I thought the layout of the house was beginning to imprint itself in my mind and that I could predict the twists and turns of the hallway but the house was so big it was easy to get disoriented. When I came to the end of the hallway where I expected the stairway to sit, I found instead, a large oak door. The handle refused to turn when I touched it. Confused, I turned and headed in the opposite direction. So many locked doors only meant secrets to me.
As a child our house was always open, welcoming. Except… a strange feeling came over me when I remembered how my parents would go up to their room together and lock the door behind them at the end of every week. My brother and I wanted to go too, but they always told us we weren’t allowed. I would stare at that big door feeling left out, abandoned. It was the only time that I felt unloved and it was perplexing to me. My parents included me in everything else. I wondered what they could be doing that was so secretive they couldn’t let me in. It wasn’t until several years later that I fully understood the implications of their private time together.
Cora’s reaction upstairs had piqued my curiosity. She was furious at me that I had deigned to violate the sanctity of her gallery. I hesitated only a moment when I reached the heavy metal door, my hand on the knob. I glanced behind me, feeling a chill race against my neck. Then I entered the room.
The pictures hung on the wall as they had before, but this time I was very aware that the eyes were watching me from the walls, following me as I walked. Nick stared down from behind the glass, a small smile at the corners of his mouth. I wanted to reach up and smack him. Wipe that expression from his face. Make him feel as angry and confused as I was. But I was also sure those feelings had dominated his emotional map the entire time he was growing up.
My hands clasped behind my back, I circled the room, taking time to study the subtle nuances of the photographs, the layout of the room. One corner had been allocated to developing. Bradford had installed a counter, sink and shelves. Old camera equipment, canisters and reels and developing fluid cluttered all available space. It was a virtual museum. A big old standing box type camera that I’d only seen in photographs from the eighteen hundreds had been pushed into the corner. When I pulled at the black fabric covering the back, dust flew everywhere. Several brownie type cameras from the early nineteen hundreds were scattered about the top of a counter. Dusty and abandoned, they looked as if someone had been in the middle of a project and never came back. One lone camera was lying towards the back of the counter. A Kodak from the 60’s. I put it to my eye and looked in the view-finder. Half a roll of film remained inside. Pictures that had never been developed.
It had been so long since I had handled real film, that I hesitated a minute before forwarding it to the end of the roll. The back popped open easily when I pulled at the tab. I removed the cartridge and dropped it into my pocket.
On my way to the door, I tried not to look sideways at the photographs on the wall. Those people, long dead, knew I was a spy, a thief, disturbing this almost ancient burial ground. The small table near the door made me stop. I wanted to get another look at that black and white photograph I’d found on the floor but it was gone. Cora had dropped it there before slamming the heavy door behind us. I searched the entire floor and pulled out the small drawer.
“The picture I found? Is that what knocked her off her rocker?” It was a whisper, but I could have sworn all those heads in the pictures gave a subtle nod of confirmation.