Cherry Two

Part 6

Chapter 4

Even though James still retained a small share of the Cock and Fox, he didn't know the staff all that well as he never drank in there and only showed up for the occasional meal—which he paid for. The matronly Mrs. Blackwell had been gone for years and the pub saw a slow, but regular turnover of staff.

James considered taking his brother-in-law, Raymond, along for some security, but then thought better of it. Whatever Wallace Ward wanted to talk about, James wouldn't want Rude Raymond listening in at any level.

Wallace Ward had described himself accurately enough. A fiftyish man sat alone at a table in the lounge bar near the connecting door. The place had been spruced up and didn't look at all like the dumpy Nameth establishment where James and his late cousin first met. Ward seemed to recognize James right off. The average-looking man with short, thinning hair stood up.

"Over here, Mr. Nameth," he beckoned.

It had been raining for three days straight—a slow, miserable drizzle that soaked through everything. So far this English summer had been a far cry from that sizzling heatwave of 1984. James shook his raincoat and draped it over a chair. "Mr. Ward," he acknowledged while scrutinizing the clean-shaven man as he would one of his addicted patients. "I won't shake hands just yet. You have some convincing to do."

"Fair enough," Ward said, not sitting back down. "I think I told your wife I used to live in Staines. I know this pub from those days. The name's Wallace by the way. Allow me to order you a drink."

James dismissed the offer. "I see your research on me is incomplete. I'm not a drinker, Wallace. Maybe a coffee later. They still recognize me in here. We can just sit and talk. That is what you want?"

Ward cupped his half pint of mild with both hands and hunched over the table. A large brown envelope occupied the space next to it. "Look, if someone had called me out of the blue and said the things I said to you... I don't know if I would show up at all. Rest assured I'm not crazy, but there is something wrong with me. I know when things are going to happen—bad things—long before they do. People call it a premonition... but with me it's not like that. I can change it—prevent it from happening."

James started to feel flushed. He'd experienced those premonitions all right-twenty-five years ago—and there was jack-shit he could do about any of them. He sure as hell didn't want another one. "Then why not talk and I'll listen. Listening is a big part of my job."

"I know. When I found out you were a drug rehabilitation counselor I knew I stood a chance. This is too bizarre to pass by just anyone. I'm going to sound certifiable." Ward looked more nervous than James felt.

"Let me start by showing you something," Ward went on. "About twenty years ago my brother-in-law died and I went to live with my sister in Essex near Epping Forest. I have never married. All my family think I'm strange. So does my sister, but she at least tolerates me. In my spare time I did photography. I wasn't bad, either. Made some money on the side—weddings, that sort of thing. Not what I really wanted to do." He carefully selected an 8x10 print from the envelope that James could see held more than one.

"This is a photo I took of my sister and brother-in-law on a visit a long time ago. What do you think?" Ward slid it across in front of James.

James inhaled shakily and feigned interest in the color print. If this guy had dragged a total stranger out on a Saturday just to look at his family photos he needed serious help.

"Yes, very nice. I don't know much about photography. Very professional." He slid it back.

Ward shook his head. "No it's not. Look closer. Look at my brother-in-law."

The print slid across the table again. James squinted. He'd begun to need glasses. "Oh, I see. Maybe he's a little blurred. Not so bad, really."

"Look at Irene, my sister. She's standing right beside him. Is my sister blurred?"

"Um... no. Your sister is a nice looking young lady."

"That can't happen at 1: 250th of a second. I put it down to bad film or a camera problem. Trouble was, I'd seen it once before. Now take a look at this print. It's a big family grouping taken at a picnic. I won't bore you with names. I took it about six months after the first shot of Irene and Eric. See any problem with it?"

This time the flaw glared—obvious to anyone. "Eric" looked like he was on fire. He seemed to be emitting shafts of light, yet the photo had been taken in broad daylight beside a large stand of trees. "I took it in Epping Forest," Ward added.

James shook his head, puzzled. "The same man is blurred. Did he move?"

"No. But he did die suddenly, about a month later. Embolism of the brain."

James quickly tossed the print back at Ward as if it were hot. "Oh no! Forget it! If you're trying to—"

Ward looked annoyed at the reaction. "There, you see. You think I'm making this up. I told you I shot weddings in my spare time. This flare effect would show up randomly in group shots every now and then. It started driving me crazy. One person would be smeared like this and everyone else would be fine. Then one day, about two years ago, I did this wedding down by the river in Laleham-turned out to be the last job I did on film. I'm using a digital camera now. I hadn't even developed the shots when I heard the terrible news. The bride and groom were killed in a plane crash on their way to Barbados. It was on the TV." He slowly slid out another print along with a newspaper clipping. "This is my group shot of the wedding party."

A shiver went up James's spine as he looked at the tableau with the bride and groom front and center. The flare effect appeared stronger than ever, right in the middle of the print. He gaped at Ward open mouthed.

"Every single shot I took of the bride and groom ended up like this. That's when I knew." Ward unfolded the clipping. Under the headline: "One hundred and seven die in fatal plane crash" was printed a photo of the debris field in the Florida Everglades. An inset picture showed the bride and groom with a caption: British newlyweds perish on route to honeymoon. Ward prodded the clipping. "Needless to say I didn't take that shot."

James pressed a hand to his mouth. He wasn't totally ignorant when it came to photo fakery. He'd seen old shots restored to perfection using computer software. Why not turn it in the other direction? He didn't want to challenge Ward, but the skepticism in his face must have said it all.

Ward smiled. "You're right not to be convinced. I went into denial myself."

"Why me? Why did you single me out and poke into my background? On the phone you dared me to deny I'd had premonitions," James snapped.

"But I'm right, aren't I? You have the gift. It's not the same delivery system. You see things directly up here, through your brain, not through your eyes." Ward tapped his temple. "It's always bad though. You never see horserace winners or someone being rescued. No, it's always bad."

James started to get up and reach for his raincoat. It didn't matter what Ward had found out, he'd had enough of this mind fuck for one day. "Okay, Mr. Ward, I believe you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd rather spend my Saturday with my wife and son."

"Of course. Before you go indulge me one last time. Take a look at this print. It's an old one I made twenty-five years ago." He took the remaining photograph from the envelope and stood it on edge for James to see.

With a thud, James crashed down hard. Every ounce of blood in his body rushed to his face.

Ward raised his voice. "Well, Mr. Nameth, I must know—did she die?"

Is James dreaming this madness? Will he wake up with a jolt? Wallace Ward has suddenly awakened issues from the past James has never dared to confront. Who is this guy?

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