Fiction Short Story

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Fiction Short Story

by Barbara A. Tyler

The Voyeur

She meanders down the street. Boredom in the air, no hurry to be anyplace. Her foot kicks something, sends it skittering down the sidewalk. She stops to pick it up. It's a disposable camera someone has dropped on the sidewalk. All used up. Full of pictures nobody will see.

What the hell, she decides. Why not get them developed? See what there is to see. What could it hurt? She's got nothing better to do.

Maybe they're pictures of a birthday party, she thinks. Kids and cake. Make a wish! She can almost hear the shutter—Click!

Or they could be Christmas photos, long overdue for developing. Ho! Ho! Ho!—Click.

A wedding reception. Kiss the bride!—Click.

Or, a steamy honeymoon. She grins at the thought.

An hour later, she sits on a park bench, thumbing through twenty-four snapshots of an anonymous coed with long chestnut hair. She assigns them captions as she looks. "Co-ed walks in park." "Coed kicks through leaves." "Coed pets dog."

Monotonous.

She cuts the stack like a deck of cards, hoping she'll find "Coed's Half-Naked Boyfriend" or maybe "Coed's Hot Brother."

These photos snatch her breath and make her cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Then she looks the other direction. No one.

She fishes her cell phone from her purse, scattering change and wadded tissues in her haste. She punches the buttons in the wrong order, hangs up and tries again.

"Police. This is Officer Canberra. Please state the nature of your emergency," says a female voice.

She tries to stay calm. Tries to explain, but the hysteria is rising.

"...in the park. I'm in danger."

"Ma'am," Officer Canberra says, "stay on the line. I want you to start walking toward someplace where there are a lot of people, okay? Just keep talking to me and start walking like nothing is wrong. Stay calm."

She rises from the bench and starts walking. Calm. Stay calm, she repeats. Officer Canberra is talking to her, but the voice seems far away. She is busy listening for signs that she is being followed. Walk like nothing is wrong, she thinks. Toward the park entrance. Cars. People. Safety.

She thinks she hears his footsteps now. Quiet and unhurried.

She quickens her pace, no longer pretending that nothing is wrong. The photos fall from a hand that has become nerveless with fear..."Coed Picking Camera from the Sidewalk," "Coed Browsing Photos," "Coed Running," "Coed Looking Back in Fear," "Coed Bloodied and Crumpled Face-Down in Alley" ...land on the sidewalk unnoticed.

Behind her, the leaves rustle. He is no longer trying to stay hidden. She looks over her shoulder and stumbles, the phone flying from her hand to spin across the sidewalk and into a pile of leaves. She seems to be falling forever...

"Ma'am?" Officer Canberra sounds tinny from a distance. "Ma'am, are you still there?"

*****

He pays no attention to the voice coming from the cell phone on the ground. He is totally focused on his work.

He calmly lifts the camera to his eye. This one is prettier than his last model. A work of art in progress. He will make her immortal.

—Click.

© Copyright 2003 Barbara A. Tyler

About the Author
Barbara A. Tyler lives (barely) and writes (shamefully copious amounts) in a small town in southern Indiana. Her fiction, humor and other odd bits have been published in numerous places from Planet Relish to Family Circle.