He holds out the photograph for me to look at and cautiously I step closer. I notice his finger-nails first, curled around the edge of the photo, they're stained yellow from years of smoking and are bitten down to the skin. His fingers are trembling slightly and the picture shakes. The photograph is an old polaroid, crumpled slightly like he constantly takes it out of his pocket, like it's been used and loved and abandoned. The photo is black and white.
'Do you recognise him?' The man asks. I pull my eyes to the main feature, stood in the centre of the lense and close enough to make out vivid details- a man. The photo is slightly out of focus, like the photographer shifted right before he took it. The man can be no older then thirty, with black curls and sharp cheekbones. He has a trench coat on, black with a button missing, collar up to hide his neck. His skin looks pale even without real colour to compare it to. Then I notice his eyes, oh God his eyes-
Something about them, something dark and haunted, familiar and-
'Well?' His voice cuts through my thoughts, bringing me back to earth and away from somewhere dark and unknown. 'Miss?'
I let out a breath, notice my whole body is trembling. I swallow loudly and force myself to take a step back from the man.
I push my hands deep into my coat pocket to hide the fact they're shaking.
'I- I don't know recognise him.' And I don't.
But the man doesn't look convinced. 'Are you sure?' His eyes appraise me and I feel as though I'm hiding something, a big secret that is hidden in the deepest corner of my mind and that he is ready to pull out.
'Yes, I'm sorry I'm not more help. Can I ask what this is about?' I ask careful to keep my voice light. He sighs, stares at me a moment more and then shakes his head.
'No.' He hands me a card with his number on it and I turn it over in my hand. 'Call me if you think of something.'
I stare at his name 'Jonah Devris.' and when I look back up he's already turned back down the hall.
I don't know the man in the photo. I've never seen him before and yet-
'The photograph,' I call after him. 'Can I keep it?'
He studies me silently, pats his pocket and then turns and walks away, limping slightly.
My biggest mistake, I would realise later, was asking for that photo.
