The Smoke In The Photograph (11 page)

Julia was standing off to the side letting Wendy take in the two painting side by side. Over the years she had shown Wendy so many of her paintings, and her friend had always raved about the beauty, or how good they were. This time though she just stood staring at them for a long time. Her brow was furrowed and her mouth slightly opened.

'So you really had no idea what you were doing?' she said. 'You're not just trying to pull my leg? I know how much you and my sister like to take the piss out of my belief in the paranormal.'

Julia went to her and took her hands in her own. She looked at her.

'I swear to you I'm telling the truth,' she said, before letting go of Wendy's hands and turning to the paintings. 'It was like I was painting on autopilot or something.'

Wendy shook her head and stepped closer to the painting. She gasped when she saw the woman at the window in the painting of the house.

'Fucking hell,' she said, stepping away from the painting. 'You know who that is, right?'

This was the reaction Julia had hoped for. Wendy had known Helen Swanson. If she recognised her from the painting, it implied that she was not imaging things.

'I do now,' Julia said. 'I didn't when I painted it.'

Wendy shivered.

'That's creepy,' she said, stepping away from the painting. 'Steven didn't believe you?'

Julia shook her head.

'He just thought I was having another breakdown.’

She felt Wendy's gaze before she looked up. It was the one that people gave her all of the time now, asking without words if she was feeling okay. She was accustomed to it from Steven, and Fran. It was a look she had never received from Wendy before. She thought she was the one person who wouldn't do it. She felt a sudden rush of anger.

'For God's sake. I'm not crazy. I'm not making this up.'

Wendy smiled, her caring smile, the one she had given her every time she had visited her in the hospital. It wasn't forced or patronising like other people’s. It was gentle, and genuine.

'I believe you.’

'You do?' Julia said.

'Yes, but you all think I'm weird anyway.’

'Not anymore,.’

Wendy wandered over to the second painting, the one of the camera.

'What does this mean?' she asked.

Julia shook her head.

'I don't know for sure,' she said. 'But it gave me an idea. You see the way that it focuses on the lens, and how the smoke is reflected in it. It seemed to me like it was a message, telling me to take pictures, so…'

Julia wandered over to the darkroom. She opened the door and reached inside. She found what she was looking for on the counter where she had left them. She hadn't even bothered showing them to Steven. After the way he had reacted to the paintings, if she had tried to show him these, he would have had her sectioned there and then.

She walked back to the middle of the studio where Wendy was still looking at the paintings. More than that, she was studying them, like she was looking for more clues hidden within the images.

Julia handed the small stack of photographs over to Wendy. Her friend took them. There were thirty in all, and she began to scan through them. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened a little. She began to flick through them.

'The smoke is in the photographs,' Wendy said.

Julia nodded.

'Yes, in every single picture,' she said. 'But in different places, and different amounts and shapes. So I don't think it's a fault with the camera.'

'You think it's Helen Swanson, don't you?'

Julia felt huge relief to hear someone else say this out loud. Despite her protestations of feeling fine, there had been a small amount of doubt in the back of her mind that she was making too much of it, that perhaps she was losing control again. However, as soon as Wendy said this, it was like a little prayer, washing away the demons of doubt.

'I do,' she said, nodding. 'I just don't know what she wants.'

Wendy looked back at the picture of the woman in the window, the grimace of fear and pain that she wore, then looked back at Julia.

'That's why you wanted me to get my psychic to come round.’

Steven was sitting in the armchair in the surgical lounge, a hot plastic cup of coffee in his hands. The hemorrhage had taken them hours to sort out. It looked for a while as though they would not manage to find it in time and the poor man would die. They had been pumping extra blood into him, but he had been bleeding out almost as fast as it was going in.

Eventually he had spotted the small tear in the artery that was causing the problem. Walden had been impressed enough with him to let him suture the tear, and close up. The patient remained in critical condition, but at least he stood a fighting chance now.

Walden came in and started making himself a coffee.

'Nice work tonight, Steve,.’

'Thanks,' Steven said. 'I'm sure you would have found the tear yourself in another few minutes.'

'Perhaps,' Walden said. 'Those minutes might have cost the patient his life though.'

Steven shrugged. There was no way of knowing that for sure, but he suspected it was probably accurate. There had been several points during the operation where he had worried that they were going to lose the patient. He would have hated that. Obviously it had happened more than a few times.

He had heard other surgeons talk of the way that they dealt with this by seeing their patients as nothing more than a meat machine once they were on the table. Steven couldn't do this himself. He could never disassociate the meat on the operating table from the person they were.

'I think my eyesight is starting to let me down,' Walden said, sitting down next to Steven. 'It's been worrying me for some time.'

'I'm sure it's fine,' Steven said, seeking to reassure his boss. 'Perhaps you just need some new glasses.'

Walden took off his glasses. He pointed to his eyes.

'These are the most important thing to a surgeon,' he said. 'Once they start to go it's time to consider hanging up your scalpel.'

Steven wondered whether he meant it. The prospect of Walden retiring was a good one for him. There were very few other candidates to replace him in the hospital. Steven would be virtually guaranteed the post.

The door opened and a young nurse walked in.

'Excuse me, there's a detective here. He wants to speak to a surgeon.'

Steven looked to Walden. As the senior surgeon in the room it really should be him, but Walden shook his head.

'I went off duty as soon as you sewed up our patient.’

Steven rolled his eyes then turned to the nurse.

'All right,' he said. 'Can you send him in here please?'

She nodded and left, shutting the door behind her.

Walden got to his feet and patted Steven on the shoulder.

'I'm going to take a shower and then head home' he said. 'Once again, great work tonight.'

Steven thanked him and then got up to make himself another coffee. He knew he was in for a long night and needed all of the help he could get to get through it. The door opened and the nurse returned. She was followed by a tall man with dark hair, who Steven recognised from the news as the detective in charge of the Ripper case.

'This is Doctor Draper,' she told the detective. 'He's the duty surgeon tonight.'

'Thank you,' the detective said as the nurse turned and left them. The detective stepped forward and offered Steven his hand.

'Good evening, Doctor Draper,' he said. 'Thank you very much for seeing me. I'm Detective Chief Inspector Fluting.'

Steven shook his hand.

'Pleased to meet you,' Steven said. 'So, how can I help?'

DCI Fluting reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a scalpel in a small, clear plastic bag.

'Do you recognise this?' he asked.

Steven was tempted to point out that it was a scalpel, but he thought that the detective might not see the funny side.

'Obviously it's a scalpel,' Steven said. 'They all look alike though really.'

Fluting nodded.

'It has a security mark on it that shows it belongs to this hospital,' he said. 'I wondered if it could have been stolen. Has this department had any break ins lately?'

Steven shook his head.

'Not that I'm aware of. To be honest though, they order them in bulk so no one would notice if a hundred were missing, let alone one.'

Fluting frowned and put the scalpel back into his pocket.

'So why have them security tagged then?'

Steven shrugged.

'I'm not entirely sure, some sort of cross-hospital policy, I think.'

Fluting looked disappointed, as though he was hoping for more of an answer, as though he needed more of an answer.

'It's important,' the detective said. 'I need to find out as much about the scalpel as I can.'

Steven nodded.

'Where was it found?' he asked.

'At a murder scene,' Fluting replied.

Steven understood now its importance. He had just been shown the Ripper's weapon.

'Sister Hartley, she's the theatre manager. She’ll be able to tell you more about it. The nurse who brought you in can get you her number.'

Fluting nodded his appreciation.

'Thank you for your time, Doctor Draper,.’

'You're welcome,' Steven replied. 'Let me show you back out.'

Steven opened the door and the detective followed him.

Julia sat by the log burner, her mind full of questions. She had never believed in the supernatural. To her it had always been the last resort of the gullible and desperate. Now though what other explanation could there be? She had moved into a new home, and in less than two days she had already asked for a psychic to visit.

She watched the roaring flames. They danced in a hypnotic fashion. She wondered what good the clairvoyant would really do. She was already convinced her home was haunted, and fairly certain of by whom. Also she feared that the woman would be just a scam artist, a charlatan who preyed upon the vulnerable. Wendy swore by the woman, but Wendy was vulnerable herself. She had lost both her parents at a young age, and since then had longed to believe that spirits existed. It would imply that, in some way, her parents were still around her.

She looked over at her friend, the elegant, confident model who was so fragile inside.

Wendy was sitting on the sofa still flicking through the photographs Julia had taken. Her face was still a mask of amazement.

As if she felt she was being watched, Wendy looked up at her.

'These are amazing,' Wendy said. She held up one photograph taken in the master bedroom. The smoke was swirling to the right hand side, taking up virtually the whole height of the photograph.

'It looks like a figure trying to form in this one,' she continued. 'Just like in the second painting.'

Julia had noticed that herself. The shape, colour, and density of the smoke in that particular image were almost identical to the one she had painted reflected in the camera lens.

She had not taken the picture until after she had finished the painting. Of course, Steven would try to tell her that she was confused, and actually she had seen the photograph and then done the painting, but she knew that wasn't the case. It had been the painting that had inspired her to take the damn photographs in the first place.

A streak of light passed slowly across the wall in front of her, and Julia heard the sound of an engine. She looked around and saw the car pulling into the driveway.

'It's her,' Wendy said, getting to her feet in a rush of excitement. She loved all of this stuff. It was her passion.

'Would you let her in for me?' Julia asked.

'Sure,' she said and then exited the room.

Julia got up and looked in the mirror, realising she hadn't done anything more than tie her hair back that day. She looked at the dark rings under her eyes and saw the effects of how little sleep she’d had.

Wendy came back with a tall woman in her mid to late fifties. She was conservatively dressed in a black skirt and jacket suit with a red blouse. Her greying hair was cut short at the back and sides with more length on top.

Julia realised how prejudiced she had been. She was expecting someone small and flamboyant, like the Tangina character in th
e
Poltergeis
t
movies, not someone so normal. This woman could easily pass for a lawyer, or a doctor even.

'Julia Draper, meet Madame Helga Cranston.'

Julia stepped forward and shook her hand. Her face must have shown her shock, as Helga smiled and spoke.

'You were expecting someone more...' She paused looking for the appropriate word. 'Garish?'

Julia nodded and laughed.

'Yes, sorry,' she said. 'I guess it's what the movies have taught me.'

Helga waved her hand.

'Don't worry. I get that all the time,' Julia noticed the hint of an accent, hidden behind the crisp English dialect. She wasn't sure but presumed it was German or Dutch.

'Yes,' Helga said. 'I was born in Germany, but have lived here for more years than I can remember.'

That made sense. Then Julia realised that somehow the woman had answered a question that Julia had only asked in her mind.

'Thank you for coming at such short notice,' Julia said.

'You're welcome, my dear,' Helga said. 'Wendy is one of my best customers, although she didn't really explain what the problem was.'

Julia took a deep breath. She had admitted this to Steven who had laughed it off, and to Wendy who had utterly believed her, but the idea of saying it to a stranger was nerve-racking.

'Well, I...' She paused to gather her strength. 'I think my house is haunted.'

Helga looked at her then looked around the room slowly, as though she was taking in every detail.

'From what Julia has told me, I thought we might need a séance,' Wendy said.

Helga continued looking around the room.

'In time, maybe,' she said, before turning her attention back to Julia. 'Please, show me around, and explain some of the things that have happened.'

Julia nodded.

'Of course,' she said. 'Follow me.'

Julia led the other two women out of the room.