The Golden Spiral (28 page)

I shrugged and looked to Leo.

“The darkroom is usually open only on the weekends,” he said, “but I called Lizzy and she agreed to help us as a special favor to me.” Leo knocked on the door and stepped back. “I told her it was an emergency.”

After a few moments, I heard a bolt being thrown back and then the door swung open. A small woman stood framed in the doorway. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a man’s denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Her hands were red and weathered. Her hair was mostly hidden beneath a multicolored scarf, the patterns broken like a mosaic, though a few dark strands escaped to fall across her dark, piercing eyes.

“Elisabetta,” Leo said, grinning and opening his arms to engulf her in a hug. “It’s good to see you. Thank you for helping us.”

“For you, Leo, it’s no bother. Come in, come in,” Lizzy said, gesturing for the rest of us to follow as she pulled Leo along behind her. She launched into a fast-paced Italian monologue that barely allowed room for Leo to respond.

The three of us exchanged a glance and stepped inside. I really needed Dante to teach me Italian one of these days. 

As stark and plain as the outside of the building was, the inside was a riot of light and images. Black-and-white photographs of all sizes covered the walls, some as small as postage stamps, others taking up half the wall or more. One wall appeared to be devoted solely to portraits, a variety of emotions as individual as the faces they belonged to. It reminded me of the Dungeon’s Signature Wall—a place where you could leave your mark on the world.

Two cloth bins stood by the door, each one filled with small, card-sized pictures. Three glass shelves jutted out from the wall and held an assortment of cameras and lenses, each one tagged with a handwritten price. There was a small, antique cash register on a table with mismatched legs in the corner. A second door was almost hidden behind stacks of prints. I suspected it led to the actual darkroom. The room felt more cozy than cluttered. I loved it immediately.

“Hey, guys,” Natalie hissed, waving me and Dante over to her side while Leo and Lizzy continued their conversation. “Look at this.”

On the wall was a small, delicate print about the size of my hand. The image showed a Japanese pagoda with multilayered roofs and curling edges. The beautiful building stood by the side of a lake. A cherry tree was in bloom, and a few blossoms had been captured floating away on the breeze. The picture had been printed on what looked like rice paper, making the image look more like a watercolor than a photograph. I felt a great sense of calm as I looked at the art, and I thought that if someone could capture the feeling of a haiku, this would be what it would look like. I checked the single name printed in the corner: Dahla. Even the photographer’s name was lyrical and seemed to fit the image perfectly.

Next to the picture was a larger one, square like a window, showing a view of interlaced beams of steel, curving and twisting upward in a geometric pattern that dared the eye to follow the maze.

“What is it, do you think?” I asked Natalie.

“It’s the Eiffel Tower,” Lizzy answered, stepping up next to us. Her Italian accent had all but vanished. “My friend Angela shot this the last time she was in Paris.”

“It doesn’t look like the tower,” Natalie said, leaning closer.

“That’s because Angela stood beneath it and shot straight up. She said she felt caged in, surrounded by all that steel, and liked the idea that the only way out was through.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Dante murmured at my side.

I agreed, thinking about narrow hallways enclosed in darkness and doors that led elsewhere. Sometimes the only choice you had was to go through.

Lizzy folded her arms and looked up at Dante. “And where has Leo been hiding you?” she asked. “A man with your looks, your build—” She took a step back to appraise Dante. “Yes, Leo should have brought you by long ago. You will sit for a portrait for me.”

“Oh, no, thank you for the offer, but—” Dante started, a faint blush staining his face.

“It wasn’t an offer,” Lizzy said. Then she turned to me. “You must be Abby. Leo said you had a photography emergency.”

“Well, I don’t know that I’d call it that, exactly,” I said, feeling oddly shy around this bold woman with her declarations and unflinching gaze.

“I told Abby you could teach her how to develop film and print her own pictures,” Leo said from behind Dante.

Lizzy held my eyes. “Why are you interested in learning a lost art?” She flicked her gaze to Dante and then back to me. “Haven’t you heard? Digital is the new standard.”

I flushed a little at her tone. “Digital won’t work for the kind of pictures I want to take.”

“And what kind of pictures
do
you want?”

I looked around the room at all the various images covering the walls, from the weathered face of an old man laughing, to the wide sky stretching over a midwestern plain, to a rose resting on a table, the petals veined with shadow like wood grain. “I want pictures like these. The kind that can capture a moment, make it real, make it last. I need pictures that do more than reflect. I need pictures that are truth.”

Lizzy narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. Then she nodded. “She’ll do,” she said to Leo. “I can teach her.”

I felt like I had passed a test or a ritual. Dante slipped his arm around me, pulling me against his shoulder in a hug. Now I had to hope that Leo was right and that we could fix a point and a person in time. If we could, then we could prevent future changes, future heartbreak. Maybe we could even prevent Zo from cutting off the river.

“Come with me.” Lizzy turned on her heel, heading for the door that would lead deeper into the Darkroom’s hidden rooms. “I hope you’ve all cleared your schedules. This will take some time.”

Dante gave me one last hug and pressed a kiss to my
temple. “Have fun,” he said with a smile. “Learn what you need to. Leo and I will talk to Natalie. We’ll be ready when you are.”

“Wish me luck,” I said. As he turned away, I rested my hand on his arm and nodded to Natalie. “Be nice, okay? Don’t go overboard. I need her to believe, not be terrified.”

“Go,” Dante said gently. “We’ll be fine. I explained it to you, and you’re not terrified of me, are you?”

I let my hand linger on his gold-wrapped wrist. “Not in the slightest,” I said, lifting up on my toes so I could kiss the side of his mouth.

As I followed in Lizzy’s wake, I looked back over my shoulder to see Leo and Dante join Natalie by the wall of portraits.

“Natalie?” Dante said. “We need to talk.”

Smiling a little, I drew in a deep breath. If Dante and Leo couldn’t convince Natalie of the truth, then no one could.

Lizzy slid the door open and stepped through. She looked back at me, gesturing for me to follow.

I joined Lizzy in the darkness beyond the door.

***

“I’ll show you the process with one of my own pictures first,” Lizzy said while we walked in the dark hallway. “Then you can try it with one of yours.”

I rubbed at my arms, unsettled by the closeness of the walls, the shadows thick and heavy with the smell of chemicals. We turned once, then once more, the black hallway making two ninety-degree turns before releasing us into a small room lit with a soft white light. A row of metal sinks ran along one wall with an assortment of jugs and jars lined up on a shelf directly above. Posted on the wall was a chart divided into a grid, each small box filled with either the brand and type of film or a specific time.

The room reminded me of a laboratory: neat, clean, orderly, and with a peculiar smell that made me think of metal and disinfectant.

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.