Photographs

By James Garcia Jr.

One night, two exceptional women meet; one black, one white. Both carry broken hearts and one has been dead for sixty years.

In 1956, film actress Allison Belle abandoned the glamour of Hollywood for Fresno, California, and an idyllic new life.
In 1959, she disappeared altogether.

Sixty years later, real estate agent Joanna Johnson steps unsuspectingly into the old Belle house and a story long forgotten.
A devastating personal event opens a hidden door into the actress’s world. The mystery behind what broke Allison’s heart and what ultimately happened to her is revealed slowly by a series of long lost photographs the agent uncovers; the relationship she builds with the actress’s ninety year old husband; and through a series of “dreams” she has where she relives the moments captured by each photograph - herself a participant in them. The closer Joanna gets to the truth, the closer she gets to suffering the same fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Garcia Jr.
• Release date: Mar 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463469156

James Garcia Jr.

James Garcia Jr. resides near Fresno, California which is typically the setting of James' books. "There are things that go bump in the night, California. Won't you let me show you?" He was the 1994 winner of the Writer's International Network/Writers' Inter-Age Network writing contest in the horror category. "Dance on Fire" was originally published in 2010 and its sequel "Dance on Fire: Flash Point" was published Halloween 2012. A third book, "Seeing Ghosts", is a stand-alone paranormal romance released in June 2013. In 2015, he released "Dance on Fire: Infernal". "Photographs", a ghost story mystery was published in 2020. James is also a Manager for Sun-Maid Growers of California.

Book preview

Prologue

She set the short glass down hard as if it had failed her somehow, and then released her hold of it. There was no ice to rattle about as it made rough contact with the dark mahogany table that stood sentinel beside her there at the back window. She never took it with ice. Ice just got in the way.

A second chair stood opposite her at the table. It went unused.

Of course, it did.

A flittering thought occurred to her that there might be more Scotch left in that bottle. However, like a butterfly detecting much better nectar in the yard next door, her thoughts turned elsewhere as her dulled eyes stared past the window before her and into the darkness beyond.

She was dressed in old sweatpants and a faded, threadbare, long-sleeved pullover. The air inside the large two-story house was cool, though not nearly as brisk as it was outside. The season was losing its battle with the next one. Soon, fall would become winter.

She studied the yard and breathed deeply. She knew it well, having lived here for many years.

Her breath caught in her throat and she leaned forward.

Have I really lived here that long?

A momentary pause. She sat back.

Yes, of course.

Indeed, she knew every square inch of the yard before her because she had groomed and manicured it with her own bare hands. She had planted the flowers and had carefully pruned the shrubs and trees. She may not have laid the grass or kept it mowed, but she definitely had knelt over every inch to ensure no weed would invade, or if it had, that its stay was brief. The outdoor furniture had been picked by her and all of the bricklaying and cement work supervised by her. At least, that was her memory.

These days, however, she spent more time with her yard the way she did now. Through windows. Some was due to the changing season. Most, not.

Movement. A single dried leaf, falling. It was a miracle she saw it in the pool lighting that was more decorative than illuminating. Or because of the Scotch that dulled her reactions.

With what little coordination that remained to her, she managed to tug on her eyes and follow its movement as it floated like a feather and then dropped unceremoniously upon the swimming pool and out of her view.

Where is it?

She stood and searched for it until she’d spotted it again. Its journey complete, it just sat there upon the water.

I’m here, it seemed to speak to her. Where are you?

A moment later, she found herself on the decorative cement patio, her bare feet making quick slapping sounds about her. She stopped when she had reached the edge of the pool near where the leaf held its unsteady ground. She waited there. The tiny yellowed leaf seemed to be waiting as well.

What is it? she asked.

The leaf made no reply. If it could speak, it didn’t seem to be speaking now. She flinched, taken aback.

Why did you bring me here?

She glanced about her slowly. The French doors stood open behind her. She didn’t register why that might be. She quickly turned back around. The single palm at the back of the yard stood tall and sentinel here, too, just like her table, her chair, her pain.

The pain, she realized. Not the word, but the heartache that gave life to it. That was the only thing she really had—one that was hers alone. Everything else she might own—and that could be debated—but the pain was different. It was genuine. It woke her in the late morning and carried her eventually to sleep at times never the same.

She stared off into space and thought of Hollywood. An odd subject.

What do I know about Hollywood?

She had only been there a couple of times.

Wait! That isn’t right. I was there for years. I lived there.

And the years had scarred her.

Had they? Or was it something else that had done the cutting?

She tried to swat that particular butterfly away, although her hands never left her side, but it wouldn’t go. It hovered there behind her vision and somewhere at the back of her mind.

She thought of two true loves: one not so true after all and another she knew better than anything but had never really met. Her eyes locked upon the single palm again and wandered down it to its base.

She then sought the leaf once more, but it was gone. She panicked. No, that wasn’t true. The leaf wasn’t gone. She found it calm and lovingly cradled at the bottom of the pool.

She relaxed and found she envied it.

How wonderful to be away from it all. No sound. No distractions. No pain.

She grabbed for the pullover and yanked it off.

Releasing it to let it fall to the ground, she quickly fumbled for her bottoms. Those she pulled down and kicked behind her.

Wearing nothing else, she simply jumped in with the leaf.

Not to retrieve it, but to join it.

Everything would be better if she went to the bottom of the pool. The leaf had known that. It had tried to show her that. Much like the leaf, she simply let go of all earthly inhibitions and allowed the water to carry her down.

In spite of her best efforts to leave everything behind, a muffled voice caught her attention. Her gaze followed up after it. There, at the edge of the pool where she had stood moments before, stood an obscured shape. It moved as if to join her there. There was a large splash to her right.

Don’t! You’ll disturb the leaf!

She attempted to return her attention to the leaf, but hands were upon her. She tried her best to get away, but their grip was too strong. Soon, she was above the water again.

Mommy! unfamiliar young voices cried out.

There was grunting and heavy breathing—close to her ear and too difficult to ignore. Water splashed about her. It seemed cold now suddenly, much more than it had been on the bottom of the pool. She found herself shivering.

Grab the side! a voice commanded. Do it, damnit!

She felt for the side of the pool and guided herself as she was being forced from the water.

Mommy!

There were multiple voices. She could make out their distinction in ages. One was six and the youngest three. She knew that now, but she didn’t recognize why she did. She just did.

Jill, honey. Go get mommy a towel, the voice at her ear said.

She glanced up and saw the six-year-old spin and break into a run to the house that was theirs but at the same time, not really. She heard the patter of running feet again, but this time smaller and quicker. The three-year-old was crying and barely dressed for the fall evening. Her hair was damp.

She’s just had her bath. Why did he let her come outside? To get sick?

She didn’t understand. She was an important Hollywood actress who didn’t have any children, except she wasn’t. She had never once been an actress. Not even during high school or college.

Have I been in college? Of course, she realized. Fresno State, class of 2010.

Jill came back with a handful of towels.

Daddy would need a towel, too. Smart girl.

Thank you, honey.

She found herself shivering more than before, and terribly confused. The confusion seemed to feel worse. A towel was placed around her and hands began to rub it up and down her, quickly drying her off. She found herself studying the man doing the work. He was shivering as well but seemed to be ignoring that.

He took her face into his hands and stared deeply into her eyes. I don’t understand this, he whispered, gritting his teeth. I don’t understand any of this. What has happened to you?

She recognized him now but had no words for either one of them. A dog barked randomly across the alley and Timothy instinctively paused and looked over his right shoulder. She felt him hold on tightly to her as he did. The dog stopped barking, but the large palm overhead had his attention now. He stared at it for a long time. She wondered what he was thinking as she followed his gaze. The tree stood like a beacon for something or someone that she could not decipher. High above it, in the distance, the moon caused one long ominous palm tree shadow to reach out like an outstretched hand. She watched Tim turn his head slowly and follow it. The shadow didn’t stop until it reached the girls’ bare feet. Tim looked to them next and she followed suit. They stood vigil there, watching the children, who were oblivious to the shadow that reached out for them.

She glanced back at her husband, who then met her gaze. His look of horror was gone now that they were both safely out of the pool. A new expression registered upon his face. It was resignation.

Amanda, honey, he began in a measured tone, in spite of everything. He went back to the task of thoroughly drying her. We’re getting out of here. I don’t know what this house has done to you, but I’m not going to sit here and watch it take you and then the girls. It’s taken far too much already. Do you understand what I’m telling you?

She did understand, but it was so hard. Even now, she felt the palm tree tugging at her heart. She saw it over his shoulder.

No, damnit! he said, pulling her back. Amanda? Where are you going? Listen to me. I’m here. The girls are here. He pulled her face to within inches of his. What has this place done to you? You used to be so full of life. I was the one who needed to be held up. Do you remember that? When I struggled with the girls, learning to be a dad…when I started to feel the pressures of my new position… It was you who waved it off like it was nothing. You! Where did you go, Amanda?

Tim lifted her to her bare feet and wrapped his arms tightly around the towel. He turned them both so she could see their daughters.

Look at them, he commanded. They’re just like you. So beautiful. But look what you’re doing to them. Can’t you see you’re scaring us all?

My babies!

She felt a single warm tear roll down her right cheek. As it gained momentum, it seemed to herald more. She started to collapse, but he caught her and held her up. We’re leaving. Do you understand me? We’re leaving right now. He held her tight as they marched forward and back into the house. Grab Mommy’s clothes, girls, and follow me inside. We’re leaving right now.

Chapter One

Joanna Johnson stared absently at the bold red LED numbers on the digital alarm clock at the bedside table beside her. The display did not waver, but faithfully reported the time in a world that was far from faithful, a fact she was just coming to grips with. The time read: 3:39 am. Her eyes burned, her heart ached, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes and forget. Unfortunately, all she saw when she did was her beloved fiancé driving away.

Another minute passed.

In the red glow, Joanna noticed the fingers of her left hand there on the pillow beside her. Prior to the evening before there had been an engagement ring there, prominently displayed on her third finger for the past three years, a foregone conclusion that a wedding band would be joining it at some point. Now there was literally nothing.

I don’t understand, Mom, she heard her daughter’s words in her head. What happened? You’ve been together forever… You were so happy… I never understood the long engagement, but I never suspected this.

That was the ghost of a phone conversation they’d had before her going to bed. It had been a mistake, calling her daughter at graduate school. She knew that now. Yet, at the time it had seemed perfectly reasonable. She needed to talk to someone, to begin the process of coping. In the end, it hadn’t helped at all and only seemed to bring Patrice into the drama—something she didn’t need. Now the conversation kept playing in her head, and the sleep was yet to come. She didn’t have an answer for her daughter as to what had happened, and after all of these sleepless hours, she still didn’t. She wondered if she ever would.

A second conversation also seemed to be playing on a steady loop. The one with Henry, and the speech that had brought their engagement to an abrupt end. Much like the bass line of every beloved song she knew, she could hear it if she chose to, otherwise it disappeared beneath the noise of the guitars.

Finally, she rolled onto her back and let him speak.

I can’t do this anymore, Jo.

Why? she lip-synched to the recording playing in her head. As if edited for time constraints, the conversation didn’t take nearly as long as it had the first time, when it had been live. One didn’t need to relive every second of the memory. Only the highlights. What’s happened? she heard herself ask. What’s changed?

We’ve changed! I’ve changed! We should have eloped years ago. Why the hell were we waiting, as old as we are?

We still can, Joanna replied, breaking the silence of the quiet bedroom. The words came out flat. Not just here alone in the bed that she would never share again, but then as well.

He never really did put it to words, but it was there, reflected in the look on his face. Beneath the mask of that greying full beard, she could see the love was gone.

She had reached out for him then. She pictured herself do it. To his credit, he had not pulled away, but just allowed her to touch him. They didn’t embrace. She had wanted to—to pull him into her and envelope him in everything that had been them these past years—as if that could undo whatever had been done. She had looked at him and he looked back; however, words were left unsaid, and after what seemed an eternity, he eventually looked away from her. Soon, he would drive away.

Mom, I can’t come down. Patrice had said. The image of Henry’s taillights flashed in her memory. She sighed. Her daughter could ill-afford to visit her until the next holiday. That wasn’t for a month.

No Patrice and absolutely no Henry.

She was alone again.

She rolled back onto her side and faced the clock. It was now 3:51 am. She remembered that last year of marriage to Patrice’s father, the cheating bastard. Although she had felt like killing him, especially as the clues of his infidelity began to snowball and were no longer easy to ignore, there had been no death. Pain certainly, and then fear, but no one had died. Those dark days had found her alone and afraid, wondering how she was going to raise a four-year-old by herself in a strange city. This, Henry’s leaving her, felt more like a death.

Joanna eventually reached out and turned off her alarm. As always, it was set for 5:30 am. It was now only 4:07 am, but clearly there would be no sleeping. She slowly climbed out of bed, stepped into her slippers, and headed down the hall. She had neglected to prepare her coffee last night, so she did that now. It was more out of habit than anything else. She was wide awake.

Dressed in black slacks, a smart black jacket with pockets, and a white blouse with a large collar, Joanna arrived at the office a few minutes before her alarm would have gone off.

The sound of the front door being unlocked and opened filled the quiet building. It was soon followed by the sound of heels marching across the laminate floors. Jo? her boss’s voice called out timidly.

I’m here, she answered from the copy room. She was surrounded by office supplies, mail slots for the twenty-two associates, a large shredder, her mug of office coffee, and of course a seemingly state of the art copy machine. She stood before the shredder and verified a stack of outdated paperwork one last time before making it disappear. She paused what she was doing and made a move toward the doorway to greet her friend and boss of sixteen years but ‘Nita beat her to it.

Good morning, Anita Castillo greeted her as they met at the doorway, her voice edged with bit of concern. They had been working together the afternoon before when Henry had come into the office unexpectedly to speak with Joanna. She had left with him then and did not return. How are you? she asked, leaning against the doorway. No one beats me to work. I’d like to think you being here this early is more out of a sense of obligation for leaving early yesterday, but I fear it isn’t.

Joanna pursed her lips and shook her head.

Anita stepped forward and took her hands in hers. Her expression fell. Turning Joanna’s hands over, she looked down at them and grimaced.

Your ring? she asked, quickly glancing back up into her face.

Joanna pulled her left hand away. Oh! It was too damn heavy to begin with.

She made a move to get back to her work, but Anita dropped her purse. The Michael Kors bag made a loud crash as it met the floor, its buckles clanging as if complaining about the bag’s ill treatment. She spun Joanna back around and embraced her.

Oh, honey, what happened? she asked. She released her grip, but kept her hands upon her arms, eventually sliding them down to hold her hands again.

Tears came. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. Her voice retreated to whisper with each utterance.

Anita did not let go of her but continued to hold her and escorted her toward her office at the back of the building. She left her purse where it was, then leaned Joanna against her left shoulder as she unlocked her door. She flipped on the lights and sat her down beside her on the leather couch, which sat against the north wall of her office. Pulling her tightly against her, she cradled her head upon her shoulder and comforted her.

For a long time, nothing was said. The two friends just sat together and rode their grief. It was only after Joanna finally pulled away and seemed to steady herself that Anita released her. Without a word, the woman jumped up and marched away. She returned moments later with a cup of French Vanilla-flavored coffee for herself and Joanna’s mug refilled and refreshed.

Jo, Anita said, breaking a lengthy silence, during which they sipped on their beverages. Why don’t you take some time off? Joanna bristled at this and began to shake her head. Look, I know you’re a badass, she began, holding her hand out like a stop sign before her. God knows you’re the toughest woman I know. You don’t take crap from anyone. But this is a blow, sweetheart. Take some time.

Joanna dabbed at her eyes with a tissue that had seen better days. It seemed to do more harm to her face than good.

Give me that! Anita said, taking the tissue away from her. Joanna released it with a sigh and dropped her hands beside her. Anita tossed aside the soiled tissue and quickly reached across Joanna for another. She folded it and then began to expertly dry the woman’s eyes and repair the damage to her make up. When she was through, she leaned back and surveyed her work. She then rolled the tissue into a ball and tossed it in the direction of her waste basket. The ball hit the lip short and fell to the floor.

Mexicans suck at basketball, Joanna said.

Don’t be racist, Anita said sternly, feigning outrage. Hispanic women can be just as good as Blacks. Just because the high school team is as far as we ever get means nothing.

Joanna smiled.

I love you, Jo.

I love you back.

Are you going to be all right? Anita asked gently.

Joanna looked down at her hands atop her lap and took a deep breath before replying. That’s why I’m here, she said, glancing back into Anita’s eyes. I can’t sit at home. I just lay there all night, hearing his voice as he slowly breaks my heart, over and over. Her voice grew faint again. She mouthed the last: Please don’t send me home.

"Are you sure?" Anita asked, leaning forward.

Joanna nodded and took a good pull from her coffee. She held onto it with both hands for warmth.

I’d really love to just give you the rest of the week as a good long weekend. Couldn’t you fly up and see Patrice? I bet Colorado is beautiful this time of year.

Joanna shook her head. It is, but I’ve had her voice in my head, too. No, I’d just be forced to deal with questions I can’t answer all weekend long. Three weeks from now is Thanksgiving. She’ll be home then. No, thanks. Just give me something to do. I’m between houses right now and don’t feel like hustlin’. What have you got?

Anita leaned back on the couch and surveyed her desk from afar. She exhaled a deep breath and considered her response. Finally, she perked up. Hmm? I do have something. She stood and walked over to her desk. She ruffled through some folders before settling upon one in particular at the very bottom of a stack. She wiped some dust off it before opening it and rifling through the pages contained within. She stopped and looked up. Are you sure?

Anything, Joanna replied.

We’ve sold a lot of houses in this agency, but there’s one house that we not only cannot sell, but it keeps falling back into our laps.

I don’t understand, Joanna said, standing.

We have a house the owner refuses to sell. The client has worked with us for decades, and certainly a lot longer than I’ve even been working here. He lives in So-Cal but continues to hold onto it.

What does he need us for?

He made some arrangement a hundred years ago where we maintain the relationship and simply find him renters with the notion being that we get to sell it one day.

That’s odd,

Yep. Anita handed over the file. He’s as old as the hills, but apparently still kicking. It’s been vacant for about a month."

She flipped through the file and stopped to stare at the photographs. The place looks fantastic.

Everyone thinks that in the beginning, but for one reason or another the house never keeps them long.

Chapter Two

He didn’t even say goodbye.

Joanna blinked repeatedly as she drove west on East Kings Canyon road. The morning sun was bright but well behind her. No, it was the shock of where she found herself that blinded her. She took a deep breath and blinked rapidly in an attempt to stifle the tears that threatened to spring anew. It was unsettling to be so out of control. If she thought her mind would only wander like this during the night, she apparently had another think coming.

The morning traffic was heavy as people rushed to work. By the speed and quick lane changes, many were already late. If she would have had it to do all over again, she might have delayed this trip for a later hour.

Too late now, she thought. She just kept going. What else was I going to do?

Turn right at South Cedar Avenue, Siri said in her usual tone. Joanna used her quite often, in spite of the fact that she knew Fresno so well after sixteen years in the business. Today it was for focus.

In her mind’s eye, Henry was driving away again. She could see his taillights light up each time he depressed the brake. Once he had disappeared into the evening, she quickly found him parked before her, preparing to leave once again. Siri pulled her away from that.

Turn left onto East Huntington Boulevard.

Joanna depressed her own brakes and shook off the mental image before conducting her turn when the intersection was clear. Traffic finally seemed to lighten, enabling her to take in the sites of the old neighborhood as she crossed a number of streets until finally reaching her house.

Your destination is on your right.

She slowed as she crossed the last street and parked just where Siri told her.

If ever there was a neighborhood that deserved to be gated, this was the one; however, Huntington Boulevard prided itself as being Fresno’s anti-gated community. Joanna glanced around and surveyed the view in every direction as she closed the door of her three-year-old Lexus and