The Photography Contest, page 2
She noticed now that there were some new pictures, date stamped much more recently.
The shots mostly appeared to be of Vincent talking animatedly with some of the people from the older shots, and she thought they gave the appearance he was briefing them on the importance of their silence and discretion, and for the next two days it was these which continued to be submitted.
She texted Tony to tell Vincent about the fact it appeared he was being stalked full time now, but received no response.
On the final evening before the close of the competition some new shots appeared, taken in a different style, but from the same user.
No sign of Vincent now, and she studied them curiously. They recorded the contents of a flat somewhere, expensively decorated, with a kitchen and living room she'd have died for.
More photos appeared.
A chocolate brown, mock leather sofa on bare floorboards, strewn with plush cream cushions.
Women's clothes hung in a smart wardrobe, then intricate compositions of the contents of a jewellery box, a diamond necklace wrapper around a sealed condom.
It looked like an estate agents website, except you didn't get usually get to see the contents of the drawers and wardrobes on those.
Then another appeared; what was that? she asked herself, rubbish framing, hard to identify, then realising, it was a single flash-lit photograph from the inside of a wardrobe. This chilled her and again she phoned Tony The Tosser, and again there was no response.
She returned to the screen.
Now a new shot of the living room appeared, signs of life now, two brandy glasses resting upon a small, stylish coffee table next to a spray of white powder and a credit card with Vincent's name on it.
Next up: a photograph of a closed door.
Then the same door, but ajar.
She strained to see into the darkness, at the images as they appeared on the stream, realising that the photographer must have set up his camera to upload his pictures unvarnished automatically as soon as they were taken.
She made out the red digital time and date on a clock radio, and it took a moment to register. This was now.
This was happening now.
The photographer hiding in the flat.
The next shot: from inside the bedroom, looking back into the brightly lit corridor.
Another appeared: far grainier, of a man's face, in repose, barely lit; the face of the beast, and next to him his, what, mistress, escort? Who knew?
Not his wife.
She had met his wife, a brassy pleasant older woman, high flying social worker and a magistrate, and this wasn’t her. There were twenty years separating these two. She would have had more in common with this young woman than Vincent.
Kerry-Ann had been transfixed, but shrieked sharply as there appeared a photograph of a knife silhouetted in the light of the open door, and began dialling 999 frantically, before she realised she had no location to direct them to, and found herself trying to explain to a bored operator how she was watching a man being murdered, maybe, in photographic stills, somewhere, she wasn’t sure where, and had to put up with a sceptical voice in the darkness.
Finally, there appeared a new image, a flash-lit photo processed in blood.
Brutal.
He had been a nasty piece of work, but he didn't deserve that, although then she wondered; if anyone might have deserved it...
She sat staring at her screen for about an hour. The police had promised to send someone out, but it was busy tonight; they were busy mopping up drunks from a big fight in the town centre, so "don't hold your breath" she’d been told.
Then, finally, it appeared in the photostream.
The real competition entry.
A domestic scene, shot about a month ago, through a window, depicting a family in conversation, with its head, Vincent laughing loudly at something, a small child at his arm with a face covered with dessert grinning, and next to her, an older boy surreptitiously gazing down into his lap at his phone. Opposite Vincent, his wife appeared to stare at her husband with easy admiration.
Selective colour spot-lit Vincent and his glass of red wine and the title was inscribed across the top of the shot:
‘Not all criminals wear hoodies.’
She sighed with a dawning realisation, an image of another crime reappearing in her memory and quite incapable of movement she continued to gawp at the one screen.
I must phone the police again, she thought, and was about to, when another image slid into her eye line.
A girl, not quite a woman, sat in the almost complete darkness of her flat, lit only by the light of her laptop screen, opened to a tacky local tourism competition, weeping in misery at what she observed.
She looked over her shoulder, out through the open window of her ground floor flat and into the darkness, but could see nobody there and quickly rose to her feet to pull the latch closed with a click, her stomach dropping a and bowels threatening to let go.
About to move, she froze at a small sound, a creak, from the hallway, which could have easily been the noisy old house's slight contractions and expansions, but which could just as easily been the shifting weight of a man stood on the bare floorboards leading out to the front door.
She jumped sharply at a loud crack on her front door, a Police Officer’s knock, thank God, and she rose in relief that the police were there at last to help her.
Many thanks to:
dcJohn for this image: https://www.flickr.com/photos/dcjohn/12540588 on the cover.
Lens image from DSeverfall from here: https://openclipart.org/detail/20295/camera-lens-by-rg1024-20295
Thanks
Thanks for taking the time to read my story and I hope you’ll forgive the odd typo or grammatical error that slips through. Feel free to tell me about any you find via @edgarmillion . As much as I try to proofread everything, I know I miss errors here and there, and I’ll remove them if you tell me.
If you follow me at @edgarmillion you’ll get announcements of any upcoming stories or other news, along with occasional complaints about football and politics.
Finally, if you liked this story, I’d love a review if you have a mo.
Other works
A Button to Save The World
The end of the world is nigh. Cities lay in ruins, almost everyone unemployed and global warming threatens to overwhelm us.
What if you could press a button to make everything alright?
The time had to come soon though; they had to stop it hitting the tipping point. The point when global temperatures would rise two degrees above the pre-industrial revolution levels, when the Greenland ice sheets would melt and we would begin to burn. Ever more chaotic weather patterns, famine, war and quite possibly end of the humanity. The earth would live on but humanity, our civilisation and history would die screaming.
What if you could press a button to stop it all? Reverse and even eliminate global warning? Would you?
Of course you would, but as Patrick K. Useful discovers, saving the Earth has a cost.
One man has a Button, which when pressed will save the world.
Patrick K Useful wants to stop him.
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/387270
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A growing number of entirely free stories about ghosts, aliens, vampires, Gods and various other sci-fi, fantasy, thriller and horror topics.
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16
Edgar Million, The Photography Contest
