The final week of classes had arrived way too soon for Allison. She was annoyed that it was the first time in her academic career that she dreaded the end of the semester. She’d always scoffed at the other students who complained and stayed up all night cramming for finals when they should have been studious for the entire semester. Now, she’d become one of ‘them.’ Her stomach lurched a little at the thought of having to go back to the dark room. Maybe Vanessa would leave her alone because she’d understand that Allison had to make up past assignments as well as print her final photo essay. She still loved Vanessa. But the feeling now made Allison uncomfortable. It was getting in the way. It had made her afraid to go to the photo lab. She’d missed due dates for fear of what next charge Vanessa may have for her. But it was Wednesday; everything was due by mid-night on Friday. She’d just have to reason with her beloved. Surely, she’d not want Allison to get a ‘C’ in the class.

‘So far, so good.’ Thought Allison as she squeezed the tongs, pinched the corner of her fifth print and lifted it from the water bath. She hadn’t felt the heavy, impeding terror that accompanied Vanessa’s presence. ‘Maybe another hour.’ She thought. ‘Another hour and I’ll be done.’ It saddened her to never see another photo of her radiant Vanessa again. But she still had the others. Those would have to sustain her. As she watched the next print develop, her heart rose to her throat. She’d not felt Vanessa, but it was obvious she was there. The image was a close up of her face. Her laughing eyes were anchored by the sad smile on her lips. Allison saw the tears on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Vanessa. I can’t do it anymore. Please, I only have five negatives to print. I have to get these done. I love you, but you’re a ghost. There was no way this could last. Besides, after this class is over, I wouldn’t even have permission to use the dark room anymore.” Allison was surprised by the emotion in her voice. She was glad that she didn’t sound too reasonable. Cold, even. Allison placed her negative in the enlarger and prepared to expose the next sheet of photo paper. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sudden movement. Despite the dread that seized her, she spun around to watch the entire box of photo paper slip page by page into the tray of developer. The chemical sloshed over the edges as some invisible hand rocked the tray from side to side. Curiosity pulled her from her stunned state, and she drew the tongs to peel the first print from the other pages in the tray. They were developing rapidly. Even though they stuck together, the chemical had still somehow managed to get between the sheets and form the stark black and white images. Allison didn’t stop to observe them. She automatically slipped each print into the finisher and then the water bath until ten sheets of paper floated in the sink before her. With her fingers, she pinched the corner of the print that was closest to the surface. It was Vanessa’s face. But the image was besmeared as if the shutter of the camera was open for just a moment too long while catching swift movement. In the next picture, she saw a man’s fist entangled in a mass of light hair as the other fist plunged two-thirds of a chef’s knife into Vanessa’s exposed neck. Allison, perhaps desensitized by her own experience, wasn’t horrified. It troubled her mildly because it was Vanessa, but mostly, she just burned with curiosity. The grisly series ended with a tableau of a blood covered face that Allison recognized. She shook her head. ‘Poets are capable of anything.’ She thought while pinching three more prints from the water bath. The first of the three showed Allison being held from behind. She couldn’t see the face of the man behind her. But she was not held long in suspense because the next photo showed Professor Phillips kneeling over her body on the dark room floor. He appeared to be injecting a syringe of a clear fluid into her arm. She brought the print up to her nose and squinted. There was no way to make out the numbers on his wristwatch. But Allison suddenly realized she was wearing the same shirt as in the photo. She swallowed and then looked at the third print. She gasped. It clearly showed her and Vanessa locked in a deep kiss. Vanessa’s shoulders were bare, and she looked real. Allison laughed, ‘she’s not a ghost anymore.’