A Picture Worth a Thousand Secrets

a Beauty and the Beast, Season 3 Round Robin

 

Chapter One

By Mel

 

The pipes overhead tapped in a familiar rhythm as Diana Bennettt Wells drew closer to the community tunnels, her head bent in concentration, the realities of life unescapable even underground.

Bill, bill…ad, another bill…why do I even keep the loft? Nothing but freaking bills…oh!

Diana paused her perusal upon seeing her Great Aunt Helen’s handwriting scrawled across an envelope. Was it that time already? Stuffing the other pieces of mail in her bag, she tore open the envelope and pulled out a green invitation card.

 

 

Nice alliteration. Vincent would like that. Diana stared at the invitation to the annual Bennett clan or this year’s brood reunion. Her Great Aunt Helen, with help from her cousin Beth, had outdone themselves this time with the new card design.

Over the years, the challenges of hunting down the darkest criminal minds for work in the 210 unit had kept her from attending to the point that the invitation seemed more a matter of politeness or obligation than of desire or expectation.

But now her captain had given her a decent amount of time off. And DA Joe Maxwell had been silent in requesting her help, for which she was grateful. The latest case of a psychopath abusing kids had taken her Above for four months away from the tunnels she now called home.

Holding the invite in her hand, she allowed happier memories of fall festivities to run through her mind, from curving pumpkins to bobbing for apples. Her great-aunt Helen was now the keeper of the old family stories and folklore from the Emerald Isle, since her maternal grandmother had passed two years ago. Stories, she was certain her ten-year-old stepson, Jacob, the child of her heart if not her womb, would love to hear if Vincent would let him travel all the way to New Jersey for a weekend.

Diana frowned. Yeah, right, Bennett, when pigs fly… the kid hasn’t even left Manhattan.

She never blamed Vincent for his overprotectiveness of his son, the living embodiment of the love he once shared with Jacob’s beloved birth mother, Catherine Chandler. The woman whose tragic murder and the torture he himself endured at the hands of the madman Gabriel had left permanent, if invisible scars within Vincent’s soul. Thus, even a decade later, Vincent was more cautious about where his son could go.

Her blue gaze shifted to the claddagh ring set upon her left hand. The small silver heart pointed inwards to symbolize the love and loyalty of marriage. While she had brought some of her stuff from the loft over the years, the ring was the only real memento of the wider Bennett clan within the tunnels. Her heart swelled in a mixture of pain and joy. Unlike the beautiful only child Catherine Chandler, Diana had more family she wished could know, if not the whole truth, then as much as possible.

Ten total years of friendship, officially meeting on October 13th, its own anniversary of sorts, but two years this June, and they only know I’m married… a quick, no-fuss civil ceremony with a new stepson.  Her older sister, Susan, had suspicions, but Diana kept her at a distance.

She could easily explain her husband’s absence, but her stepson deserved to know the other side of his family and all the cousins, aunts, and uncles that came with it.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the running of feet drew her attention as the young Jacob Wells rounded the corner. The now familiar camera bounced against his chest as he stumbled to a stop in front of her.

“Hey there, buddy,” Diana cried, catching him. “What’s the rush?”

The boy had the grace to look at least momentarily ashamed. “Sorry, Mom… and hi. Are you back home for a bit? You caught the bad guy then? Will you tell me about it?”

“One thing at a time. Yes, we caught the bad guy, maybe I’ll tell you later, and yes, I’m home for a while.” Diana eyed the bag. “But it looks like you’re not. Where are you going?”

His blue eyes, like Vincent’s, brightened. “More pictures for Jessica to develop.”

Diana laughed. “Ah. How many this time?”

Jake peered into the bag. “Um…five rolls.”

“That many…. All full?”

The boy grinned again. Despite his human features, he reminded her of his father.

“You know, Jake, your dad, Jessica, and I aren’t made of money. We might need to talk about cutting back on the number of pictures you can take.”

“But I’m giving Elizabeth some new stuff to paint for the tunnels. The photos help her.” He shifted restlessly, anxious to be going. “Jessica’s gonna meet me.”

Diana shook her head fondly. “Fine, get going then. But I’ll be talking to your dad later.” She reached out and paused. “Are you too old for a hug yet? I’ve missed you.”

Jake smiled and gave her a big hug. “Thanks, Mom.” 

A second later, the kid was off running.

“Hey, Jake,” Diana called. “Don’t make Jessica develop all those pictures. Six max.” 

“Can’t hear you,” Jake called back with a laugh.

Diana’s laugh melted into a sigh of affection. No doubt Jessica would develop the various shots of Central Park as she always did. Her niece Alex would surely like to see those pictures and enjoy her little cousin. 

Her eyes briefly rose to the pipes as another message went out; no doubt they had signaled her arrival. If Vincent was available, he would find her, but the various tasks and repairs in the tunnels kept him busy.  And after months on one ugly hunt, she didn’t wish to venture into an unneeded one.

With a sigh, she smoothed out the invite she had accidentally crumpled when she saw Jake, the date catching her eye again.

October 13th was only a week away. In her mind’s eye, she could see her side of the family and Jake getting along.

Those are pictures you could show Elizabeth, Diana mused.

Taking a deep breath, Diana resumed her walk to the chamber she shared with Vincent from his childhood.

XxX

A sob caught Vincent’s attention as he rounded the corner to the music chamber. His sharp, blue eyes fell on a teenage Samantha, huddled in the corner; her violin case propped against the wall. The teenager spotted him a moment later, rubbing a hand across her eyes.

“Samantha, what’s troubling you?” Vincent asked.

“It’s nothing… it’s…” Her gaze fell to the violin case. “It’s this new music, it’s too hard.”

Vincent’s fingers grazed the top of the case. “I’m sure you’ll get it. New pieces are always hard to learn, you know that. It just takes practice.”  

“Rolley doesn’t, he’s perfect. And he yelled at us. We’re not getting it fast enough.”

Vincent frowned. His old friend, the tunnels' music teacher, despite his former addiction, hadn’t lost his skill to recall and play anything he heard. Such a skill made him a tough instructor, but never cruel. What was going on with him?

“I shall speak to him. No one should ever make students cry.”

Samantha dabbed at her eyes once again with her sleeve. “Thank you, Vincent…. how goes the construct…”

Vincent held a finger to his lips and pointed up toward the pipes. His voice lowered to a whisper. “She can sniff things out from up in her loft. No more talk.”

Samantha giggled and put her index finger to her lips in camaraderie. Everyone knew of Diana Bennett Wells’ almost otherworldly abilities to figure out surprises.

“Now go then. I’m sure William has some leftovers from lunch.”

“Okay.” Samantha gave a tentative smile and picked up the violin case. “Thanks, Vincent.”

Vincent nodded as the teen turned and hurried off down the tunnel. With a sigh, Vincent turned his focus to finding his old friend. The music he had requested might not be the typical classical pieces the children normally played, but that didn’t mean Rolley could be a diva about it. 

XxX

Above in the city of New York, Alan Johnson, a photographer of models, knocked on the darkroom door. “Hey, anybody in there?”

“Yeah… one second, Al,” Jessica Webb called.

A moment later, the door opened to a wall of red light. Slipping inside quickly, Alan saw an array of pictures of Central Park across various seasons and times of day hung along the wall.  His old friend scurried around the room, dressed in a cobalt-blue dress with a drab brown apron thrown over it, matching gloves on her hands. Her faded red hair was pulled back into a bun to keep it out of her face.

Alan gave a smirk. Finally, you don’t blend into the red light. “Huh, I thought camels lived in the desert, not the middle of the city.”

“Ha, ha, very funny, Al,” Jessica said as she began to take down the dried photos.  “I already sent those pictures in to the boss.”

“You know the gallery’s not gonna like you using up the space like this.”

“I provide more money to this gallery than you,” Jessica said with a light smile. “Besides, it’s only a couple of pictures, and I ran out of the stuff to do it at home.”

“A couple?” Alan laughed. “Last month, it was what, twelve… twenty pictures you developed for this kid. And you’re sure he isn’t related to you?”

Jessica shook her head with a smile. “No, his family and mine are just old friends.”

Alan again found his eyes drawn to the few pictures still hung up. Over the past few months, he had gotten a glimpse of the various photos of the Central Park landscapes this mini modern Picasso photographer had taken.

“Well, kid’s certainly got talent.”

“Ah, is someone jealous?” Jessica asked with a grin. “You’re a true artist Al.”

Alan ran his hand through his curly brown hair. “Bah… not all that great. Haven’t had a real job in months. And I certainly don’t look like one now.”

In the past few months, he had taken to wearing just casual shirts and jeans, no brand names or anything, as he would have done in his youth. Though he had never been as fancy as Jessica Webb. Today, he had opted for a purple long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans.

“You’ll find something. What are you doing here then?” Jessica asked, sliding the photos and case into her bag.

“I have some old family photos my niece wanted.” Alan held up his own bag as he mimicked a teenage girl’s voice. “’Done proper… no homemade stuff.’”

“I’m not sure I could tell the difference now. Alexandra must be wiser than all of us. And you say I misuse… ah,” Jessica covered a yawn.

“How long you been here, Jess?”

Jessica glanced over at the clock. “Hm…six hours, I think.”

“You should go get some rest. It looks like you’re done,” Alan said, handing over the last picture to her.

“Yeah… (another yawn) thanks, Al,” Jessica said, tucking the photos into her bag.

Alan handed the older woman her jacket and bid her a goodnight. As he began his own work, he noticed another bag set on the counter. Curious, he moved over and peeked inside.

A forgotten film roll lay within.

Alan dashed over to the door and into the hall, waving.

“Hey, Jess, you forgot- Jessica… Bah.” Alan huffed a sigh of frustration as the older woman disappeared around the corner.

Half an hour later, the film container that had a dab of white tape dated two years ago rolled in his hands with indecision. Everything in him as a follow photographer told him to just leave it be. Jessica would surely remember and come back for it tomorrow. But the fatigue in her eyes made him pray she got some much-needed sleep.

You can develop them and drop them off tomorrow. No harm done.

Peering closer, it looked like there were just five pictures.

Over the next few hours, Alan had the last few pictures. Four of them were from various parts of Central Park at different times of day as he expected. But the last one that gave him pause as he hung it up to dry.

It was shot at a Dutch angle and slightly blurry, as if the camera were unfocused. Maybe the kid got bumped when he was trying to take it.

Despite its awkward or accidental creation, there was still a remarkable artistic skill to it. Though it was the actual subjects that gave him pause. In the center of what appeared to be a stone wall a… medieval or Renaissance bride and groom set at the head table gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, sharing some silent communication. The bride’s red curls were half hidden by an off-white veil. Even in profile, her pale, porcelain skin glowed under the candlelight set around them, bouncing off the solid stone wall behind them.

That kid’s a master... His hand hovered over the bride’s smiling face. So beautiful… and huh!

His eyes shifted to the… groom. Dressed in a medieval vest, he looked like the perfect picture of a knight or prince from those stories.

Except that his face and indeed body seemed to be that of a lion.

Hm… Jess, what’s this? Some Shakespeare in the park thing? Alan mused. …a new Beauty and the Beast?