The Photographer (10 page)

Dating was the farthest thing from Megan's mind. But Bunny and Roxie had been going out since junior high, and Megan knew they were eager to share their experience.

“Hey, I'm not falling in love with Derrick, or even thinking of going out with him. I do like Robert,” Megan explained. “But I'm curious about Derrick. He's such a character. I'm thinking of doing a sketch on him for the Senior Sketches column.”

“He's sure different from anyone I know,” Roxie agreed. “He asked me if I didn't worry about being photographed so much.”

“Me too.” Bunny giggled. “He said, ‘What if the camera could steal your soul piece by piece.' Isn't that a riot? He sounded so mysterious.”

Bunny and Roxie laughed at the idea. Megan didn't.

“He laughed, too,” Bunny said. “I've hardly ever seen Derrick laugh.”

“Me either,” Roxie added. “It was weirdsville. And after he stopped laughing, he kept smiling that funny little smile as he took more pictures. It gave me the creeps.”

“How's Cynthia?” Bunny remembered to ask. “The nurse said she was better today too.”

“I'm going back now to find out. She's not doing as well as she was this morning.” Megan didn't want to worry Bunny and Roxie, who seemed almost back to their normal selves. But she did feel she needed to warn them. “One more thing, if Derrick should come to visit you, promise me you'll call a nurse.”

“Derrick visit us? That would be super weird. You
are
jealous, aren't you, Megan?” Bunny laughed. “Everyone to her own taste, huh, Roxie?”

“Right. You and Derrick, Megan? Nope, stick with Robert.”

Let them think she was jealous. “Okay, maybe I am. Derrick and I have a lot in common, and I like creative people. But promise me you'll ring for the nurse immediately if he comes in here.”

Megan left, hoping they'd take her seriously. Why hadn't she told Cynthia to call a nurse if Derrick came to see her? But she never dreamed that Derrick would be daring enough to walk into the hospital and photograph Cynthia right there. Or that he was that vindictive. He had reason to dislike Cynthia, but what about the rest of the girls? What did he have against them? The more Megan found out, the more puzzled she became.

Mr. Harlow was in the hall with the doctor. Megan waited until they finished talking. Then she felt like she was intruding when she approached Mr. Harlow. He seemed far away. But she had to know.

“Mr. Harlow—Cynthia— What did the doctors say?”

“Megan, oh, Megan.” Tears flowed down Mr. Harlow's cheeks. “He thinks we're losing her. There's hardly any pulse, and she's been unconscious since noon.”

Cynthia dying? No. No! Megan sat down. She put her head in her hands to keep from sobbing out of control. It wasn't possible. It wasn't!

Chapter 13

A nurse—Megan didn't know her name—sat beside her. “Maybe you'd better go home, Megan. There's been no change for hours. Your parents might worry.”

Megan looked up. It had gotten dark and was almost six o'clock. Her watch ticked away the seconds. Time—Cynthia needed more time. Megan needed more time to solve this situation. She went to call her parents.

“Megan, where are you? We've been worried sick,” her mother said.

“I'm sorry, Mom. I'm at the hospital. Cynthia is worse, and I lost track of the time. Can someone come and get me? I'll wait at the entrance.”

Megan's mother said her father would come. As Megan waited, thoughts of what she could do for Cynthia bombarded her brain. She had to do something. She was the only one who knew what could save Cynthia, but would anyone believe her? Her dad? Should she tell her father? Robert? She had told Robert in the beginning and he didn't believe her, but she had to talk to someone.

After dinner, when her parents were quiet, respecting her worry, she went to her room and dialed Robert's number. Once, twice, three times. Be there, be home, Robert. She knew he was home. He answered on the fifth ring.

“Robert, I need to talk to you. Right now. Please don't say no. I need you.”

“Megan, I have a math exam tomorrow, but I confess you keep coming between me and my studying. I can't stop thinking about you. Are you all right?”

Megan was tired of people worrying about
her
. She needed to find someone to help her worry about Cynthia, about Derrick.

“I'm fine, Robert, but Cynthia isn't. The exam isn't important. Leave it and come—no, meet me at the hospital. In the lobby.”

“Is Cynthia worse?”

“Yes, she—she—may not make it.” Megan couldn't bring herself to say the word
die
. It was something that old people did. Megan's grandfather had died. He was the only person she'd known who had.

“Okay, Megan. I'll see you in a few minutes.”

“Mom, Dad, I know neither of you wants to go back out, but I need to get back to the hospital. Can I have the car?”

“I don't want you driving in this state of mind, Megan,” her mother said. “I'll take you. Are you sure you want to go back, Megan? What can you do just sitting there?”

“I don't know, but I have to be there. Cynthia is worse. Robert will bring me back.”

“Do they have any more ideas about why Cynthia is sick?” Mrs. Davidson asked.

“No, the doctors are baffled.” What would her mother say if Megan told her what she thought was wrong with Cynthia?

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Mrs. Davidson asked when she stopped the car to let Megan out. “I don't want to be in the way, but—”

“No, Mom. I'll call if I'm going to be late, and Robert is coming over.”

Robert wasn't in the lobby. Megan found him pacing the floor in the intensive-care waiting room. Megan looked at his face and knew. “Megan, I just checked the desk.”

“She's gone.” Megan realized she'd known it before she saw Robert. She'd known it the minute she walked into the hospital. A picture had flashed into her mind. Cynthia, cold and pale, lay in a bower of cut flowers. All the flowers were white. Cynthia was in her Homecoming dress. So beautiful. She looked so beautiful, as if she were sleeping.

For a moment Megan stood, staring at nothing, trying to accept the fact that Robert had confirmed.

Robert took her in his arms. “I can't believe it, Megan. She was so young, so alive.”

Megan wanted to cry, but no tears would come. She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach and she couldn't react. She couldn't bend over, curl into a ball, be sick.

“Why, why did Derrick do this?” Megan whispered. “It couldn't have been because Cynthia turned him down for a date. Boys don't kill girls just because they say no to a date.”

“What are you talking about, Megan?” Robert pushed her away and looked at her. “Derrick didn't do this. You can't believe that idea you told me about earlier. That's impossible.”

“It's not impossible. Derrick killed Cynthia,” Megan said aloud. “He did this. I don't know how, but he did.” Hysteria was starting to build inside Megan.

Robert surely sensed it. He pulled her toward an elevator. She let herself be led outside, and then she went to pieces in the parking lot.

“Why won't you listen to me, Robert? Cynthia's dead! Derrick killed her. I can't prove it, but he did.”

“I know you're upset by this, Megan, but forget that crazy idea. You're just hysterical.”

“I'm not hysterical,” Megan screamed, giving the lie to her denial. She tried to calm down. “Last night I went to Derrick's house. I got into his darkroom. He had a whole wall of photographs—all of them the girls who are ill. In all the photos a funny, weird light surrounded the images. There were more of Cynthia than of anyone. I took the pictures home, Robert. I burned them. Last night I burned them. This morning Cynthia was better. So were Bunny and Roxie. And I know the rest were, too; I just haven't had time to check.”

Robert kept his hold on Megan, but he was shaking his head. “Megan, of course Derrick had pictures of all those girls. He'd taken them for the paper and the annual. Maybe he'd pinned them to the wall to study his technique. I do that all the time. You know Derrick is always trying to improve his work. He mentioned to me once that he might become a fashion photographer. This is something you've dreamed up. You've imagined it because you were upset by Cynthia's illness.”

“I haven't imagined this, Robert.” What could she do to convince him? “The extra camera, Robert. Derrick started carrying an extra camera. Remember when he missed two days of school? Right after that he started carrying another camera, and he used it to photograph the ceremonies at the game and the Homecoming Dance. Remember, Cynthia fainted at the dance. I saw the camera, Robert. He didn't take it to the city council meeting. He didn't use it to photograph Jolene, and she's fine. I checked on her again to be sure.”

“Lots of photographers carry two cameras. I would if I could afford another. Cynthia was always high-strung as well as delicate. Anyone could look at her and see that. She was stressed and exhausted. Whatever she had was coming on and she didn't have the strength to fight it. They're looking for a virus now, Megan. I talked to a man from the health department today. I haven't had time to tell you.”

“It's not a virus!” Megan started to cry. She sat down on the curb beside Robert's car, curled into a ball, and sobbed. “If it were a virus I'd have it and you'd have it and Gus would have it,” she said, when she could manage to speak again.

“Megan, let me take you home.” Robert tried to pull Megan to her feet.

“I can't just go home and do nothing.”

“What do you want to do? Let's go across the street and get some hot tea or coffee. Go over this story again. I promise to listen. I won't say you're crazy.”

Megan knew Robert was humoring her, patronizing her, but what could she do? Maybe if she thought it through again she could explain it so he'd believe her. She got to her feet and let Robert lead her across the street from the hospital where there was an all-night coffee shop.

Digging a handkerchief from her purse, she wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and tried to get control of her emotions. Robert ordered two cups of coffee. They came, steaming hot, the rich aroma tempting her. She took a few sips carefully. She would never convince Robert if she kept being hysterical. She could feel Robert's eyes on her, concerned. He did care. About her. But he didn't believe a word she was saying. She kept staring at the brown liquid, drinking it slowly, letting it warm her inside. If she could ever feel warm again.

Finally, looking up, she blinked her eyes. Once, twice, to try to clear her vision. Derrick's face floated before her. He was out there, by the front windows of the coffee shop, staring at her, smiling, holding a camera, pointing it at her. She gasped and blocked a scream.

“Robert, there. He's there—outside the window. Derrick. Right now.”

For a second Robert froze, staring at Megan. Then he jumped up, dashed to the front door, and slipped outside. When he came back, his eyes were kind, pitying Megan. He didn't believe her. He thought she was imagining things. Was she? Did she really see Derrick? Or was it a hallucination? Or—or one of her visions? Because she was upset, because she was thinking of Derrick, had she imagined his face watching her?

“There's no one out there, Megan. I looked in both directions and even walked to the corner. All the stores are closed except the coffee shop. Hadn't you better get home? I'll take you.”

“I can't go home, Robert. I can't forget this, no matter what you think. What if we drove by Derrick's house? We could even talk to him, tell him about Cynthia. We could say we wanted to do a memorial section of the paper for her. Ask if he'd share his photos. Any story we can think of. If I can see his reaction, if I can be with him, I'll know. I'm sure I will.”

“Would that make you give up this crazy idea you have about his involvement with Cynthia's death?”

Cynthia's death.… Cynthia's death.… Megan had to fight to keep her control at hearing the words, taking them in.

“No, but I might feel better. It's something to do. I don't know what to do, Robert. If you won't believe me, no one will.”

Robert paid for the coffee and they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Megan couldn't help looking both ways and around the parking lot of the small shopping center. There were almost no cars. The place was deserted. Wouldn't Derrick's van be in the lot if he were here? No, he'd hide it.

She put her mind into neutral, tried not to think. She let Robert guide her across the street and put her into his car. They were silent on the way across town, out to Gunbarrel Greens, to Derrick's house. Robert switched on the radio to late-night, new-age electronic music. It should have been the dreamy end to a date, Megan snuggling close to Robert, listening to the soothing sounds.

Derrick's house was dark. Neither his van nor his mother's car sat in the drive. They had a garage. It was closed. Megan insisted they ring the doorbell even though it was late. Over and over she pushed it, as if the act would produce Derrick or some answers to this deadly puzzle.

“He's not home, Megan. No one is home.” Robert took her hand and pulled her back to the car. “Look, tomorrow I'll ask him to go on the photo trip. The industrial sights, remember? We'll spend one day with him this weekend, and have time to ask questions. Okay?”

“The funeral will probably be this weekend.” The word jumped into Megan's mind. White flowers, white dress.

“Okay, next weekend, Megan.” Robert didn't say more, but turned the car around and drove to Megan's house.

Again Robert helped her from the car and led her to the house. Megan went along, hardly knowing he was there. He probably came in with her, turned her over to her mother. She had a vague sensation of her mother putting her to bed. Of drifting off to sleep.