The Devil's Photographer

by Amy Cross

  "That's not possible," I tell him, even though somewhere in the back of my mind I can feel that maybe a great deal of time has passed. "There's no way I could forget three weeks of my life."

  "Why not?" he asks. "You endured a very invasive surgical procedure. In fact, you've been lucky. Some of the other subjects have experienced much more severe side-effects, but yours were limited to memory issues, and they've begun to calm down. Dr. Mammone and I eventually decided that you'd be better off at home, surrounded by familiar things and people, so that's where I'm taking you right now. A few hours ago, you completely agreed with us, but I guess you don't remember at all, do you?"

  I shake my head, still feeling the scar on my scalp. I guess there's no denying the fact that the wound seems to have healed over remarkably well, and the stubbly growth of hair is definitely a few weeks old. Looking out the window, I realize that there also seems to have been a subtle change in the world, as if we're on the cusp of one season giving way to another.

  "The hole was left open for three days and three nights," he continues. "You seemed agitated some of the time, but that's fairly normal. You were talking for a while, even when there didn't seem to be anyone else in the room, but we figured you were experiencing some mild hallucinations. I'm sorry the procedure lasted longer than we expected; it's just that Dr. Mammone wanted to be absolutely certain that it would be a success. You'll be pleased to know, however, that so far it seems Amin Bell is completely out of your system."

  "He's gone?" I ask.

  "Over the past few weeks, we've conducted various tests. Obviously it's a little difficult to be absolutely certain, but we have certain methods we can use to detect that kind of presence and so far there's been no sign of him, not even once. That doesn't mean he's disappeared completely, but it does mean he probably won't bother you again. He's moved on. You're free."

  I smile awkwardly, but the truth is, none of this quite makes sense to me. I remember Amin Bell appearing to me while I was undergoing the procedure, and I have a faint memory of him leaning close to my face and talking; after that, however, everything is kind of blank, although I have the impression of various other memories jostling for position at the edge of my mind. I try to relax, to let the memories flood my consciousness, but something seems to be holding them back.

  "You're going to be okay, Kate," Dagwood continues after a moment. "I know it must be hard to believe, but I swear to you, you're going to be okay. It's all over."

  I try to reply, but suddenly I'm overcome by a powerful wave of nausea. For a moment, I feel as if I'm about to vomit, but finally it passes and I simply sit back and try to take a series of deep, slow breaths. As we get closer and closer to the city, however, the feeling of nausea continues to bubble away in my stomach, and finally the car heads across the bridge and I start to feel an ominous sense of impending doom. Whatever Dagwood says, I know this isn't over. Somewhere deep in my body, something is still very wrong.

  Twenty-three years ago

  Once the camera is ready, I take a step back and realize that there's no point delaying things any longer.

  I've arranged a stool over by the window of my cramped little bedroom, and I figure I should just get this over with. I set the timer for one minute before sitting on the stool and waiting. I hate taking self-portraits, and this is the first time I've turned the camera on myself since I was out by the trestles a couple of years ago. Still, the last thing I want is to end up in an argument at school, so I just patiently and wait.

  Finally, the timer reaches zero and the camera lets out a brief click, followed by a whirring sound. Glad that the experience is over, I remove the film and head to the dark-room.

  Today

  "Complete remission," Dr. Martindale says as he examines my latest test results. "This is..." He pauses, as if he has to read them again just to be certain. "This is remarkable, but all your numbers are more or less normal. Hell, you're probably one of the healthiest people in this hospital right now." He turns to me. "How did you do it? Did you make a deal with the devil?"

  "I guess I was just lucky," I reply, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

  "This isn't luck," he continues, setting the print-outs down before typing his password into the computer on his desk. "Kate, the way your body has reacted to treatment is unprecedented. In all my time here at the hospital, not only have I never seen this kind of recovery, I've never even heard of a patient responding so well. Believe me, I keep up to date with all the latest developments in the medical world, and your recovery over the past couple of months has been nothing short of miraculous." He types something into the system. "I don't use that word lightly, either," he adds. "I'm not a religious man, but..."

  I wait for him to finish.

  "So I'm clear?" I ask eventually, still finding it hard to believe that this could really be happening. I'm scared to latch onto hope too soon, but at the same time, the astonishment in Dr. Martindale's voice is hard to ignore. "I'm cured?"

  "Let's not get carried away," he replies. "I'll be honest with you; I had your numbers re-done three times, just to be sure that they were accurate. Now we need to find out how your body managed to beat the cancer."

  "You thought I was dying," I reply.

  "I thought..." He pauses. "Yes," he says eventually. "To be blunt with you, I was convinced we'd lose you."

  "So it's over?" I ask. "I can just walk out of here?"

  "Not so fast," he replies. "Kate, whatever's happened to your body, we need to understand it so we can try to replicate the effect in other patients. Somehow, our treatment managed to trip some kind of deep physiological defense system, almost as if we fumbled around in the dark until we accidentally hit a switch we never even knew existed. Although I'd like to take full credit for your recovery, I can't. My best guess right now is that we inadvertently triggered some kind of dormant biological process that acted to fight the cancer. If we can understand how that happened... Well, I don't need to tell you that the implications for cancer research could be profound."

  "Are you sure something else couldn't have helped?" I ask, wondering whether I should mention the procedures I underwent with Dr. Mammone.

  "Such as?"

  "I tried some alternative therapies," I say cautiously. "I wanted to cover all the bases."

  "What kind of therapies?" he asks.

  "I saw another doctor," I continue, choosing my words with care, "and he used some techniques that were kind of unorthodox."

  "Go on."

  I pause for a moment. "Leeches," I say eventually.

  "Leeches?"

  I nod.

  "Right," he continues with a faint smile. "Kate, I think you should be very cautious about ascribing your recovery to some kind of new-age nonsense. Leeches have a role to play in modern medicine, but I'm afraid that role has nothing to do with cancer. I hope you didn't pay too much to this charlatan."

  "I didn't have to pay anything," I reply.

  "Still," he continues, "I really don't think leeches cured your cancer."

  "What about trepanation?" I ask.

  He raises an eyebrow.

  "Drilling a hole in the -"

  "I know what it is," he replies, interrupting me. "Kate, please tell me you didn't consider something like that. It's pure savagery."

  "I might have... considered it," I tell him.

  "This is what I hate about alternative therapies," he replies. "These people pray on the vulnerabilities of people who are terrified. They make all sorts of bogus promises and offer false hope, but the whole thing is really just a form of shamanism. Unfortunately, even intelligent young women such as yourself can fall for such things. I'm not against them as a form of entertainment, but sometimes I have patients who want to eschew proper medical treatment in favor of the kind of bullshit that's peddled by these dangerous fools." He pauses. "Leeches are harmless, but I'm very glad you didn't let anyone drill a hole in your head."

  I smile politely.

  "I want to run a ser
ies of tests," he continues, "to -"

  "No," I say, getting to my feet as I'm filled with a sudden urge to get the hell out of this place. "No tests. I'm sorry, but it's just not going to happen."

  "Kate, we have to -"

  "No tests," I say firmly, before grabbing my bag and heading to the door.

  "Kate, be reasonable -"

  "I've been reasonable," I continue, stopping and turning to him. "I think I've been more reasonable than anyone could possibly have expected, but I'm done with it now."

  "Kate, this could help us find a cure for cancer that would help billions of people." He pauses, as if he expects to be able to change my mind. "I shouldn't say this," he continues, "but in my opinion, it would be absolutely indefensible for you to walk away and refuse to let us study your body's responses to the treatment."

  "I'm sorry," I tell him. "I can't help you."

  Ignoring his continued protestations, I turn and head out of his office. I know he's right, but there's no way I'm going to let him start poking around in my body again. I'm sure Dr. Mammone is going to make the results of his work available to the public soon, as it's not as if the world will be denied a chance to benefit from his work. As for me, however, I'm done with hospitals and doctors. I just want to get back to my old life.

  Twenty-three years ago

  "Hang on," I mutter, as my phone continues to ring in the other room.

  I'm almost done developing the film, but someone keeps trying to call me, and they don't seem to understand that I'm busy. The ring-tone stops eventually, but sure enough it starts up again a moment later. Once I've hung the last of the images to dry, I slip out of the dark-room and find that, as expected, it's Bella who seems desperate to get in touch.

  "I'm busy," I tell her as I answer.

  "Too busy to come and watch me get a new tattoo?" she asks.

  "Kinda."

  "Whatever it is," she continues, "just put it on hold. I had the most amazing idea last night, and I wanna get it inked before I forget it. You have to come, Kate. I don't wanna go into too much detail, but let's just say that I might have trouble walking for a day or two."

  Sighing, I realize that this is one of those situations where she's never going to accept that I'm too busy. Figuring that I might as well leave the photos hanging for now, I tell her I'll meet her at the studio. I'm sure her 'amazing idea' is going to be something scruffy and embarrassing, but it's not my place to talk her out of another dumb decision. Besides, it'd be good to get outside. I haven't left the apartment for days and, even by my usual standards, I'm turning into something of a hermit.

  Today

  "No," I say as I hold the camera up and look through the viewfinder, "definitely not digital. It has to be real film."

  "Do you know how many customers come in here every week, saying exactly the same thing?" asks Angelo, the owner of the camera shop I've been frequenting ever since I moved to New York. "They get all up on their high horse, telling me how film has more soul and digital photography is just a bunch of pixels, and do you know what I say to them in return?"

  Lowering the camera, I turn to him.

  "Nothing," he continues with a smile. "I just let 'em splash out thousands of bucks more than they need. The film models give me a much better margin, especially when you start adding the fact that I sell all the peripherals as well. I love it when a customer insists on buying a film camera, 'cause I know they'll be back soon for chemicals and God knows what other equipment. The truth, though, is that I know I should push digital on 'em a little more. It's the future."

  "I don't care about the future," I tell him. "I just care about the camera." Looking down at the camera in my hands, I can't help but wonder if I've chosen the right one. None of the models I've tried in the shop today have felt quite right, but I guess it's only natural that it'll take me some time to get used to whatever I choose. There's no way I could be lucky enough to make an instant connection. "The camera's everything," I say quietly. "The camera's the most important thing."

  "Even though you're gonna be paying about fifteen hundred dollars more than you would if you just sucked it up and went digital?"

  "Even though," I say with a faint smile. "If I bought a digital camera, I'd just end up putting it on a shelf and staring out the window, imagining all the photos I could be taking if I had a proper camera."

  "What happened to your old one?" he asks, heading back behind the counter.

  "There was an accident."

  "What kind of accident?"

  "It doesn't matter," I reply, hoping that he won't press me too hard. "I put that old thing through a hell of a lot over the years, so I guess it was inevitable that one day I'd go too far and something would happen. It lasted a lot longer than most."

  "That's a shame," he continues as he starts ringing up the new camera I'm buying. "You always seemed so attached to that thing, like it was a part of you. I swear, I'd given up on the idea of you ever walking through my door and telling me you needed a whole new unit. Then again, over the years I guess you spent a hell of a lot on repairs, right? I don't mind telling you, Kate, you're probably the best customer I've ever had. You know what you want and you don't get wrapped up in silly arguments."

  "Arguments are a waste of time," I tell him as I set the camera down on the counter. "That's why I like cameras. They never argue with you. If you use an unusual technique, they don't ask if you're sure. They just do what you want them to do. When you turn the focus ring, they don't push back and try to overrule you."

  "Spoken like someone who had a bad time at school," he says with a smile.

  "I studied photography for a while," I reply, "and it definitely wasn't for me. I mean, obviously the photography itself was for me, but the teacher was an asshole and I ended up just wanting to knock a brick over the back of her head. She was too focused on technique, but she didn't make allowances for the soul of each camera."

  "You think a camera has a soul?" he asks as he puts the camera in its box and scans the tag.

  "I don't think," I reply. "I know. Every camera's different."

  "So when your old camera finally died -"

  "It was like losing a friend," I tell him. "I know I probably sound pretentious and overly sensitive, but honestly, that's how it felt. It's how it still feels, in a way. It's going to take me a long time to get used to a new one, but I figure I just need to bite the bullet and get on with it. The world's not going to wait for me, is it?"

  "And you're okay?" he asks, with a slightly cautious tone in his voice. "I mean, in terms of your health..."

  "I'm fine," I tell him as I pull my wallet out from my pocket. Once I've paid, I grab the camera and turn to walk away. "I've never better, actually," I add. "I've been -"

  "Mark Harris was in here last week," he says suddenly, almost as if he's been bottling the sentence in since I walked through the door.

  I pause, as the words hang in the air between us.

  "I don't know why I mentioned that," he continues, evidently feeling a little uncomfortable. "I just... Yeah, he came in to buy some of that old Kodak stock I have out back. You remember the consignment I got right before they stopped selling that particular batch. Harris is crazy for 'em, so I keep the whole lot back and he comes to buy some every six months or so." He pauses. "Sorry, I just -"

  "It's fine," I reply, determined not to let my nerves show. "How is he?"

  "Good. I guess." He pauses again. "He asked if I'd seen you, and I said I hadn't. 'Cause, you know, it's been a while since you were in."

  "That's nice of him," I reply, turning and heading out the door. As soon as I'm sure that Angelo can't see me through the window of his store, I stop and lean against the wall. I feel like I've just run a marathon, and it takes a couple of minutes before I'm able to fully get my breath back. The thought that I could some day bump into Mark Harris again is enough to drive terror through my soul. Still, I guess maybe we'd barely even recognize each other after all these years. It's been a long time si
nce we used to hang out, and I'm pretty confident that the cancer has changed my appearance a little, making me look older and more gaunt, and maybe taking away the last of any puppy fat I might have still had back in college.

  Once I've got my head together, I turn and make my way along the sidewalk. I need to distract myself from thoughts of Mark Harris, and there's only one method that'll definitely work.

  Twenty-three years ago

  "That guy keeps looking at you," Bella says, leaning toward me across the table. "Over in the corner, by the bar. I swear, he's interested."

  "I think I'll pass," I reply, taking a sip of beer.

  "Aren't you even going to check him out?" she asks. "He's got that hot older guy vibe going on."

  It's late afternoon, and having sat with Bella while she got her ass tattooed, I'm now being repaid with beer. I don't particularly feel like drinking, but it's better than sitting around mindlessly waiting or my photos to be ready, and besides, I'm not particularly keen to see the results of my self-portrait. I hate looking at myself.

  "He saw me," Bella hisses suddenly, with a hint of panic in her voice. "Crap, he knows I saw him!"

  "Just ignore him," I say firmly.

  "He's coming over!" she whispers.

  Sighing, I realize that it was mistake to come to the bar with her.

  "Kate, right?" says a voice nearby.

  Turning, I'm shocked to find Mark Harris approaching the table, with a bottle of beer in his hand.

  "Hi," I stutter, barely able to work out what to say. "I... Yeah."

  "Sorry," he continues with a faint smile, "I wasn't sure if it was you. I'm afraid I'd usually terrible at recognizing people, but..." He pauses, and a certain degree of awkwardness seems to be filling the space between us. "You know what?" he adds. "I should just leave you two alone -"