THE DARKROOM GLOWED AN EERIE CRIMSON AS SLOAN AND NORA stared at the photo of Ellis.
“What was Ellis doing at Annabelle’s house that day?” Nora asked.
The question came in a whisper and Sloan got the impression she was asking herself.
“Let’s see what else is on the roll of film,” Sloan said.
Nora looked at her and nodded. She hurried to feed the film into the enlarger and worked to see a preview of the negatives.
“The next several are blurred,” Nora said.
“What’s on them?”
Nora shook her head as she tried to decipher the images. “They’re too blurry to make anything out.”
She kept feeding the film through the enlarger.
“Here,” she said, squinting at the tiny image and trying to make sense of it. “It’s . . . two people. Let’s develop this one.”
They ran through the process again, exposing the image onto the photo paper in the easel, and then transferring it to each of the three trays of chemicals—the developing solution first, then the stop bath, and finally the fixer. Nora started the timer and after the paper was in the last tray of liquid for a minute, she lifted it out with tongs and clipped it to the drying rack. Sloan squinted through the darkness to make out the image that was slowly evolving.
“Here it comes.”
In the photo were two people facing each other. Their shapes sluggishly took form.
“It’s Annabelle,” Sloan said. “But . . . how?”
Nora moved closer to the photos and waited another few seconds until the image took hold.
“That’s . . .” She paused, as though allowing the print to come into fuller form, to make sure she was correct.
“Tilly,” Nora finally said. “That’s Tilly standing with Annabelle in the kitchen.”
After another few seconds the colors came through, and a clear image formed. Sloan saw Annabelle and young Tilly Margolis standing in front of the kitchen counter.
Sloan looked at Nora. “All the pictures we’ve developed to this point were taken by Annabelle.”
“Yeah?” Nora asked, not understanding.
Sloan pointed at the photo. “So, there’s Annabelle in the photo. Who the hell’s taking this picture?”
THE PAST
Cedar Creek, Nevada
July 4, 1995 The Day Of . . .
A SENSE OF URGENCY FLOODED HER SYSTEM AFTER ELLIS LEFT. ANNABELLE ran into the foyer, grabbed one of the suitcases, and hauled it to the car. She ran back to the house, grabbed two more pieces of luggage, and wheeled them out. One of them caught on the cobblestone walkway and tumbled over. She left it where it lay and continued, throwing the lone suitcase into the back of the BMW. One more trip and the foyer was empty but for a single duffle bag and her purse. As Annabelle was heading back inside, she heard a car pull into the driveway. When she turned, she saw Tilly’s white Cadillac.
Annabelle slumped her chin to her chest. She and Preston should have skipped town the day before. Now, their exit would be messy and filled with drama. She didn’t bother to wait for Tilly, or close the front door. Instead, Annabelle walked into the kitchen and started to clean one of Charlotte’s bottles. Charlotte was starting to fuss and needed to eat.
“What’s going on outside?” Tilly asked as she walked into the kitchen. “Preston’s car is packed full like you’re leaving forever.”
“Tilly, I’m right in the middle of something with Charlotte. Can you come back tomorrow?”
Annabelle continued to scrub the bottle as the kitchen sink ran.
“Where’s Preston?”