The Photographer by Barbara Steiner Page A

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.
    â€œWhy, 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.”
    â€œWhat 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.”
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œWhy won’t you listen to me, Robert? Cynthia’s dead! Derrick killed her. I can’t prove it, but he did.”
    â€œI know you’re upset by this, Megan, but forget that crazy idea. You’re just hysterical.”
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œLots 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.”
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œMegan, let me take you home.” Robert tried to pull Megan to her feet.
    â€œI can’t just go home and do nothing.”
    â€œWhat do you want to do? Let’s go across the street and get some hot tea or coffee. Go over this story again. I