EPISODE NINETEEN
1632 Words
NINETEEN
The meal tasted excellent. Joanne's cooking is always excellent. But today I had a great difficulty eating, my appetite deserting me and my throat to slacken its iron grip on itself. I compensated by drinking a lot of wine. Joanne watched the level of the bottle going down.
"Right. I'll make a deal with you."
For a moment, I thought she might be referring to us, but shattered my hopes as she went on.
"I'll take your film downstairs and start -- the tanks have got to be warmed up -- if you do the washing up."
I agreed.
I helped her on with her jacket in the hall and gave her the canvas bag.
"No idea how many shots on the film. But how long do you think?"
"You'll finish before me. How about bringing a cup of tea down with you?"
"Right."
She felt her pockets. "Now, where are the shop keys?"
They jingled in her pocket.
"See you in a minute."
She pulled the hood of her coat up and opened the door.
Somehow, although she worked down below, I did not like seeing her go down the now dark stairs to the empty shop.
I told myself off for being so bloody jumpy, and took the dishes in the kitchen, finishing the last of the wine straight from the bottle.
Fifteen minutes later I finished cleaning up and put everything away. I took the delight in being in her flat alone. My brain kept saying, she cannot mean this is the end. We were so close. Then the darker, pessimistic side of me took hold. Joanne Burton, I knew, is a girl who never said anything she did not mean.
I waited for the tea in the pot to brew, and wondered how things were going on down below...
*
Joanne is red! Her hair, her skin, her clothes -- all different shades of scarlet. In the small but well-equipped dark room the only light came from the overhead red lights built into the ceiling.
The opened camera lay on a side table. In the big tank to her right, long strips of 35 mm. The Film hung down, disappearing into the developing liquid. The bell on the clock began to buzz. She silenced it with an efficient tap and lifted the celluloid from the tank and put into a tray that contained a constant flow of clean water.
She frowned as she studied the long black snake-like coil that weaved in the clear water like a lazy eel...
*
I poured out two big mugs of tea, sugared Joanne's and stirred. I took the tray out into the hall, pulled on my coat, and then stepped outside. The metal stairs were lethal, the re-frozen slush turning them into slippery death traps. I hung on to my tray with one hand, the rail with the other. I stood at the dark shop door. I tried the handle, but it would not open.
I tapped the glass. I could see nothing. I tried again. As the seconds passed, impatience gave way to unease. I shook the handle and knocked again -- harder.
The shop remained dark and quiet as the grave. I set the tray down and hammered with one hand, the other cupped to the glass.
With a sudden surge of panic, I began kicking the door, frightening images of the mutilated bodies whirring around in my mind, mixed with pictures of Joanne's face, shocked, and backing away from something crowding in over her.
I was about to shoulder the door open when a white-faced Joanne rushed from the developing room at the rear and unbolted the door which flew open under my assault. It crashed into a perfume display and bounced back, shaking, as the cosmetic bottles rolled on the floor.
Joanne backed away.
"What's the matter with you?"
I came to, my chest heaving.
"I couldn't get an answer. I was afraid!"
Joanne had an unbelieving demeanour.
"You? Afraid? I never heard of anything so stupid. Afraid of what?"
I licked my dry lips. "I thought something had happened to you."
Joanne pushed past and picked up the tray.
"Shut the door before we freeze."
I closed the door, kicking a bottle rolling around the floor.
"I'm so sorry. The mess. I'll put them all back for you."
"No -- not tonight. Are you ill?"
I took a deep breath.
"No, of course not."
"Come on. We'll drink the tea in the developing room."
I followed her down between the counters, through the dispensary to the sealed off room at the back of the shop. She led the way to the crimson interior, set down the tray on a work top and closed the door behind me.
"You can't hear anything when you're in here and the fan kicks in, been going for a time."
Her red coloured hair and face was strange to me in a gross theatrical way. The bones of her face seeming to protrude more, the eye sockets, the pupils unseen. Like a puppet.
I looked away.
"How are you getting on?"
Joanne moved to the tank and lifted a clip with film attached up to the light before replacing.
"Not very well. The roll is over-exposed. Nothing at all. As black as the ace of spades."
I did not disguise my disappointment. She smiled encouragement.
"Mark you, and I can shine a strong light through it, you may see something I suppose."
I stared into the black depths of the fixing tank.
"Is the camera damaged?"
She shook her head,
"No."
"Then how come the film is over-exposed?"
Joanne sipped her tea.
"Didn't you say the Geiger-counter detected radiation?"
I winced. Of course!
"Damn. I'd forgotten that."
We sat in silence, so still that I watched Joanne staring at the timer. It reminded me of old photographs of Madame Tussauds' Chamber of Horrors. In the year 2801, the wax mannequins had been replaced by holograms.
I could not suppress a slight start when the timer went off. Joanne had been waiting for it.
"That's it."
She slipped off her stool, dealt with the alarm, and lifted the rack of 35 mm film out from the left-hand tank. She snapped on a viewing light, returning the room to normality, and held the film up to the viewer.
I stood close behind her, looking over her shoulder. She moved the strip of film up and down, seeking the strongest source of light.
"There's nothing."
I did not reply, taking the metal frame from her. She stepped back as I moved forward, scrutinizing the black strip.
Joanne folded her arms and took a worried, surreptitious glance at me as I pushed my face closer to the film.
"Those little white lines -- are they scratch marks?"
Joanne switched her gaze back to the films.
"Hmm. Could be."
She opened a cupboard and took out a magnifying glass. I waited while she went over every frame.
"Well?"
"Difficult -- but I'd say..."
I held my breath.
She made her mind up. "... No."
I grabbed the magnifying glass and checked again.
"They don't make much sense...unless..."
I turned to Joanne.
"Could you produce these as a cine-film?"
Joanne frowned.
"There are ordinary stills don't forget. What would be the point?"
I lowered the film.
"Do you remember when we were kids? Those books where you flicked the pages and matchstick men dance?"
Joanne nodded.
"So?"
"It might just be that if we do that here -- with strong projection light and blown up on a screen -- we might get the same effect."
Joanne pondered for a moment.
"Well -- I don't know."
"Try --, please, if you make a mess of it -- we've lost nothing."
Joanne straightened up.
"Okay. It won't be easy, and this is going to take me quite a while."
"Thanks. Can I do anything?"
She gave me an old-fashioned look.
"Do you think you could handle another cup of tea in a minute -- without wrecking the shop?"
I nodded.
"Right away."
I stopped at the door.
"Roome called a meeting with Walton at seven o'clock. Will you be ready for them?"
She shook her head.
"No idea."
Joanne worked all the afternoon.
I made the tea, sometimes held things for her, but mainly sat on a stool as she used a variety of equipment.
By half-past-six she was flustered and irritated.
"Something not going right?"
Joanne did not turn around.
"No."
I ventured further.
"Will they be ready in half-an-hour?"
Joanne slammed down a pair of scissors and took a deep breath.
"Do you understand the size of the job? I converted your films into transparencies! Now I am trying to move them on to a piece of cine blank. That is bad enough, but the spacing must be right. If I put them on to consecutive frames the film will be over in under three of four seconds, and you will not be able to differentiate anything, be too quick. So, I'm going to space them out."
She threw out her arms.
"Half-an-hour. No chance!"
I shuffled my feet.
"Sorry."
She gave me a tired smile and put her hand on my arm.
"Look, you carry on. When I get it right, I'll bring it over.”?
"Thanks. We'll be in the post-mortem office."
I got up.
"Is it safe to leave?"
Joanne smiled.
"You make me sound like an ogre."
I took her by the shoulders.
"Never."
I bent forward to kiss her. She did not resist, but she did not respond either.
Disappointed, I turned away.
She tried to soften the atmosphere with a cheery -- "Don't let the party become out of hand before I arrive."
I grunted and closed the door.
- Writer
