One Shot Wednesdays -Danny Davis *PATRON EXCLUSIVE* (Patreon)

Welcome back to a temporary installment of One Shot Wednesdays!

Why? you may ask? Well, I have been writing things not just on my "Writing Wednesdays" and thought they would be appropriate to share in a One Shot Wednesdays post anything I've written on other days that therefore don't fit to be shared as part of my Writing Wednesdays posts each Monday.

So, enjoy this little thing I wrote based on a prompt, all you fantastic patrons! This is exclusive just for you!

A character finds an old roll of film, and takes it to be developed. What do they find?

It had been years since I had seen a roll of film. In fact, I almost didn't recognize it at first as I was going through an old junk drawer and found it amongst the Bric-a-brac and random papers and pens. "Holy shit how old is this?”  I asked myself as I held up the small item in wonder.

It took some doing but finally I located a shop that would develop the film for me and at a fairly decent price. I went there, dropped off the roll and went back about my business forgetting all about the matter until several days later when I received a voicemail from the clerk that the pictures were ready for pickup.

A few days after that, I remembered suddenly and got to the place just in time before closing to grab my new parcel. I wasn't so eager to look at the pictures right in that moment, especially considering I had forgotten all about them for almost a week and a half since I had dropped the canister off. I was in no hurry to find out what mystery I’d uncovered in the drawer.

I got home, made dinner for myself and watched some TV while I ate it before sitting back on the couch pouring myself a cold drink and catching sight of the envelope of pictures I had deposited haphazardly onto the living room table. Taking a quick sip of the amber liquid, I then exchanged the glass for the envelope and opened it.

A picture of a sunflower. Okay? Next one, some nondescript patch of grass and the one after that, blurry. Following these were pictures of some places I recognized in town and the people in them vaguely familiar but all of the shots were candid so no one was actually looking at or posing for the camera. This was an odd find and I laughed to myself. What had I uncovered? I thought with amusement. Some kid, maybe even me, given a camera at a young age and gone wild with documenting random things and places seen? I was still chuckling as I moved on and flipped to the next picture.

Ah. There we go. One of me. I was posing with a grin at the camera and I couldn’t have been older than seven or eight with my mismatched early nineties fashion and my arms spread wide, palms out.

I flipped to the next one to find a shot of the old theatre. After that, me laughing, still the same seven, in front of the old ice cream shoppe. I grinned as I realized I hadn’t had an ice cream in months. I’d stop by ol’ Ronald’s parlour tomorrow afternoon then.

The next picture made me forget all about getting ice cream. I felt a wave of cold go down my back as though that illusory ice cream had been suddenly dumped down my shirt and melted.

Danny Davis.

The next picture was of Danny Davis, and me.

“How the fuck? Wh-Wh-” I stammered to my empty living room. I dropped the pile of pictures onto my living room coffee table and picked up my glass, wet with condensation and went to take a drink, but stopped to examine it. How much had I had? Not that much, surely?

All the same I set it down and with hands that seemed to be trembling from the moment-ago shock, gathered up the stack of pictures again.

But there was no mistaking it.

That was Danny Davis. A-And me!

This was impossible.

Everyone in town knew the story about Danny Davis. He’d gone missing decades ago. The case had even made national and international news. His face had been plastered everywhere: newspapers, milk cartons, posters all over town, reports and announcements all over the TVs for what I can only assume was years. I remember our teachers talking about him all the time to the point that it was almost cult-like. Everything and I mean everything would be linked back to missing Danny Davis. Playground safety: “Danny might have hurt himself and not been able to get help”, mathematics: “Danny was a good student he knew all his numbers to forty, and you can be too”, Physical Education: “It’s important to stay fit and be able to run. Danny probably couldn’t run fast enough and now look what happened dears!”, Language Arts: “What if Danny couldn’t write well enough to make a secret note and ask to come home?” Honestly, looking back I’m surprised the lot of us coming up didn’t need intense therapy from the fear tactics instilled in us.

The only one that made sense was learning about “stranger danger” as it was called. Our parents and our teachers all taught us the same things about being careful. I can still remember being in class and raising my hand when asked what to do if anyone offered you candy or a puppy at the stranger’s car. And I definitely remember my parents sitting me down at the kitchen table before I’d started school to go over our “Safety Rules”.

Except—

I had to be remembering wrong. I could swear that Danny had disappeared before I’d started school and yet here was a photo of me clearly past that point standing beside the missing boy.

What the hell was this? What the hell was going on?

Another prickle went up my spine as I pulled the picture out of the pile and held it up with two hands to examine closer. I was definitely school age in this photo. And Danny—

Just seeing his face was rubbing me the wrong way. There was absolutely no reason why I should have a picture of Danny Davis in my hands. No less a picture that also had me in it.

What was the meaning of this?

Properly trembling now, I grabbed the rest of the photos to see whether or not I saw evidence of anything else suspicious.

Holy shit. Danny and me at my cousin’s lake lot. Me at the local fair, Danny at what looked like the playground near my childhood home… A couple of dud pictures of random scenery again. Danny again this time on top of my bike. A picture of the two of us again but I couldn’t be sure of location.

How? How the hell was this possible?

And if it was, what did it mean?

I don’t know how I managed to dial back the shop, I just suddenly heard the ringing of the tone in my ear as I raised the receiver and listened until they picked up. For half a second I thought my voice was lost as I couldn’t answer. Then I managed to ask to speak with whoever did the photography department.

It was a young guy, the guy who had left the message for me for pick up and the same one I’d gotten the photo envelope from. I recalled him now: a kid no older than eighteen and definitely a bit clueless looking. A boy who would not even have been born when these photos were taken. I rattled off a few questions for him but finding myself unable to pay attention properly to getting answers I told him I was coming there to the shop and hung up.

It didn’t even occur to me that I’d picked the photos up just before closing time in the first place.

But somehow as I searched for my keys I remembered this detail and felt suddenly cold again. Why had they picked up the phone?

I’d had a bit to drink but that was not what made the world swirl in my vision suddenly. I steadied myself and got back to the living room and the photos. Collapsing to my knees I rummaged around to find the envelope and looked it over. It just had the name and logo of the shop, then the phone number for the general line and the direct line for the photography. It didn’t look odd or suspicious whatsoever.

I thrust my hand inside to locate the negatives. It was hard to focus but once I did while holding them up I confirmed this batch of negatives were the same for the photos. I honestly don’t know what I expected.

My mind began racing once more. Had someone switched my roll that I’d brought in with some other one they’d chosen? One that had pictures of a missing boy on it?

Well then how the hell do I explain me in the photos too?

Then again, it wasn’t entirely out as a possibility. They could have… manipulated the photos. Spliced the negatives. Wasn’t that something people could do? Maybe?

I suddenly wished I was sober, the throbbing in my head of trying to sort this out was getting to be too much.

And yet, how could I stop all of these intrusive thoughts?

If this truly was the roll of film I’d brought in, why did I have it in the first place?

And shit, who took these photos?

Why didn’t I remember anything about them or about who I’d been with for each of the occasions I was a part of the scene?

Feeling suddenly ill from all of the adrenaline and nerves, I threw up into one of the two potted plants I owned then stumbled back to the living room and collapsed at the coffee table again.

Danny’s face stared up at my ceiling from several images and I felt cold dread come over me all over again.

Was I looking at evidence in a missing person’s case? If I told somebody, would I get in trouble!? Was I… God was I related to someone responsible for this? And even worse: did I know something once upon a time but forgot?

Overwhelmed suddenly with anxiety I passed out there beside the table.

When I woke up, the pictures were gone.