightmares..."

She hesitated, but in the end sat back. Minutes merged into a full hour and neither of them spoke. Then, as if triggered by a secret stimulus, Regina reached for one of the daguerreotypes displayed on a desk next to her. It was a post-mortem picture of a young man who suffocated. When Stuart told her this, she sighed out. "How sad it is. I'll never figure out how can you stand it." She discreetly looked at him. "You're such a soft, gentle soul."

"Me, a gentle soul?" Stuart almost laughed. "I signed up for army and drew a shame upon my whole family. I enjoy photographing the dead. What's soft in that?"

"The truth", she answered. "I've got to know you well by now, Stuart, but I still haven't managed to grasp a piece of your core. I guess nobody has."

The fire was dying down as the sleep was taking over both of them. In dark and piece, two photographers were lost to the world outside of their dreams. Stuart was flowing on the edge between awareness and hidden conscience. He heard the last remnants of coal in the fireplace crackling, while behind his lids a blurry face appeared and disappeared, a sign of a dream which was never to be unfolded.

A loud knocking pulled Regina and Stuart out of their private worlds. Regina momentarily straightened her back, eyes wildly circling around the room. Notwithstanding Stuart's remaining passivity when the knocking repeated, Regina jumped to her legs and was running up the stairs before Stuart realized that the knocking had indeed come from the studio. Someone must've been at the door. "Now?", he whispered to himself, just figuring out it wasn't usual to have visitors in the middle of the night.

Too wrought up to wait for Regina to come back, he slowly followed her upstairs. He found her standing at the doorstep, holding the doorknob of the open door with one hand and yelling to the invisible person outside: "Show yourself! Who are you?" She sounded upset, Stuart was scared to ask what provoked her so much. She yelled until her voice broke and a sound similar to gargling came out of her mouth. Suddenly alerted by the coldness of the outside, Stuart approached her and mantled her shoulders with a blanket. Just then he noticed an envelope placed on the outside of the entrance, next to Regina's feet. Sighing out in surrender, she picked it up and retreated inside. As they climbed down in silence, Stuart turned once more towards the door, waiting whether another knock would be heard, but his expectations weren't met.

After igniting the fire to illuminate the envelope, Regina tore it and without hesitation took out the piece of paper. It was a photo of an empty room. Big bed with fine blankets and lavish rug on the floor, mahogany cabinet and an empty vase painted with oriental motives and a framed gobelin imitation on the wall.

"Looks like a calm place", Stuart commented just to break the uncomfortable silence. "Fancy sheets, red carpet, all in order..."

Regina nodded slowly, but froze in an instant. "Red carpet?", she repeated. "Stuart, it's black and white." Stuart was puzzled. Of course the photo was colourless, but the word red didn't just slip out to him. He took another glance at the photo. The room was familiar to him. He remembered that the carpet was red. "Do you know where this room is? You know what the delivery of a photo means..."

"I know what you presume and what your father thought", Stuart spoke rationally. "It's just a photo. Someone is playing with us."

Regina was deadly serious. "It means another crime will take place in this room if it hadn't already happened. Another murder."

Stuart had a hard time avoiding her persuasiveness. The memories came back to him; not only the red carpet, but the framed needlework on the wall. Wasn't it the same one Gilda made for Oliver when he was getting married? The one he took with him to his new home in Edinburgh? And the vase, had he not seen it before, as if in another life, when Carol brought it to his parents' home in the village as a gift for his mother? And later, when his mother passed away, their father gave it back because he couldn't stand seeing things that used to be dear to his wife in house she herself wasn't a part of any longer. Albeit those memories were true, he saw those items more recently, in the exact room in which he slept the night after Oliver's funeral.

"Carol", he pronounced in a whisper. He thought of her sleeping clueless of someone sneaking in her house to take a photo of the guest room. Then his thoughts wandered in a terrifying direction; Carol might already be dead while they're contemplating over the ridiculous photo. Not just her, but his brother's son and his family, too. "No! I must go to convince myself that everything's all right at once!"

Completely captivated by the call to help his family, Stuart was already rising to his legs and grabbing through the air in want of his coat, but Regina got up faster and pushed him back. "Wait, Stuart! What are you talking about? You can't go anywhere, it's still dark!"

"But they might be in danger!" Stuart's voice was trembling. His conscience burned him with guilt. He rejected Carol's plea to become a part of the family once again. If he'd accepted it, he might have been there when the intruder came, he would've stopped him, saved Erwing, his wife and kid, saved Carol... "My family", he finally said.

"I thought you had no family."

"My brother's family", he corrected himself, though he no longer thought of them as such. "That room is the guest room in my nephew's house in Edinburgh"

Regina assumed a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry, Stuart. We'll go there first thing in the morning, but there's no way for us to get going right now. Look", she pointed towards the window. It was foggy outside. "The roads are probably covered with snow."

He had to admit defeat. They waited through the night, overwrought and impatient. Constantly turning to the window in hope of seeing the daylight, Stuart was shuffling his thoughts scooping up scattered memories of Carol. They were never very close, but in his thoughts she always stood like an indestructible pier. Her graceful manners, innate talent of befriending everybody, kind soul and scholarly mind. She was very prominent among women of her generation. When she came to stay with them in their village home, and Oliver had to stay in Edinburgh, they spent many hours together. As always, Stuart was timid, but Carol didn't mind his shyness like other people did.

"Stuart, let's take a walk together! Look at the brightness of the sun, isn't it gorgeous?", she'd say and take him by the hand outside. "Would you be so kind as to accompany me to the bakery? Would you allow me to read you something out loud?..." Her ideas to occupy them in a joint activity reached indefinitely. She was the one and only person Stuart felt comfortable with besides Oliver.

But when his brother came to the village, Stuart discovered that he was capable of feeling something he was so ashamed to admit he started avoiding both Oliver and his fiance. He was jealous. He couldn't stand seeing fiances together. Carol was found of him, but it was obvious that she adored his brother in a way nobody would ever admire Stuart. Everyone loved Oliver, but Carol's love was unique and absolute.

"Stuart, darling", she asked him one day when she found him alone in the dining room. He wanted to escape, but there was no way to do it without offending Carol. "Stuart and I are going on a picnic. We'd love it if you'd come along. Please, say you will!"

Just like he rejected Carol's invitation a month ago, Stuart then shrugged his shoulders and answered with a pretence of indifference: "I'm not in the mood." After it, he declined almost every offer from her. Convincing himself that he didn't matter, that she asked him to accompany them only out of politeness, he ignored obvious signs of her disappointment.

"Stuart, wake up!" Regina shook his hand. His eyelids seemed to be glued to each other. Fighting dreams, Stuart got up from the chair and took the lead as they climbed up the stairs. They walked to the main square where Regina stopped the first available cab and paid in advance for a ride to Edinburgh.

Stuart mumbled exact directions to Erwing's place. Upon their arrival, he stopped Regina from exiting the cab, but under these conditions she considered him incapable of handing any excitement on his own. They were still stumbling forward, Regina holding Stuart firmly around his elbow, when a woman came out through the front door. Loreley, tidy and handsome with her hair combed in a braid wrapped around her head, wearing a neat blue coat with high collar and carrying and umbrella in one hand while reaching with the other one towards her daughter. And Louise wearing a short skirt and pretty pink boots, her face covered with freckles. Stuart stopped in awe of the unexpected beauty displayed before him. Erwing's wife prepared to climb down the stairs when she noticed two figures. Louise hid behind her mother, unused to strangers in their yard.

"Excuse me", Regina said, "is this the house of the Malcolm family?"

Loreley turned to her daughter and whispered something to her, then in quick leaps and bounds approached the newcomers. Almost arrogantly neglecting Regina, she immediately addressed Stuart. "Uncle", she spoke as if he was a close member of the family, "how unexpected of you to pay us a visit! Are you well? You look sick."

Stuart opened and closed his mouth. Loreley sounded carefree, as if nothing had yet happened, but he couldn't stop imagining a murderer in the same house with Carol. Regina jumped in once again. "He's terribly shaken. He wants to see his nephew at once."

Loreley's brows knitted. Accepting Regina's message, yet refusing to take notice of her, she spoke into the empty air: "I can see that you're distressed, but Erwing isn't at home. Of course, you must come inside." Then she finally looked at Regina. "Both of you, that is."

Except for faint clinking of dishes from the kitchen, the house was silent. Against his will, Stuart's eyes directed their regard towards the huge group portrait next to the stairs. More memories threatened to be unearthed from the chasm of his mind, but a tender voice prevented their revelation. "Stuart! My goodness, do have a sit! What's happened?" Carol was more discerning than her daughter-in-law. She addressed Regina as soon as she saw how distressed Stuart was. However, before Regina got to pronounce a single word, Stuart regained his ability to speak.

"It's alright, Carol", he said. Seeing her healthy and unhurt dispersed his fears. "We came to see Erwing."

"So you did", Carol nodded, visibly offended by his neglect of herself. "But he's not here, you I'll have to suffice." She turned to Loreley who was still standing beside them, seemingly concerned for Stuart and in the same time annoyed by his unannounced appearance. "Do go deal with your business, Loreley, Louise is waiting for you."

Grateful for permission to leave, Loreley went away. While asking Regina about her identity, Carol led the guests into a small room where Oliver and her used to drink their afternoon tea. Stuart still remembered how he had tea and biscuits with them there when the freshly married couple just moved in. It was only a few days before he moved to Durfenmil. He was anxious and spoke little. A third member to their already complete company, he hoped to leave as soon as possible. Before he left, when he and Oliver remained alone, his brother spoke to him in an intimate manner Stuart didn't hear from him since before they had gone to war. "Stuart, don't be a stranger", he begged, "I understand better than anyone else that things shall never be the same, but we're still brothers and friends. Carol likes you, too. Visit us whenever you want. If you come to my door in the middle of the night, I'll let you in and do whatever you ask of me. I love you, brother."

"Wow, slowly!" Regina grasped him by the hand in the last moment to stop him from falling. The two women sat him on a chair and stood in front of him, Regina nervously fixing her already perfect hairstyle, Carol blankly starring at him. "He wasn't sick at home", Regina said, "I mean, tense, aye, because..."

"Did something bad happen?", Carol asked.

"No", Stuart intervened. He didn't want Carol to find out about the photo.

"So you suddenly decided to visit us. How nice!" Carol said sarcastically, irritatedly sighed out and went to ask servants for tea.

Regina kneeled down next to Stuart and asked: "What now?"

"I'll wait for Erwing", he excluded her from his plan. He didn't want to oblige her to anything. "I'll ask him about... Situation."

Regina nodded. "Fine. But I'm staying as long as you are." She got up when Carol's approaching steps became hearable. A young maid brought tea and biscuits on silver plates. "When is your son coming back?", Regina asked Carol.

"In an hour or so. Some business." Both Regina and Stuart were surprised when Carol, a sturdy woman of age with a grace of a hearty madam, lighted a cigar. She brought it to her lips in an elegant movement and blew out a smoke as if trying out a sweet. Then the skin around her eyes wrinkled and she sorrowfully lowered her head. "It's been so empty here lately. I miss him so much..." She raised her eyes and sighed out. "But no good comes from talking about it. Life goes on. But you know, Stuart, you always remained dear to Oliver's heart. When I last saw him..." She had to take a deep breath to calm herself. "He was in the guest room. We had to move him there because we couldn't sleep together. I didn't mind it, I didn't sleep anyway, but he wanted me to have my piece. Oliver was always so caring. He told me that the only thing he regretted was not spending more time with you after..." She gave Regina a cautious look and decided not to mention what might be too private for her ears. "He regretted losing contact with you."

Her words fell hard on Stuart's already heavy consciousness. Lately he'd been feeling the same regretfulness. Knowing that Oliver felt the same was simply too much for him and it reminded him why he avoided coming here in the first place. But when Carol's words went through his mind for the second time, he paused at one part. "Oliver spent his last days in the guest room?"

Carol nodded. "Well, before he was admitted to the hospital where he passed away. He was sick, you know, and old, but it still hurts, especially since he was... My love..."

Regina's hand suddenly moved and covered Carol's small hand. A sentiment of mutual compassion passed between them.

Glassy door opened loudly when Erwing entered the tea room. Carol hurried to greet her son. She managed to explain him the circumstances in less words than most people could compose. Stuart droopingly approached them, asking Erwing to speak to him in private. Carol protested, but Erwing realized Stuart wanted to protect her. Not that Carol was unworthy of anyone's confidence, but she recently lost the love of her life and Stuart wanted to spare her from another chaos.

Two men locked themselves in the working room. "My father used to do his office work in here, though to tell you the truth, he never did much of it", Erwing smiled. "He childishly avoided it. My mother often had to take the job in her hands while he played outside with me and Spike. We had a dog, you know. A beautiful retriever."

Stuart remembered how their parents never allowed them to adopt a dog, so Oliver, who loved all animals, would often smuggle sausages and ham to distribute them among stray dogs. Stuart was unsure how to behave near them, but Oliver knew exactly what each dog wanted to say. He'd even stand on all fours and walk and jump around with them, barking and howling as if he was one of them.

"What happened?", Erwing wanted to get to the point.

"Did you catch an intruder in the house lately?" On Erwing's confused look, Stuart continued: "Perhaps not in the house, but nearby, on the property. Have you seen anyone hanging around?"

Erwing shook his head. "No. Why do you think I should have?"

Stuart thought a lot how to explain his suspicions. He had the advantage of warning Erwing on time, but he didn't want to include them into the affair he himself didn't understand. "I've gotten... a kind of threat." He calmed alerted nephew with a sharp look. "Nothing serious!"

"What kind of evil business have you involved yourself in, uncle?"

"Nothing", he sighed out, "trust me, it's nothing. Someone has something on me, but I've done nothing bad. I see everything's fine here, so you shouldn't worry neither." Though in truth, Stuart was worried for them both.

"And that woman?", Erwing asked, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Regina is just a friend and my new partner. She's a photograph enthusiast and her father was a crime scene photographer."

"Crime scene? Oh, uncle, did you..."

"Stop. I've done nothing. A stupid provocation scared me and I was so stressed out that I bothered Regina to accompany me here. I bothered you all, in fact. I should leave."

"Wait", Erwing was before him in an instant. "I don't want you to go. Mother is lonely since father passed away. She mentions you all the time. She says the two of you could've become good friends if you hadn't moved away and never visited. Be a part of the family now!"

The same thing Oliver asked of him so many years ago. He was tempted, but...

"Did Oliver truly spend his last days in the guest room?"

Erwing was confused. "Yes. We didn't tell you when you stayed here last time. Didn't want to frighten and repel you. But what..."

"I'm sorry, Erwing", he was honest, "but I have many things to deal with in Durfenmil. Pass my goodbyes to Carol. I often think of her, too."

Regina was already waiting for him in front of the cab. She was so deeply indulged in her thoughts that she noticed him only after he referred to her: "We'll stop at the cemetery on our way."

Oliver's grave looked sad. He was the only member of their family buried in Edinburgh. Stuart found himself wondering where shall the survivors lay his dead body. Surely not next to his brother. The places next to him are reserved for Carol, Erwing and his family. Who will take care of his burial? Will they send him to the north?

"The lady", Regina spoke silently, "Carol. She wanted you to stay. Why didn't you?"

"We have things to do. Besides, I can't put them in danger."

She slightly nodded. "Yet it baffles me why you failed to mention how much they cared about you before. You claimed you had no family, while in fact you have cousins who love you."

"We're not close", Stuart turned to leave, "they're not much of a family to me..." He turned mute when he made out the meaning of a call from a distance. Then he saw a boy running in their direction. He was waving at them with his hand and yelling their names.

"Mister Maxwell sent me as soon as he heard you were in town", said the boy. "You must follow me. He said you must bring your cameras."

"We have no cameras with us", Stuart protested. The last thing he wanted was to be at a crime scene. Both Regina and the boy ignored him and he was left without other choice but to follow their fast pace. Their guide lead them to a nearby Greenside Parish Church. In the vicinity of the religious building, a group of men stood on the ground covered with low vegetation. Lifting the skirt of her dress, Regina quickened her pace.

"What happened?", she asked when Maxwell faced her, but her eyes were already observing the scene. "Poor girl", Stuart heard her say.

"Priest found her", chief of the police informed them. Surrounded by inspectors and policemen, a corpse of a young girl was laying in the grass. She was scantily clad and her lush brown hair was a mess. Her eyes were turned so that they saw only the whites of her eyes. Her lips were soiled with saliva. Stuart had to turn when he noticed how her arms were strangely twisted. "She suffered a violent death", Maxwell noted unnecessarily, "and we presume she was a prostitute. Those of her kind are more common around here than you'd think."

"Her kind?", Regina repeated in rage. "Poor creature must've been horribly poor and hungry. Look at her thin arms! Society is to be blamed for her death." Her eyes sinisterly circled around the men. "Society and her killer, of course."

A man wearing big glasses was taking samples of saliva, hair and dirt under victim's nails while Maxwell was fussing about Regina and Stuart being useless without their equipment. He didn't care that they hadn't been informed about the need to bring cameras with them beforehand. He shouted so much that he lost his breath, and then Regina interrupted him: "Did you find out anything about the little girl in the bath?"

Maxwell didn't understand what she was talking about right away, but when he remembered he waved his hand vaguely. "It was probably the parents, all other suspects are clean. Why you care? Roland never interfered where his business wasn't involved."

"Curiosity", she replied simply.

"Curiosity killed the cat", Maxwell answered grimly. He left them to talk to the policeman who called him and came back a minute later carrying a small camera with him. Stuart mockingly grinned at it. It looked like a toy to him. "Laugh all you want, but this is the best you'll get. Now do your damned job!"

"It's a Kodak", Regina explained, "the newest model." She stretched it out and aimed the lens at the corpse. After a few flashes, she stopped and frowningly looked at the girl. "What's that?" Nobody was near enough to hear her except for Stuart. It never occurred to him to approach the deceased prostitute, but Regina's gaze urged him to do just that. Many a times through his career he'd been close to a corpse, but those were decently dressed deceased people placed in a sitting position in his studio, not murdered strangers in an unknown landscape. His hands shivered as he pulled that something Regina was pointing at from the tuft of girl's tangled hair. He handed it over to Regina without taking a look himself. He felt sick enough without pondering over crime evidences. "My gosh", Regina covered her mouth with one hand. She quickly glanced at Maxwell. He was busy talking with witnesses and inspectors. She hid the object in her coat and continued photographing as if nothing had happened.

Stuart remembered to ask her why did she keep that one evidence a secret from Maxwell only later in the cab, when they were already on their way home. He was concerned that she included both of them in a crime by doing so. She put the object in his hands.

It was a photo of the dead woman in the same position as she was when they came to the crime scene. Except on this photo her mouth was open and her chapped lips stretched into a wide smile. Stuart stared in fright into disproportioned broken teeth from which the light of the sun was being reflected straight into the person behind the camera. He blinked and looked more closely. Down her cheeks, drops of water glided into her mouth. She was crying and laughing in death.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Submitted: 13th January 2023

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