The Collection
written by:
PennLady

The Collection © 2011 All Right Reserved

"You look gorgeous, baby." Mark Peterson smiled at her and clicked the shutter on the camera. "Turn a little, look at me over your shoulder. Perfect."

Chloe gave a self-conscious giggle as she followed his directions. "This is fun, but I feel pretty silly."

"You shouldn't," he assured her as the camera clicked again. "You're beautiful."

She was, there was no denying it. Her wavy blond hair sparkled in the soft lighting, and her big, baby blue eyes were her best facial feature. Not that her lips were far behind—they were soft, warm, and a rosy shade of pink that needed no lipstick enhancement. Mark thought she was the loveliest woman he'd ever seen.

As a photographer by trade, he'd of course wanted to take her picture. She'd laughed at him at first, but after a while, she'd given in and gotten used to it when he pulled his camera out. There was the Canon SLR that he used for work, and a smaller, point-and-shoot Nikon that he carried in his pocket. He always had at least one of them with him if not both, so he was never at a loss should an opportunity arise.

He'd taken her picture as they took walks downtown, or in the park, where he could capture her among the changing leaves. He snapped shots when she was working, when she was cooking.

"Why?" she'd asked.

"Because you're beautiful, and I want to immortalize you," he'd said, and she'd rolled her eyes at the exaggeration.

Chloe had gotten used to the pictures, but had balked a bit when he'd suggested something a bit more intimate as they ate dinner at his place on Tuesday night.

"It'll just be us, Chloe." He tried to convince her, using all the methods at his disposal, which included nuzzling the soft spot under her ear. "Tell you what. I have an old camera I use sometimes. It's not digital. They won't be on a jump drive and I won't scan them. I'll even develop them myself in my darkroom here." His fingers trailed up her side until his hand curved around her breast. He kissed her neck again and she sighed.

"I don't know ...."

"Come on, baby. There's nothing to be ashamed of." Mark threaded his fingers in her hair and tugged gently so that she looked up at him. "You have the prettiest, softest skin." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder to emphasize his point. "Your breasts are the perfect size, and the way your waist curves in just a little before your hips ... men dream of a figure like that."

"Mark, you are so full of it." She laughed.

"No, I'm not, Chloe." He stopped his caresses and looked down at her. Her eyes widened; he knew she recognized how serious he was. It was frustrating when she resisted like this. "Please, don't ever say that. I think you're gorgeous, and I want to capture that, capture you, on film. Then I'll have you always."

"Oh, you ... you say the most wonderful things." Chloe smiled, and he relaxed; it was like having an angel beam down on him. "But the pictures stay with us, right? I mean it when I say I don't want them going on the computer. I don't mind if you see them, but that's all."

"No problem." He pressed her closer and dropped kisses on her forehead, her cheek, and then at last, her supple, rosy lips.

They'd had to wait until the weekend, but Mark was patient. It was part of the nature of photography, waiting until things fell into place, until the lighting was right, until he found the perfect composition for his shot. He was pleased to use his old Nikon F again; with everything digital now, he only brought it out for special occasions. Chloe DeLauro, he thought, would be exquisite when he developed the pictures.

He'd planned to shoot the pictures in black and white. It would be classier than color, he thought, more glamorous. Chloe would look like a movie star from Hollywood's golden age; he could see it in his mind's eye. She'd put Veronica Lake and the others to shame.

It had all worked out. Chloe lay on his bed, on her side, looking back at him. Her blond hair drifted over her shoulder in the back, and grazed the top of her breasts in the front. He could never get enough of running his fingers through her hair. The lights were down, and a candelabra to the side of the bed threw intriguing shadows over Chloe's body.

She'd even gone for wearing the lingerie. Most guys, Mark supposed, would have wanted her in some baby-doll nightie, or some foofy teddy with fur trim. No, that wasn't Chloe, he thought. She needed something to show she was a woman, but nothing as serious as black or even red. She wore a satin gown in a royal blue that brought out her eyes, which she'd touched up with some mascara and eyeliner at his suggestion. Ruby red lipstick made her full lips hard to resist.

One spaghetti strap had fallen off her shoulder to reveal the swell of her breast.

Mark had to stop and take a deep breath before continuing. Having Chloe here, all his like this, had an effect on his body that he couldn't and didn't want to stop. He wanted her, all of her, but he wanted a few other things first.

"Pull it up a little, sweetheart." Mark clicked again and checked his picture count. He'd need new film soon.

"What?"

"The nightgown, baby." He smiled. "Pull it up a little, show me your legs."

"Well ... okay ...." Chloe reached down and began bunching the material under her fingers, revealing a trim ankle, then the smooth skin of her calf.

Mark sucked in a sharp breath; Chloe had great legs. The contrast of the dark material against her pale skin was enchanting. He snapped a few more pictures, encouraging her all the while to continue raising the hem of the nightgown. She slid it up her calf, over her knee, and stopped a bit past mid-thigh.

"Come on, you can raise it higher." Mark stood and walked over to the dresser, where he'd laid out his lenses and rolls of film.

"Any higher and it'll be indecent." Chloe laughed.

"There's nothing indecent about you. It's just us, Chloe. I told you."

"I know, I've just never done anything like this before. I was in college before I got to the point of not hiding when someone took a picture." She blushed a little and looked away. She would be thirty next month and she was still uncomfortable with pictures sometimes.

"That's crazy." He unscrewed one lens, studied the selection, and chose another. "You could be a model." He rewound the film, opened the camera and took it out, then inserted up a fresh roll and threaded it around the spool.

"Oh, hardly." She laughed. "Thanks, but no, I'm a little too short and a lot not thin enough. You're sweet to say so, though."

"I'm not sweet, I'm honest." He went over to her on the bed, took her hand and brushed his lips over her palm, enjoying the flush on her cheeks and the squirm of her body as he did.

Mark stood back and checked the settings on his camera. "Go on, Chloe. Raise it a little higher."

"Mark, I don't know ...."

He winked. "Come on. Be a little naughty. No one else will know." He took another picture and captured her indecision. Her fingers curled around the hem of her nightgown, with just her index finger resting high up on her inner thigh.

Mark's mouth went dry at the idea of the finger moving a little higher. Another inch and he'd glimpse the soft, blond hair between her legs. When he looked up, he almost groaned. The right side had slid down even further, and he knew that a dusky pink nipple was on the verge of being revealed.

"You really want me to do more?" Chloe's voice was rough, and she cleared her throat.

"Whatever you want to do, gorgeous." He pressed the shutter and flashed her a grin. "It's just between you, me and the camera."

Chloe hesitated and bit her lip, and Mark thought he'd have to settle for "almost" when she moved her shoulder and shrugged the top of the nightgown down. He had to settle himself before resuming the pictures. She stared, eyes never leaving him as he took a step back, a step forward, then back again. Her nipple hardened in the cool air, and he glanced down to see her moving the satin further up her legs.

"Other side," he murmured.

Chloe looked puzzled for a moment, then sat up. With her gaze fixed on him, she hooked a finger under the thin strap on her other shoulder and moved it down. Mark caught it all with the camera as a second perfect breast came into view.

"Beautiful," he said. "Remember, whatever you want to do."

Chloe averted her gaze for a moment, looking off to one side, and brushed her fingers over her breasts and then her nipples. Mark was stunned enough to skip a beat in his clicking; he'd never expected she'd do that. It had been hard enough to convince her to pose in the nightgown.

"More?" she asked, her voice thin and breathless.

"Always." He smiled at her.

She leaned back on one elbow and hitched the nightgown up to her hips. Mark felt his cock jump in his jeans, but controlled his desire. Not yet, he thought. Chloe could give him more.

This time with her eyes closed, she lay back on the pillows and parted her legs, just enough for him to see the silky blond curls he knew were there. Her eyes opened, saw him, and closed again.

"It's okay, Chloe. You can if you want."

"I can what?"

Mark gave in a little and brushed the back of his hand along her breast and over her nipple and she shivered. "You're excited, Chloe. That's great, because I am, too. And I'd be even more excited if you'd touch yourself." He took one of her hands and moved it between her legs. "Down here."

Her hand hesitated, even shook a little, as Mark let go and took the camera in hand again. He hissed out a breath as her legs parted a little more and one finger, then two, slid down over the folds of skin he knew had to be slick with excitement. She bit her lip and her hips undulated on the bed as she continued to tease herself. He clicked the shutter, advanced the film, and moved back for another shot; this time he was enthralled as her free hand moved up and she stroked her left breast, circling the nipple for a moment and then rolling the hard peak between her thumb and index finger.

"Jesus, Chloe, don't stop." His voice was rough.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Chloe let out a short, breathless laugh. "It feels very ... naughty."

"It's not. It's just a woman enjoying her body, and a man enjoying her as she does." Click. Whirr.

Mark was transfixed as Chloe continued, holding his breath as one finger disappeared inside her sex. He swallowed and took another picture, unsure how long he'd be able to wait before joining her in the bed.

"Keep going, sweetheart. I want you to come for me."

"Mark, I—"

"It's all right." His voice was low and soothing. "Remember, it's just us."

Chloe nodded, her eyes still shut, and gasped as her fingers flicked over the sensitive part of her sex. Her hips jerked when she did it again. She moved her free hand to her right breast and toyed with the nipple, moaning as she did. Mark watched as her hand moved faster and then her body froze, her hips arched off the bed, and she let out a soft cry of release.

Click. Whirr.

"Okay, that's ... enough pictures." Chloe opened her eyes. One hand rested on her chest; Mark watched her breasts rise and fall as her breathing returned to normal. "I'd like you to join me here." She patted the bed beside her.

"Don't need to ask me twice." Mark smiled and set down the camera, then took off his t-shirt and jeans. He stretched on the bed next to Chloe, savoring her heavy-lidded eyes and her flushed skin. "That was the sexiest thing I have ever seen."

"I still can't believe I did it."

"You did." Mark slid his arms around her and pressed his body against hers, groaning as her heated skin touched his. His cock was rock hard as it rubbed against her abdomen. Thoughts of how it would feel inside her made him grit his teeth and reach for control.

"Kiss me, Mark. Please."

He did, wasting no time with tender kisses and instead crushing his lips to hers. She whimpered and rocked against him, her lips opening with no hesitation as his tongue plunged inside. She was his and he wanted to prove it to both of them. They fit so well; they laughed and played together, and even their arguments never lasted long.

His hands roamed her body, touching all the skin he'd so recently committed to film. He memorized the curve of her hips, the indent of her waist, and the wetness of her sex as he cupped her. When he drove a finger inside, Chloe only cried out in pleasure and bucked against him.

"Now, Mark. Please, I want you inside me."

Mark shifted so that he was over her. Chloe's legs wrapped around him as he thrust inside. God, she was so wet, and she fit him like a velvet glove. She was perfect. When her body began to tense with an impending orgasm, Mark knew he wouldn't last. She tightened around him and he felt his own orgasm begin to build and he increased his pace, almost driven mad by the wet friction of their bodies.

Chloe cried out and gripped him both inside and out as she came, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she gasped out his name.

"Chloe, oh God, Chloe ...." He thrust in one last time as though he could meld their bodies into one and gave in to his release.

Later, she curled up against him in the bed as they began drifting off to sleep. "Oh, Chloe, you're so beautiful."

She smiled and laughed, but it turned into a yawn. "Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

"I don't want anyone else, you know." He wrapped an arm around her waist and lined up his body behind hers. "We belong together."

"That's sweet." Chloe murmured something else but it was lost as she fell asleep.

Mark smiled and nestled against her.

x-x-x-x

Two weeks later, Mark whistled to himself as he looked through some prints. Things were going great with Chloe, and with work. His agent was working on a deal for a book about the American Badlands. Mark would take the pictures as he toured the area with a travel writer. It might not be bad, he thought, to work with someone. He tended to work alone, but he wouldn't turn down a decent paying job. Halloween was also approaching and he was looking forward to getting some pictures around town; he enjoyed seeing all the decorations, and hadn't had a chance to look around yet this year.

He was still whistling when his business phone rang. He reached over and answered without looking at the display.

"Hello. Mark Peterson."

"Mark, it's Chloe."

"Well, hey there, gorgeous." He stepped away from the table to give her his full attention and smiled. "I was hoping it was you."

"Are you busy?"

"Just looking over some prints, but nothing pressing. What's up?"

"I have some news, and I was hoping we could meet up somewhere to talk about it." She sounded a little unsure, but also excited.

"Sure, baby. Is everything okay?"

"Yes. Yes, really. It's just a little unexpected, but not bad."

"How about we meet at Myrna's?" he suggested. Myrna's was where they'd had their first cup of coffee. They'd dodged inside when a downpour had started with no warning, and after their drinks, had shared their first kiss.

"All right. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"See you then, sweetheart."

Mark puzzled over what Chloe's news would be, and then it came to him—she wanted to tell him she loved him. What better place for that than Myrna's, which held so many memories? It was there he'd first known they were meant to be together, so it would be the perfect place for her to tell him.

He'd loved her from that first kiss, but had waited a couple of weeks before telling her. She hadn't said it back, but he was patient. He laughed as he shuffled the prints into an envelope and turned off the light. He couldn't have asked for anything better than this.

Unless Chloe was pregnant. That stopped him, but only for a moment, and a huge grin swept over his face. He shouldn't wish for too much, he knew, but such a thing was only more proof that they were meant for each other. Surely, if they had created a life together, it was another indication—the most important one—that they were destined to be together.

He sang along with the radio as he drove into town and smiled as he found a spot on the same block as Myrna's. A good omen, he thought. It was a gorgeous autumn afternoon, cool with a crisp breeze. When he walked in, the dented bell clanking to announce his arrival, he saw Chloe had already arrived. She looked up and smiled, then gestured to the empty seat.

Mark smiled; she'd ordered his coffee for him. Hazelnut, no doubt, with a dash of cinnamon on top. Just how he liked it.

"Hey, baby." He leaned down to kiss her before taking his seat. "You look like you're about to explode."

"Well, not that bad, I hope." Chloe laughed and took a sip of her drink.

"You didn't get coffee?" Mark asked. Chloe's usual was a double espresso, but he could tell by the aroma she'd gone for something else.

"No. I didn't want the caffeine."

"You must be pretty wired." Mark kept his voice even, but inside the spark of hope for a child burned brighter.

"I am. Oh, Mark. This is ... I totally didn't expect it." She reached over and squeezed his hand.

He laughed and squeezed back. "Well, tell me, then. Or should I guess?"

"No, you won't. I never would have." Chloe took another sip, then put her cup down. She flattened her hands on the table and took a deep breath. "I got a promotion."

"Chloe, that's fantastic." He rose up from his chair so he could kiss her again, trying to ignore the small sting of disappointment. "You work hard, angel. You deserve it."

"I didn't even know they were considering me. It was so out of the blue. When Mr. Richards called me into his office, I'm serious, I thought he was going to fire me." She glanced up at him and took a shaky breath.

Mark's disappointment evaporated as he noted her trembling hands. It was silly of him to be disappointed when Chloe needed his support. It was a comfort, he realized, that she did. He was the first person she'd chosen to tell, yet another affirmation of their closeness.

"Well, he didn't, did he?" Mark smiled. "Now, tell me more. What have you been promoted to?"

"Regional manager. That's the other thing." She took his hand in hers and dropped her eyes before looking up again. "The position is in New York. I'll be leaving next week."

"Leaving?" Mark was shocked. "You're leaving me?"

"No, sweetie, no." Chloe grasped his hand. "Well, physically, yes, for a while. I have to. That's where the position is. But it's not that bad. There are shuttles almost every hour."

"I can't believe you'd go." He pressed his lips together. How could she do this to him? "Why can't you, I don't know, telecommute or something?"

"I would if I could, but they need someone on site, Mark. Please, I thought you'd be happy for me." She gave him a pleading look.

"I am, Chloe, but how happy can I be when you're going to leave me? In a week!" He gritted his teeth to keep his voice down.

Chloe looked startled and released his hand. "It's a surprise to me, too. I had no idea, I told you. But I can't turn this down. It's important to me, Mark. You know how hard I work."

"Why can't they promote you here and move someone else to New York?" He glared.

Chloe glared back. "Because it doesn't work that way. I can't believe you're doing this. I thought you'd be happy for me. You keep saying you love me, and the first time something difficult comes up, you're angry and blaming me. If you're going to be like that, then I think we should end everything right now."

"What? No, Chloe." Mark realized he was on the verge of losing her. "Please, I didn't mean it. It just took me off guard. Please, baby." He reached out and took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. "Chloe, I'm sorry."

She was silent for a few moments. "I'm going to take the job."

"Of course you are, sweetie. Like I said, I was just surprised. Listen, tell you what." Mark smiled; he'd had an idea in that short pause. After she relaxed, he continued. "I'd like to spend what time I can with you this week, but I know—" He put a finger over her lips as she made to speak. "I know we're both busy. So let's pick a night, just one night, where we can be together. There's somewhere I want to take you, somewhere special, and I want to get your picture there."

Chloe considered. "All right. What about Friday, after work? I'll be leaving early."

"Friday would be perfect. Look, Chloe." He ran a finger down her cheek. "I really am sorry, honey. It just wasn't what I expected to hear."

"I know." She sighed. "I'm on edge, too. Thank you, though, Mark. This means a lot to me, that you're happy for me. Maybe we can even get together before Friday, but definitely then, all right?"

"Of course, sweetie."

x-x-x-x

The next few days passed in a blur, as Mark tried to keep his mind on his work but was distracted by Chloe.

How could she do this? He wondered. Anger flared up every time he thought about it, but cooled down when he reminded himself about Friday. Friday was Halloween, but he didn't care about that anymore. His thoughts centered on Chloe. He would take Chloe to his favorite spot, they would talk and eat a picnic dinner, and he'd try once more to convince her to stay. If she refused, well, there was another option.

On Friday, he was set. He had his Canon SLR and all its accessories. For their picnic dinner, he'd gone to a restaurant that also catered, and had ordered a basketful of his and Chloe's favorite foods. Fried chicken, red potato salad, the brownies she so loved that were stocked with chocolate chunks. For appetizers there were grapes, cheese, crackers and wine.

Mark took the prepared basket and laid it in his trunk along with the Canon SLR in its bag. He closed the trunk, then went to the car and placed his old 4X5 Speed Graphic in its protective case behind the passenger seat. It was a boxy, old fashioned camera that only shot one picture at a time.

He'd found the old camera at a pawn shop, and had snapped it up, not even arguing about the price. If the fool of an owner didn't realize it was worth twice the fifty dollars he was charging, Mark had no desire to disillusion him. It was a 1941 Anniversary Speed Graphic, a model heavily used by the press through the fifties. The lack of chrome indicated a model made during World War II, but the bellows, the tracks and the solid wire frame viewfinder were in perfect condition. The camera was slow, taking only one picture at a time and requiring the photographer to put a fresh film sheet in every time.

He wasn't sure he'd need it, but he believed in being prepared, and the results were worth the effort.

Chloe was waiting for him as he pulled up outside her office, and he smiled as she walked over. She looked a little frazzled, he noticed, and was glad she'd been able to leave early. It would be good for her, for them, to get away.

He asked her about her day, and she obliged as they drove. He put on some music, a CD he'd made of their favorite songs, and the music provided a soothing alternative to her harried account. By the time they'd arrived, Chloe had relaxed.

"Where are we?" she asked as she stepped out of the car. "Is this someone's farm?"

"Mine, actually." He took his camera out, then popped the trunk.

"Yours? I didn't know you had a farm."

"Well, it's mine because I own it, but I don't keep it or tend it or whatever. I have tenants who do that. I'm not the farming type. I inherited it and couldn't bring myself to sell."

Chloe looked around at the lush green fields; the horizon looked forever away. "It's gorgeous, Mark."

"Thank you. I do like to come here from time to time. It calms me, you know. And the view; I can't wait to show you the view."

"Would you like me to carry something?"

"No, I've got it."

Mark led her towards the farm house that stood back from the driveway, but turned to follow a path to his right when they were still some yards away. Chloe followed him behind the house and across a field, the land rolling in gentle hills until they came to a stream. There were a few trees, and Mark spread their picnic blanket out underneath an old oak. The sun was still up and although it was cool, it wasn't cold. A perfect mid-autumn evening.

Chloe sat down, pulled her sweater a little tighter and smiled up at him. "This is very romantic. Thank you, Mark."

"Anything for you, gorgeous." He knelt down and kissed her, pushing her back on the blanket. He caught the faint taste of her strawberry lip gloss, and sighed to himself. After a moment, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers. "Come on, let's eat." He dropped a quick kiss on her nose, then took her hand and pulled her up.

They started with the grapes, cheese and wine, and the conversation revolved around small things like movies and music. Mark waited until they'd moved on to dinner before moving on to her promotion.

"Are you sure you want to leave, Chloe?"

"Yes." She nodded and missed his flash of anger at the quick answer. "I thought about it a lot these last few days. I mean, I've been here a while, and there are so many things I love about it." Chloe smiled at him, and he returned it, though it was forced. "But this is a chance I can't miss. I need to go. I'm sad, but I'm so looking forward to doing something new."

"I'd hoped I could convince you to stay." Mark couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. "I love you, Chloe. Isn't that enough?"

"Mark, you say that, but we've been going out for barely eight weeks. I don't know how you could know if you love me."

"I do. I know it. Some people fall in love right away." He snapped his fingers. "And some don't realize it for months. I can't help how I feel, Chloe."

"I know that." Her voice was gentle, but apprehensive. "And I'm flattered. But I can't tell you the same thing, because I don't know if it's true. Maybe this promotion is a blessing in disguise for us. If I do this, then we can see where we are in a few months. If we're meant to be, then some time won't matter."

"I don't need time." Mark gritted his teeth. "I know how I feel."

"Please, let's not fight," Chloe pleaded. "It's so beautiful here. Let's just enjoy ourselves."

"All right." Mark forced himself to smile, pushing his anger down deep.

They finished the meal, and as the sun began to set, Mark urged Chloe to go with him a little further on. At the top of a small hill, he sat her by a large, smooth boulder, and pulled out his Canon SLR. He almost forgot his fury as she posed for him, but when he finished and they returned to the car, it began to simmer once more.

"Thank you, Mark. This was lovely." Chloe smiled, then stood on tip toe and kissed his cheek.

"You're welcome. I wanted to do something special before you left."

"This was perfect."

"I was hoping it would be enough to get you to stay, but you're not, so I guess it's not quite perfect." He gave a rueful shrug.

Chloe bit her lip and got in the car, and Mark drove her back to her apartment.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I'd stay longer, but I have more packing to do." She kissed him, a reminder of promises never to be, before she got out of the car.

Mark watched her go, then drove off, turning left at the corner to go around behind the four-story building. He parked, turned off his lights and looked up. He found Chloe's apartment; it was on the third-floor, facing the parking lot. The light came on and he saw two figures; her roommate was there.

He turned around and pulled the old 4X5 Speed Graphic out. The lens slid silently out along the short silver track, and he locked it in place on the bed. He dragged his fingers along the accordion pleats of the bellows, pleased once again he'd picked up this old camera.

Pointing the camera at the rear exit door, which was well-lit by the bright security lights on either side, he adjusted the focus. When he was satisfied, he inserted the film cartridge and attached the flash. That was the only risky part, but he doubted anyone would notice. They never seemed to before. He was more concerned with the film sheet; this would be a one-shot deal.

He waited, and it was less than half an hour before Chloe came out of the building with her roommate. Tanya was a slim, pretty Latina that Mark had also considered as a model. However, once he'd met Chloe, thoughts of anyone else flew from his head. Chloe was the only one he'd wanted.

The women walked over to Tanya's car, which was parked to the right of the door, and Tanya rooted through her purse. She shook her head, said something to Chloe, and went back inside.

Perfect. Mark grinned. Better than perfect. He aimed the camera at Chloe and waited until she turned in his direction. There was a click and a flash, and he set the camera on the seat next to him. He'd develop the picture tomorrow and add it to his collection.

He felt giddy and a little impatient; perhaps he'd do it when he got home.

x-x-x-x

The picture had turned out to be exquisite, as Mark knew it would. This one he intended to frame and add to the collection in the back room. Perhaps he'd devote a portion of a wall to Chloe, he thought. He could hang the pictures he'd taken in the park, at the farm in front of his favorite view, and the one from the Speed Graphic.

The pictures he'd taken of Chloe with the Nikon F had turned out better than he'd hoped. With the soft lighting and the black and white film, she could have been a contemporary of Lauren Bacall or Jean Simmons.

However, he doubted Bacall or Simmons had ever posed for the type of pictures he'd taken of Chloe in the blue gown. Those had gone into a special album. He took the album out and sat down.

She was mouth-wateringly beautiful, and the photos were the most erotic he'd ever taken. He set the album on the counter and undid his jeans. He turned the pages of the album with one hand and stroked his aching cock with the other. He groaned as he saw Chloe expose herself to him, a little bit at a time. The pre-cum served as a lubricant as his hand moved faster.

There she was with a hand on her breast, and there with a finger between her legs. The hand turning the pages shook as he watched her bring herself closer and closer to orgasm. When he reached the final picture and saw the ecstasy on her face, he couldn't hold back. He came with a growl, making sure not to soil the pictures.

For a moment he stood there, panting. When he'd recovered himself, he reached for a cloth to clean up.

Chloe was so beautiful, he thought. He looked forward to hanging up her pictures.

x-x-x-x

The next October

Melanie Salkind looked over the Halloween costumes. She wanted something fun, something sexy. However, all she kept finding was goofy and slutty. She rejected the pirate wench, the sexy witch and the cheerleader outfit that looked like it would appeal to pedophiles. There had to be something, she thought. It had been so much easier to choose a costume when she'd been younger. At thirty-two, it was more difficult. She reminded herself to relax; she had three weeks.

"I don't mind showing a little skin," she murmured to herself as she sorted through the rack. "But I'd like to do with a little bit of class." There was always the harem girl/belly dancer costume, she thought. Her sister had one of those and would lend it to her. She decided to keep that as a last resort.

"Nothing, huh?" The cashier asked. She was a young girl, around twenty-one, with long brown hair and a flowery dress. Melanie guessed the girl was going for some neo-sixties or -seventies look, or maybe retro. Hard to tell.

"No." Melanie sighed and walked over to the register. "Thanks, though. It's just not quite what I want."

The girl leaned over the counter and jerked her head to the side. "See that guy over there?"

Melanie looked over in the direction indicated and nodded in approval. The man was looking at some picture frames, of which the thrift store had a good selection. She stared for a moment, then turned her attention back to the cashier.

"I do. He's not bad at all."

"He gives me the creeps." The girl frowned and shook her head. "He's just been hanging here every week or so and I don't know why."

"Has he done anything?" Melanie began to feel concerned. "Maybe you should tell your manager, or call the cops."

"No, he hasn't." The girl sat on her stool. "I don't know, maybe it's just me, but I have a pretty good sense of that. I can see his aura, you know? And it's kind of fractured."

Of course she could see auras, Melanie thought, but didn't say anything. The girl had been helpful, checking the back for any more costumes while Melanie had shopped.

"He looks harmless enough," Melanie said. If a man close to six feet tall, with wavy brown hair a body like that could be called "harmless." She laughed to herself. "I'm going to take one more look through the costumes, okay?"

"Sure." The girl shrugged and went back to her sudoku book.

Melanie went back to the rack, not expecting to find anything in her third go-round. She did, however, want to keep an eye on Mr. Dangerous. Maybe she could stay until he left and the cashier would feel better. She flipped through the clothes, glancing up every so often and then made a decision.

She strode over to the man, brushing black curls away from her face. "Excuse me."

He looked at her in surprise. "Yes?"

Melanie crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you're scaring the woman over there." She tilted her head toward the cashier.

"I am?" He studied Melanie for a moment. "Well, I have to say I had no intention of doing that."

"She says you're here frequently."

The man shrugged, and Melanie liked the way his shoulders moved under his leather jacket. "I'm a photographer and I look for interesting things to shoot. I'm working on a project now and I'm going to need some props. This place gets in some unique stock, so I keep checking."

"A photographer?" Melanie allowed herself a smile. "That seems harmless enough."

He smiled back. "I assure you, I'm quite harmless. How about I prove it by taking you for some coffee across the street?"

"How does that prove you're harmless?" Melanie couldn't hide a laugh.

"Well, surely if I was dangerous, I'd suggest meeting in some dark alley at night." When she continued to study him, he continued, "I'm thirty-five and own my own business. I went to Penn State and have never been arrested, although I did get one speeding ticket last year, which I paid in full, on time."

"All right, Mr. Photographer, I'll take a chance." Melanie held out her hand. "I'm Melanie Salkind."

"Mark Peterson."

Melanie liked the feel of his hand; they were strong and a little rough. He had the hint of a five o'clock shadow on a strong jaw, and his eyes were a soft brown.

"Well, Mark Peterson, I think you can take me for coffee."

They walked across the street and into the café. Mark held her chair for her as they sat at a small table and ordered their coffees.

"So what brought you into the shop?" Mark asked.

"Halloween." Melanie sipped at her drink, savoring the warmth. Even the short walk across the street had chilled her. "I was looking for a costume for a party. Hard to find anything, though."

"Why's that?"

Melanie drank some more, wondering how much to say, then shrugged. "Everything I find is either too revealing, or too conservative. I don't mind showing off a little, but I don't need to be some pervert's juvenile fantasy."

Mark laughed. "I see the problem."

"You do?"

"Sure. Who wants to see a woman dressed as a girl?" He brought his cup to his lips and looked at her over the rim. "I'd rather see a woman dressed as a woman."

"Would you now?" A smile played on Melanie's lips. "Is there a costume you'd recommend?"

"Tell you what." Mark leaned forward. "Do you have any costumes in mind?"

"I have a couple," she admitted. "My sister would lend me a harem-girl-type outfit, and I have something from a couple of years ago."

"How about this: you bring your costumes to my studio, and I'll photograph you in them. For free. Then you can decide which you like better."

Melanie raised an eyebrow. "And you would do this because?"

"I like taking pictures, I like beautiful women, and if I can combine the two, I count myself lucky." He winked and sat back.

"You don't want anything in return?" Melanie found that hard to believe.

"No. Or at least, nothing you don't want to give." He reached into a pocket and pulled out his business card. "Here, this is my name, number and the address of my studio. Call me if you want, and feel free to give the information to a friend. I mean it: I'm not dangerous."

"You certainly don't seem to be."

x-x-x-x

Mark whistled as he set up the lights for Melanie's visit. She was gorgeous and he couldn't wait to get her on film. That riot of curls that went just to her shoulders would look amazing in the right light. Her bright green eyes and button nose gave her an air of both mystery and mischief.

Things had been good for the last couple of months, he thought. His collection had grown since Chloe, but he was still frustrated. He didn't understand why every woman he met and loved decided to leave. With Eva, the final straw had come when she'd refused to move in with him, even after he'd shared his favorite view with her.

So what if it had been only two months? How could she not see how well they fit together? The irony had not been lost on him; by remaining where she was, she'd left him.

After taking her final picture with the trusty 4x5 Speed Graphic, he'd felt much better. She had looked like an angel in the photos he'd taken. As he'd looked over the pictures, the release he'd experienced had been sweeter than with the others, such as Chloe.

He'd come to terms with what had happened before with the others. It wasn't his fault. He just had a soft heart, he was willing to love.

His thoughts drifted back to Melanie, and when she knocked on the door, he was ready.

"Hi, Melanie. Come on in." He held the door open for her.

"Thanks." She smiled as she stepped in and waited for him to close the door. "I hope I'm not too early."

"No, no, you're fine. Please, this way." He held out a hand and she preceded him down the hall and into the studio."

"I'm glad you decided to come," he told her. "Now, I can offer you a choice of digital or film shots."

"Really? Film?" She laughed. "I didn't know anyone still used it."

He shrugged. "I enjoy keeping in practice. There's something satisfying about taking a picture through the development process myself."

"I can see that." Melanie nodded. "I like to bake, myself, as a hobby. It's definitely a good feeling to see something turn out after you've put the effort into it."

Mark was pleased; she was a kindred spirit, he was sure. Someone who appreciated doing something by hand, and not handing it all to the computer. Or in her case, he supposed, a boxed mix.

"Have you decided on your costume?" Mark asked.

"I brought the all-purpose Middle Eastern dancer, and the very unoriginal Marilyn Monroe."

"From The Seven Year Itch or Gentlemen Prefer Blondes?"

Melanie patted his arm and a warm feeling spread through him. "A classic movie fan, I see. As I said, unoriginal, so yes, the white dress from The Seven Year Itch. I don't have the figure for it, but it is Halloween after all. I'm not trying to impersonate her."

"I think you have a fine figure." Mark put his hands on her shoulders and held her back, studying her build. She was tall and lithe where Monroe had been buxom and curvy. It wasn't a bad figure, not at all; just not Marilyn's figure.

"Thank you. Now, to your original question, as nice as film might be, why don't you use your digital camera? I'd hate for you to waste your supplies since you're not charging me. And I'll admit I'm impatient to see the results."

"That sounds fine. You can change just over there." Mark gestured towards a tall screen that blocked off one corner of the room.

"Sure. Oh, what's this?" Melanie stopped at the table where he'd laid out his cameras and lenses. "Wow, this must be an antique!"

Mark felt his heart trip as she ran a finger over the top of the 4X5 Speed Graphic. It was all he could do not to rip it away. He fought for a deep breath and made himself sound relaxed. "Yes, it was manufactured in 1941. A real workhorse camera; it was a popular model for quite a while, starting in the 1930s."

"Does it still work?" Melanie removed her hand and the tightness in Mark's chest eased a bit, but she leaned down to get a closer look.

"It does." He tried not to sound curt, and cleared his throat. "Whenever you're ready, let me know."

"Oh, sure, sorry." Melanie smiled. "My mom was a camera buff, and I know she'd have appreciated that." She went behind the screen.

Mark waited a moment to be sure she was changing, then took the old camera off the table and put it in a closet. No one could touch it except him.

Melanie came out in the white Marilyn dress and white heels, looking not much like the former movie star. Mark stopped and stared; with her golden skin, the white dress made her look like an exotic princess. She laughed as she cupped the bosom of the dress, breaking him out of his thoughts. "God, I don't come close to filling this out. If I wear this, I'm going to need socks, or a push-up bra. I should have brought one. I'm not even sure it's worth taking pictures."

"Sure it is." Mark picked up his Canon SLR and selected a lens. "It won't hurt and we can always delete them."

"All right then. Might as well since I've put it on." Melanie looked around. "What should I do?"

"Stand right over here." He guided her to the center of the room. "Why don't we just start with you standing there. Then you can move as you like."

"All right. Shoot." Melanie drew her shoulders back and smiled, scrunching up her nose a little for effect. Mark chuckled and clicked the shutter.

After a few minutes, Melanie was more relaxed and began to have fun. She imitated Marilyn's pose over the steam grate, sans the updraft. She put her hands to her cheeks and widened her eyes, playing the startled ingénue. She glanced back over her shoulder with a coy smile, now the seductress. At last she shook her head.

"I think that's enough of those. Why don't I put on the other one?"

"Sure, go on." Mark nodded. "There's some water back there, help yourself."

"Oh, thanks. That sounds great."

"Would you like some wine? I don't usually drink while I shoot, but you're welcome to have some."

"That'd be great. White or red is fine with me."

Mark found a bottle of Australian Shiraz and opened it as he waited for Melanie. He heard her cursing the costume and laughed to himself. When she stepped out, the laughter died off.

She was gorgeous. Any male who had ever dreamed of a female genie had dreamed of Melanie. A mesh veil trimmed in sequins covered the lower half of her face, and a gold headband sat in her hair. The bikini-type top was light green, finished with the same sequins as the veil, and the costume showed off her long torso. The silky pants were gold and had slits on the side, revealing flashes of smooth, toned leg. She'd added some black eyeliner to highlight her eyes, and her lips were dark red, matching the wine.

"Melanie, you're gorgeous." Mark shook his head as though to clear it. "Pictures won't do you justice."

"Mark, you're quite the flatterer." She smiled and wiggled her hips. "I like it."

"I don't flatter, I promise. I'm simply honest." He raised the camera and began taking pictures.

x-x-x-x

Melanie was enjoying herself. She was more flirty than usual, even before the wine, but she couldn't help it. Mark was as handsome as any man she'd ever met, and more courteous than nearly all of them. He did nothing to make her feel uncomfortable, and she had to admit she was tempted to break her own rule of no sex on the first date.

This wasn't a date, though, she thought, and so she wouldn't be breaking any rules. She chastised herself, to no avail.

"That is a sexy costume," Mark said as he took a few steps to one side.

Melanie lowered her gaze to the floor, then looked up at him from under her lashes. "Thanks. I always think something that doesn't give it all away is sexier, don't you? It leaves a little mystery."

"I do like a mystery."

She knelt down, making the slits in the pants widen. She didn't miss Mark's hiss of breath as she moved. It became a little game then, and she knew from his sly smile that he'd caught on. She revealed and covered various parts of her body as she posed. As she leaned forward, the top sagged a bit and gave a glimpse of her breasts. When she turned her body to one side, she knew he could see a bit of her ass. She saw him lick his lips.

Melanie took the time to appreciate his body as well. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, but the shirt clung to him, just shy of being too tight. His shoulders were broad, and his body solid. Not the body of someone who lived and died at the gym, but someone who took a little care. Whatever he did, it paid off, she thought.

They broke for a few minutes and Melanie drank her wine. They made small talk and flirted, then began a game. Melanie dared him to tell her his middle name.

He rolled his eyes and complied. "Derwood."

She tried to smother a laugh but failed. "Derwood?"

"A deep-rooted family name." He wagged a finger in admonishment. "I'm honored to have it."

"Uh huh." Melanie giggled. "All right, your turn."

"Fair's fair. Your middle name."

"Worse than Derwood. Agnes."

"Oh, that's not so bad." Mark grinned.

"I was lucky. Could have been Ursula." She took another long swallow of the strong wine. "Ursula was my great aunt, and she led quite the life."

"Did she?" Mark couldn't resist and snapped another picture.

"Oh, yes. She was scandalous. My grandmother didn't want her name to darken any kind of conversation. Why, Ursula lived with a man without the benefit of marriage!" Melanie threw her head back and laughed. "Well, I'm sure it was quite the ordeal back then. Still it seems so tame, now. Although she was a stripper, they say. You know, like Gypsy Rose Lee."

"Just how much do you take after Aunt Ursula?" Mark raised an eyebrow.

"Is this part of the game? Is this a dare?" Melanie met his gaze.

"If you'd like it to be."

Melanie decided why not. She'd brazen it out and have a little fun for once. "All right." She got up and moved to the center of the room. "Do you have any music?"

Mark nodded and turned on the old stereo he kept in the studio. He put the radio on FM and scanned the stations until he found a soft, soulful R&B tune. Melanie nodded and he raised the camera.

She waited a moment, catching the beat, then began moving her hips, thinking that one belly dancing class she'd taken might be useful now. First she took off her headband and shook out her hair, then she dropped it and undid the veil, holding it up before she dropped it to the floor. One by one, her gaze never drifting away from Mark, she discarded the pieces of her costume.

She shimmied her shoulders so that the bikini top fell off, revealing her breasts; they were on the small side but he seemed to have no objections. On impulse, she slid both hands over her breasts, then cupped them, showing off the dark pink nipples. Her hips swayed with the music as she pushed the pants down, turning so that he could see her bottom revealed an inch at a time. She stood before him in her thong and slippers, and smiled.

"That's as far as they went back then." She winked.

"Good thing we're not back then." Mark set his camera down and walked over to her, stripping off his shirt as she did. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her body against his; her hard nipples brushed his chest.

"I think I've worked myself up." She smiled and leaned in to kiss him. He smelled clean and masculine, and she ran her tongue over his lips.

"I think you've worked me up," he teased and ran a finger along the waistband of her thong. "Are we going to do anything about it?"

"Oh, I think we should." Melanie dropped her hands to his jeans and began to undo them. She pushed them down, along with his underwear, and wrapped her hands around his erect cock. "Yes, we should do something about that."

Mark groaned in response and wrapped her into his arms, keeping her against him as he lowered them both to the floor. He kicked his jeans away and worked her thong down so that nothing was between them.

Melanie gasped and then whispered encouragement as he sucked on her nipples, and forgot to breathe when his hand went between her legs. He made an approving sound and began to stroke her; she moved her hips in rhythm with his hand. When he took his hand away, she made to protest but then his mouth replaced his fingers and she bit her lip.

He flicked his tongue over and around her folds, and she was so close. She couldn't believe how arousing the posing and stripping had been. She'd done similar things before with other boyfriends but somehow with Mark it was different. Then he sucked on her and she let out a wail as she came, her body tensing as waves of pleasure rocked her until she begged him to stop.

They both took a minute to recover, and then Melanie reached down to stroke him. He rasped out his approval and rolled to his back. She ran her hands over his body, raking her nails over his skin just enough to make him tense and grind out her name. Then she took his erection in her mouth, twirling her tongue over the top before sliding up and down. He let her do it for a few minutes, then nudged at her shoulders to get her to stop.

After another moment of quiet, she swung one leg over him and lowered her body until he was all inside her.

"Oh, Mark, that is wonderful."

"You are a goddess, Melanie." He thrust his hips up and she met him, lasting only five strokes until she came again, tightening her body around him. Still he kept going. Melanie rode the feeling, coming again and urging him to do the same. When he did, he grabbed her hips and held her against him as he growled out his release.

Melanie dropped on top of him, pleased with the evening. Mark was a nice guy; she was glad she'd gone with her instincts.

x-x-x-x

"My instincts are for shit," Melanie said to herself as she walked to her car. It was Halloween, and although she wasn't much for ghouls and ghosts, something was making the hair on her neck stand up.

No, not something, she corrected herself. Someone, and that someone was Mark Peterson.

How could she have been so wrong? The photo shoot had been a lot of fun, and she'd opted to wear the harem costume to the Halloween party because of the memories it now contained. A few days later, Mark had invited her out to his farm, saying he'd wanted to share his favorite view. It had indeed been breathtaking, and she'd had just as much fun posing for him by the stream that ran through his property as she had in his studio.

Ever since then, he hadn't left her alone. He'd professed his undying love and told her they were fated to be together. For the past week, she'd been dodging phone calls, avoiding his messages, and even checking before exiting buildings to see if he was around. More than once she'd seen him lurking across the street, and every time she'd either gone back inside, or turned and gone the other way.

Her sister had advised her to call the police, and Melanie decided that if he was still doing it today, she would call them when she got home. She'd been documenting everything, a habit she had gotten from work and that would pay off when she went to the police. Mark was there all the time: when she left for work, when she finished work, when she went to the donut shop, for Christ's sake!

She saw him again as she stood at the car. She knew she shouldn't talk to him, but she was fed up; she stalked over to him.

"Mark, leave me alone. I mean it. I am calling the police tonight. I have everything documented. You are stalking me and it's illegal."

"Melanie, baby, you're wrong," he pleaded. "Please, you have to let me convince you. We're soul mates."

"Bullshit," she informed him, eyes flashing. "We were friends until you went nuts. Jesus, Mark, get a grip! Now, I mean it. I'm leaving and I don't want to see you again."

x-x-x-x

Leaving? She thought she was leaving? Mark fumed as he stomped to his car. No one left him. No one.

He pulled out the Speed Graphic and adjusted it. He watched Melanie get into her car, turn the key, and then look furious when the car didn't start. Which, since he had removed the spark plugs, it wouldn't. As she got out and made to kick the tire in frustration, he raised the camera and clicked.

Satisfied, he got in his car and drove home.

x-x-x-x

What the hell? Melanie couldn't breathe. She felt like she'd been flattened. Where the hell am I?

She was wet, and she felt smothered, but she was.

She tried to think, but she was too disoriented. She felt sick when it seemed she was shaken from side to side. She blinked and looked up, and it was like trying to see through water without wearing goggles, blurry and wavy. Vertigo swept over her as she rose through the air, even though she didn't see anything that could pick her up.

Everything seemed to bounce for a moment, and then it was still. There was a red tint to her vision, but she realized that was from the small, bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

There was a voice, thin and distant. A man. Mark. He was whistling, and then he said something about adding her to a collection. He reached up and took a photo album down from a high shelf. She watched him open it, and listened to him, his voice clearer now.

"I can't wait for you to meet the other girls." He glanced up at her. "You won't know them, but you'll recognize the view. My favorite view. Oh, Melanie." He sighed. "I feel so much better now." He smiled, but it didn't reassure her.

Mark went on. "It's just so good to know you can't lie to me anymore, none of you can. You can't run, you can't hide. But most importantly, you can't die. You're immortal now." He smiled once more and Melanie wanted to shiver. Then he turned out the light and was gone.

She had no idea how long she stayed in the dark. The next time Mark came, he took her out and put her in another room. He left the light on as he stepped out of the room. Melanie looked at the pictures on the wall; there were dozens. She didn't recognize any of the women, but fear crept over her as she saw that at least one picture of each of the others had been taken in front of the view Mark had shown her at his farm.

x-x-x-x

One year later

Tamara Kelly backed away from Mark as he advanced on her. He didn't look anything like when she'd met him a little over three weeks ago. His cheeks were unshaven, and his eyes red-rimmed. Tears streamed down his cheeks but he didn't seem to notice. He reached out to grab her but she dodged again. It was Halloween and this was way too scary for her.

"Mark, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, baby." His voice was raspy. "Please, we're meant to be together. I don't mean to scare you. Don't run away."

Tamara was at a loss. When she'd met him in the photography class that he taught, she'd thought he was terribly handsome, and so sweet. He'd made her laugh, and told her he liked her red hair and freckles. He said she made him think of Ireland, where he'd never been but where his mother's family had originated. She was thirty-one, but he'd made her feel younger.

They'd gone to dinner. She'd even dropped the class for fear of the appearance of a conflict of interest, but he had taught her on his own time. A couple of nights later, she'd slept with him, and he'd been the most attentive lover she'd ever had.

Then it had fallen apart. The very next morning, he'd tried to keep her home, not wanting her even to go to work. "Don't leave me, you can't leave me!" He'd repeated it in a monotone, like a strange mantra. She'd broken loose from his hold, pushed him, and run out the door before he could recover. Luckily her cell phone was in her pocket and she'd called the police.

With one incident, there was no restraining order, but she'd hoped just talking with the police would have knocked some sense into him. She'd been wrong.

Now he was pleading with her, verging on incoherence, saying he didn't want to take her picture but she couldn't leave him. There was no time, he babbled, to go see his favorite view. Tamara had no idea what he was talking about.

He was carrying an old camera, she saw. Not the Canon SLR he used for work, nor the old Nikon he'd brought into class one day. This was far older and looked like something one would see in an antique shop or museum.

"Mark, you have to go." She pulled out her cell phone. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, but you have to leave. I'm not angry, but I will call the cops if you don't go." She forced herself to be calm, although she wanted to scream in fear and frustration.

"No, Tammy, please, I—" He tripped and the camera flew up in the air. "No!" He cried out and tried to reach for it.

On reflex, Tamara caught it and held it to her. Mark's demeanor changed in an instant.

"Tammy, give me the camera. Please, it's dangerous. Don't touch anything, just give it to me."

She seized the opportunity. "Go outside. Leave and then I'll give it to you."

"No, I can't. Please, Tammy, you have to give it to me, or I—" He roared and charged her. Startled, her hands jerked and hit the shutter.

x-x-x-x

Mark was petrified. It was dark, so dark. He couldn't see anything, couldn't even sense anything. He didn't know how long he'd been there, or when it might end. He couldn't breathe; it felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest.

What had happened? He remembered Tammy, his beautiful red-haired Tamara. She'd been so sweet and he'd been so sure she was, at last, the one for him. Her wavy red hair and sprinkling of freckles made him feel full of sunshine every time they were together. He'd gone to see her, to convince her to stay.

He noticed things seemed lighter. He couldn't see objects but he was no longer in total darkness. There was some gray. How hard had he hit his head, he wondered, to affect this vision like this? How long had he been unconscious?

The gray began to resolve itself and he could see something, perhaps a person. Still, everything was blurry, as though he were under water and looking up. He tried to focus and at last made out Tamara. When she stepped to the side, he saw a red bulb hanging from the ceiling.

He tried to draw in a breath to scream.

x-x-x-x

Tamara waited for the picture to develop, thinking about how odd it all had been—how odd it still was.

She must have blacked out for a moment, she thought. That was the only explanation to explain Mark's leaving: he must have dodged out after she'd caught the camera. It was strange how he'd been there, looking like he was about to rip the camera from her hands, and then he had not been there.

However, if she had been unconscious, then why hadn't he taken the camera with him when he left? Why hadn't she heard from him since? Tamara had been ready to take out the restraining order on him, but the police found no trace of him.

She shrugged and turned back to the picture. She had to admit she was excited; she'd never developed film like this before, and had had to do some research to make sure she did it right. The 4X5 Speed Graphic camera was a treasure, even her novice eyes could tell that, and Mark had kept it in mint condition. When she was done here, she intended to learn more about it, and then find a reputable place and get it appraised.

The picture was now clear enough for her to make out details. She was impressed the image was so clear; he'd been rushing at her when she'd clicked the shutter by accident. While she wanted to develop the picture just for the learning process, she'd hoped there'd be something to see. Given the age of the camera, and how Mark had been in motion when she'd clicked the shutter, she'd expected nothing but a blur.

This was no blur. She smiled and almost clapped her hands together in anticipation. With tongs, she lifted it from the tray and held it up, letting the fluid drip for a moment.

There was no mistaking Mark, she mused. There was his dark hair, unruly in the picture, as though he'd run his hands through it too many times. She could see the stubble on his face and resisted the urge to run her finger over it with an effort of will. It looked so real, she thought.

Mark wore an expression of shock and fear in equal measures. His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide as he stared out from the paper. Tamara studied it for a moment more, then clipped it to the line and began cleaning up. Mark wouldn't be bothering her anymore, she was sure.

Tamara's phone rang and she checked the ID, then snorted and put it in her pocket. It was Scott, her ex. Like she wanted to deal with him right now.

"You need to stay away from photographers and photography classes," she told herself. "You're oh-for-two so far with that. Move on to something else, like pottery or gardening." She chuckled, then stood still as she thought.

Scott was an asshole, but he liked old cameras. Maybe she should show him the Speed Graphic. Once she found some film, she could even take his picture.

Final note: This story was inspired by the song "A Collection," by Marillion.