The Girl in Yesterday’s Photograph – Chapter 6
The Photographer Before Adrian
The library suddenly felt colder after the librarian spoke those words.
Outside, fog drifted slowly across Bellmere’s empty streets while weak afternoon light pressed through the tall windows behind the dusty bookshelves. Adrian stood motionless near the front desk trying to process what he had just heard.
“Somebody already photographed her death once before.”
Adrian Vale slowly asked, “What do you mean ‘before’?”
The librarian hesitated visibly now, like she already regretted saying too much. Still, something in Adrian’s expression convinced her to continue.
“There was another photographer in Bellmere during 1998,” she said quietly. “Freelance journalist. Same as you.” She paused briefly. “He arrived two weeks before Evelyn disappeared.”
Adrian’s pulse quickened immediately.
The man from the photograph.
The figure standing behind the police tape holding the same camera.
“What was his name?”
The librarian looked toward the empty library entrance again before answering.
“Marcus Flint.”
The name meant nothing to Adrian.
Yet the moment he heard it, unease deepened inside him anyway.
“What happened to him?”
The librarian didn’t answer immediately.
Finally she whispered:
“He vanished.”
Thunder rolled faintly somewhere beyond the town while silence settled heavily between the shelves around them.
Adrian slowly removed the photograph from his coat pocket — the second image showing the man in the raincoat standing behind the police line. He carefully placed it onto the library desk.
The librarian’s face drained of color instantly.
“That’s him.”
Adrian stared at her. “You recognize him?”
“He used to come here every day.” Her voice had grown quieter now. “Looking through newspaper records. Missing persons files. Police reports.” She swallowed hard. “Then one morning he simply stopped appearing.”
Adrian looked back down at the photograph.
Marcus Flint stood motionless in the rain behind the dead girl’s body staring directly toward the camera.
Or toward Adrian.
Because somehow the image felt personal.
“How long after Evelyn disappeared did he vanish?”
“Three days.”
The answer tightened something inside Adrian’s chest.
Too close.
Far too close.
The librarian carefully pushed the photograph back toward him like she didn’t want to touch it longer than necessary.
“Where did you get this?”
Adrian debated lying.
Didn’t.
“The camera produced it.”
The moment he said the words aloud, the librarian’s expression changed completely.
Fear became certainty.
“You bought it.”
Not a question.
Adrian nodded slowly.
“From an old man at the flea market.”
The librarian closed her eyes briefly.
“Oh God.”
Adrian frowned. “You know the camera?”
She looked directly at him now.
“Marcus Flint owned that camera.”
The library seemed to fall silent around the sentence.
Adrian physically felt the weight of the Minolta inside his coat pocket suddenly. Cold. Heavy. Waiting.
“He disappeared with it,” the librarian continued quietly. “The police searched everywhere after he vanished.” Her eyes moved toward Adrian’s pocket. “They never found the camera.”
A cold realization crept slowly into Adrian’s thoughts.
Which meant the old man at the flea market somehow had possession of evidence tied to a twenty-three-year-old disappearance.
And sold it to him intentionally.
“Who was the old man?” Adrian asked.
The librarian immediately shook her head.
“No one knows.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He’s just…” She struggled briefly for the words. “Always there when someone starts asking questions about Evelyn.”
Adrian stared at her carefully.
“What exactly happened in Bellmere during 1998?”
The librarian looked toward the archive room deeper inside the building.
Then she quietly answered:
“Officially? Six teenagers disappeared over four months.” She paused. “Unofficially…” Her voice lowered further. “People believed someone was photographing them before they died.”
A chill moved through Adrian’s body.
The photographs.
The warnings.
The girl appearing before her death.
His thoughts suddenly connected violently.
“What if the camera isn’t predicting deaths?”
The librarian frowned slightly.
Adrian looked back down at the photograph of Marcus Flint.
Then whispered:
“What if it’s documenting murders?”nce before.”