The Golden Spiral

  Lizzy picked up a small silver canister about the size of a thick paperback novel. A black rubber top jutted up from the center of the canister. “This is the developing tank,” Lizzy said. She produced a roll of film from the pocket of her shirt. She set both items on the counter and picked up a sealed black bag with two sleeves attached. “The tank and the film go inside the bag.” Suiting action to words, Lizzy slipped her hands inside the bag. “This part is a little tricky because it’s all done by touch. Use a bottle cap opener to pry off the top of the film canister. Then, you simply wind the film onto the developing spool in a tight spiral from the inside out. It only winds one way, so you’ll know when you’ve done it right. It’s important not to let the film touch anything but the reel. The spool goes into the tank, the lid is put back in place, and then you’re ready to go.” The bag rustled as Lizzy maneuvered the film into position.

  “Will you help me with that part?” I asked, nervous. I’d never done anything like this before and already I felt out of my element.

  Lizzy shook her head. “If you don’t do it yourself, you’ll never learn how. Don’t worry, the beginning is always the hardest part. It gets easier with practice.”

  I swallowed, nodding and focusing on Lizzy’s every move.

  Withdrawing the tank from the bag, Lizzy walked over to the sink. She checked the thermometer attached to the faucet, measured out a small amount of water, consulted the chart on the wall above the sink, and then mixed in the developer powder. Pouring the mixture into the developing tank, she thrust it into my hands.

  Startled, I almost dropped the tank. “What do I do?”

  Lizzy covered my hands with hers and gently flipped the tank up and down. “You have to agitate the film. So keep up this pace for exactly seven minutes—no more, no less.”

  As I rotated the tank, Lizzy sat down on a three-legged stool by the sink.

  “How do you know Leo?” she asked me, leaning her head on her palm.

  It was a surprisingly tricky question to answer. What did Lizzy know about Leo? Did she remember the Dungeon? I thought through my options before settling on a fragment of the truth. “He’s like family to Dante.” I hoped that would provide enough answer without revealing too much.

  “Dante is the good-looking boy who won’t sit for me.”

  I smiled a little and nodded. “Dante’s just a little shy sometimes.”

  “He’s not shy,” Lizzy said dryly. “A boy who looks like that has never been shy.” She watched me flip the tank up and then down. “No. He’s hiding something.”

  The tank slipped in my fingers; I almost dropped it.

  “Careful. Don’t ruin the film.”

  “Sorry.”

  Lizzy moved to the sink, picked up a rag, and wiped down the counter. “There’s something more to that boy. He’s tense. You can see it in his body. In his eyes. He has secrets.”

  I knew Dante’s secrets. I knew his truth and his hidden heart.

  “The camera eye can often see beyond the surface to the layers beneath. That’s why I want to photograph him. He’s layered. Complicated.”

  This was a dangerous conversation to pursue. I felt fiercely protective of Dante. He had been lost in the darkness for so long, and now that he’d been reborn into the light I wanted to give him time to gain his bearings. I didn’t want Lizzy or anyone else poking at him, analyzing him. And if anyone was going to take his picture, it was going to be me.

  “Am I done?” I asked, the muscles in my arms starting to ache.

  Lizzy glanced at the clock and nodded. “Good. Now pour the developer out and rinse out the film.”

  I did as directed, the water running cold over my hands. “What now?” I asked eagerly. As unfamiliar as the process was, it was fascinating, and I thought that I might have found a new hobby to explore.

  Lizzy grinned at my enthusiasm. “You’ll want to plug your nose for this next part.” She lifted a jug from the shelf and uncapped it. A stench like vinegar, but a hundred times worse, filled the room.

  I gagged, my nose burning, but managed to hold the tank steady while Lizzy poured the liquid inside and plugged the lid over the film.

  “It’s called a ‘stop bath,’ and that’s exactly what it does—it stops the developing agent.” Lizzy tightened the cap and replaced the jug. “Important note to remember about the stop bath: Never get it in your eyes—you could go blind from it.” She nodded to the tank still in my hands. “Agitate it again. One minute. Then rinse.”

  I felt a tickle in my throat and coughed into my elbow. “What happens if you don’t put in the stop bath?”

  Lizzy shrugged. “The longer the film sits in the developer, the more the silver crystals in the film react to it and the denser the film becomes. If you don’t use the stop bath, or if you don’t use it long enough, the film will turn completely black and you’ll lose whatever image you’re trying to capture.” She looked at the clock again. “Rinse.”

  I obeyed, wincing again as the vinegar smell brought tears to my eyes.

  “Almost done,” Lizzy said with a smile. “Now it’s time for the fixer.”

  I looked up in surprise. “What’s it called?”

  “The fixer. It stabilizes the image and removes the unexposed silver crystals from the film. It essentially fixes the image in place so it’s safe to bring it out into the light.”

  A smile rose to my lips. “Of course.” I could almost feel Valerie’s finger writing me a secret note: You can fix it. And her insistence: The picture is power. The pieces were coming

  together. My smile widened. Leo was right. This was going to work, I could feel it.

  Lizzy added the fixer and leveled a stern gaze at me. “Ten minutes. I’ll be back.” She slipped out of the room.

  I claimed her vacated seat and rotated the tank. The methodical movement was soothing, like a lullaby, and I let my thoughts drift along the breathing tide of my emotions.

  It was so good to have Dante back, so right. And seeing him with Leo made me almost feel like my life was back to normal. Almost. I couldn’t forget the gaping ache in my heart for my lost father and my forgotten sister. But at least we were working toward changing that. If we could fix Natalie in place—and the more I worked with Lizzy, the more convinced I was that we could make it work—then we would be that much closer to not only preventing changes but possibly reversing them.

  I felt protected sitting in the back room of the Darkroom. As though the uncertainty that had overcome my life had been left at the door. Here I was focused. I had a purpose, a clear goal. It felt good to be in control of something again. Even if it was just a small developing tank nestled in the palms of my hands.

  I hadn’t realized the time had gone by so quickly until Lizzy appeared at my side again. “Good. I think we’re ready to finish it.” She took the tank from my hands and peeled back the lid. She pulled a container off the shelf and poured out the fixer. I imagined I could see the liquid glittering with stripped silver. Placing the tank in the sink, she turned the water on and let the stream wash away the excess chemicals. While the river ran from the faucet, Lizzy pulled open a drawer and rummaged around until she found a handful of clips. She held them up. “For drying the film.”

  “Is it always this complicated?” I asked, resting my arms on the counter and flexing my empty fingers.

  Lizzy laughed. “Wait until we make prints. That’s complicated.” She extracted the film from the developing tank, pulling it free from the spiral and clipping it to the hooks to dry.

  “I can see why no one really does this anymore.”

  “It’s almost a forgotten art,” Lizzy admitted, sorrow shadowing her face. She hung up the wet film and withdrew a second strip of film that had started to curl along the edges. “There is more to photography than just pushing a button. You have to mix the chemicals. Follow the rules. And learning to control the light and shadow?” She sighed in appreciation. “When done correctly, it’s the perfect blend of art and science. And th
e outcome is like nothing else in the world.”

  “A ritual wrought with power,” I murmured, remembering Dante’s words about the process of building the time machine.

  Lizzy smiled and nodded. “Exactly. I knew you’d understand. Not everyone can see what a photographer sees. And I knew when I saw you that you’d have an eye for seeing the truth.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling a stillness settle over me as though the turbulent river had flowed into a gentle pool, granting me a moment to breathe, to rest. “What’s next?”

  “Next comes the art,” Lizzy said with a grin and led me into another small room where the white lightbulb had been

  replaced with a red one. She selected an image from the roll of film and, using the same combination of chemicals and liquids—developer, stop bath, fixer, water—she worked her magic to bring the small square of white and black to life.

  I watched in fascination as she controlled the amount of light projected through the image, as she coaxed the shadows into a deeper black. Watching her move through the motions was like watching a dancer. Every action was precise and exact, but fluid and graceful. She knew when to move the paper from one chemical bath to the next without having to consult the clock, relying instead on her internal rhythms of a lifetime of working with light and shadow, liquid and time.

  She slipped the paper into the developer tray and motioned for me to join her by the sink.

  “This is my favorite part,” she admitted in a near-whisper as though we were in church or a hospital. “The moment the image is born.”

  She gently rocked the tray, allowing the water to wash over the paper, and slowly, almost magically, two figures appeared from what had once been a blank, white sheet.

  “Who is it?” I asked, peeking over her shoulder.

  Lizzy pointed to the man on the left. “That’s my father, Giovanni, the summer before he died. And that’s Leo. I swear he hasn’t aged a day since this photograph was taken.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Would you look at that? Every time I try to print this, I get those black smudges by their hands.”

  I studied the two men in the photograph, their arms draped across each other’s shoulders. Both had similar, strong features, and if I hadn’t known better I might have guessed they were brothers. But I did know better. I knew Leo’s history, and more than that, I knew what the faded bands wrapped around both men’s wrists meant. Giovanni had been one of Leo’s flock of time travelers.

  “How long have you known Leo?” I asked.

  Lizzy shrugged, lifting the paper from the sink and pressing out the excess water. She laid it on a wire rack. “It seems like I’ve known Leo forever. He was friends with my father for a long time. I was little when my father died, but Leo still came around the shop to visit with my mother and me, see how we were doing, bring me presents.” She laughed a little. “I once thought he might marry my mother, but he never asked. He told me his heart had been pledged to another.” Lizzy tilted the picture toward her. “I always wondered who she was. The woman who had captured his heart.”

  I wondered too. Could it be the elusive Sofia? Maybe—but at the moment, I was more curious about something else. “Your father looks so young in this picture.”

  Lizzy nodded. “He was only thirty-nine when he died. The doctors said it was Alzheimer’s, but I don’t know. One day he was here. And the next . . .”

  I stared at the faces washed by the water. They both looked forward, toward the light, in a perfectly captured moment of contentment. Then the red light shimmered off the wet paper, turning the white water to blood. I shivered a little, feeling an ache of sadness for Leo and all he’d left behind. And for Giovanni, who had tried to make a new life for himself with a wife and a child. And who had lost it all to the pressures of the relentless river.

  Lizzy wiped her hands on a rag by the drying rack. She tucked a stray hair back under her scarf. “Well, that’s the process. What do you think? Are you ready to try it for yourself?”

  I brushed away a tear, hoping Lizzy wouldn’t notice, and nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Chapter

  20

  Lizzy led me through the twisting hallways back to the picture-filled front room. I saw Natalie sitting on the one chair in the room, her face ashen, her eyes unfocused and distant. Dante crouched by her knee, his hand gripping the armrest of the chair. Leo was standing behind them and looked up as Lizzy and I entered the room.

  “How did it go?” he asked, though the same question had been on my lips as well.

  “She’s a natural,” Lizzy said.

  Leo smiled. “I knew she would be.”

  “Is everything okay?” I asked quickly, looking from Leo to Natalie and back again.

  “Everything’s fine,” Dante said, standing up and brushing his hair out of his eyes.

  I caught my breath at the gesture. It was one I’d seen him make countless times before, but this time it simply reminded me that he was back. He was here, with me, and I could enjoy all those small gestures I’d missed while he was gone. A warmth filled me, and it was all I could do to keep the grin off my face.

  Leo crossed to the glass shelves displaying Lizzy’s selection of cameras and selected a small, boxy one from the middle shelf.

  “Excellent choice,” Lizzy said, nodding. “The Brownies were quite popular back in the day. Easy to use and perfect for a beginner.”

  Turning the camera over in his hands, Leo smiled quietly. “This was always one of my favorites. Mr. Adams taught me how to use one long ago. I’m happy to see you still have one.” Leo crossed the small room and handed the camera to me.

  I liked how the camera felt in my hands. Solid and stable.

  “We’ll take it,” Leo said to Lizzy, reaching into his back pocket and withdrawing his wallet.

  “Oh, Leo, you know your money is no good here,” Lizzy said, slapping at his hand fondly.

  “So it’s a negotiation, is it?” A light gleamed in Leo’s blue eyes. As he drew Lizzy to the far side of the room, he caught my eye and winked.

  I smiled back at him, grateful for the small amount of privacy Leo had arranged. I held the camera at waist level and looked down at the small mirror set on top of the box, happy to see how clear everything seemed through the lens.

  Dante caught me framing him with the camera and he smiled and gave a half wave.

  I shaded the top of the camera with my hand so I could see him better and laughed a little at his upside-down image. Natalie still sat in the chair and I stepped closer to her.

  “What did you tell her?” I asked Dante in a low voice.

  “The truth,” he said. “She said she’d heard most of it before from you.”

  I squeezed his hand and then crouched down by the chair. “Natalie? Are you okay?”

  She looked down at her hands in her lap, a worried line crossing her forehead. “I should say no, I’m not okay. I should say that everything I’ve been told is crazy. But what I am going to say is yes. Yes, I am okay.”

  I reached for her hand. “Do you believe me, Natalie? Do you believe in me?”

  She raised her head and looked me in the eye. “You are my best friend. And, yes, I believe you,” she said without hesitation.

  I heard the trust in her voice. The faith. And I felt a swell of appreciation in my heart. “Thank you, Nat. That means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

  My hands shook a little as I positioned the camera, focusing on Natalie’s face. This was the moment. If this worked, not only would it protect Natalie from succumbing to Zo’s changes, but it would open the door for me to fix all kinds of changes to the river and protect what needed to be protected.

  I inhaled and summoned every ounce of energy within me, focusing it into believing as fiercely as I could. I thought of the images carved into the black door and how they served not only as symbols but as keys: the spiral shell, the half-sun, half-moon circle, the rising musical scale. I exhaled and felt the edges of myself thin like th
ey did in the moments before I slipped to the dream-side of the bank. I didn’t want to travel there, but I thought it might be good to be in that kind of mental state, in that in-between place.

  The black sky crowded close in the corners of my eyes, the wild river flowing fast around my feet. I didn’t dare let my eyes or my thoughts wander, so I concentrated on Natalie, on matching the strength of her belief with my own.

  This will work. I will make this work. I chanted the words endlessly in my mind. Slowly, so slowly, I could feel the deep currents of the river start to change to match the rhythm of my words, shifting to accommodate my will and bending to my wishes.

  Heat began a slow burn in the pit of my stomach. I felt a trickle of sweat along my scalp, down my temple, around my wrists. The shaking in my hands intensified and I bit down on my lip to keep my body in check.

  I took one last breath—and then I pushed the button, capturing forever in silver and shadow the image of the Natalie-who-believed.

  The camera click sounded as loud as a shout. A ripple of warmth seemed to extend from the camera, through my fingers, through my body, and out into the room. The banked fire in my body flared and then flamed into ash. I lowered my hands and looked at Dante, who looked at Leo, who looked at me.

  Exhaustion overwhelmed me and I locked my knees so I wouldn’t fall over. In an instant, Dante was at my side, wrapping his strong arms around me and shifting so he could keep me steady. I rested my head against the hollow of his throat, grateful for the support and safety I felt in his arms.

  In the suddenly still room, Natalie asked, “So, did it work?”

  I looked down at the camera cradled against my chest. It still felt warm in my hands. “I think so. I won’t know for sure until I develop the picture.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?” A tentative smile appeared on Natalie’s face. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Me either,” I said, enjoying the heft of the camera. It was almost the same weight as the hinge to the door. I looked up at Dante. “Would you come with me?” I asked him as I stepped out of his embrace. My knees had stopped shaking, which was a good sign. “I mean, if it’s all right with Lizzy.”