The photograph is not alone.
I realize it slowly, the way your mind resists what it already knows is waiting. The first image hits like a punch. The second like a confirmation. By the third, my chest is already tight, my body bracing for something it cannot stop. My flashlight beam shifts an inch to the left. Then another. The candlelight reveals edges. Corners. Glossy reflections that do not belong to concrete or water or rot.
Dozens of photographs.
They are arranged in a careful circle around the candle, pinned to the wall at precise intervals like points on a compass. Each one angled inward, all of them facing the same center point. The candle. The altar. The idea of her. It is meticulous. Measured. Reverent in the most grotesque way.
My stomach churns hard enough that I have to ste
