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Part Four
The sun was up and its rays were slowly making their way through her open window. But Deeta hadn't slept a wink. The camera had kept her up. She tossed and turned all night, searching her mind for any logical explanation. But she couldn't think of any. 'What was it that Sherlock said? When you have eliminated all the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?' she thought.'What if all of the probable have been eliminated and all that's left is the impossible?' In a fit of frustration, she threw her blanket to the floor and got up. She paced the floor and, from time to time, glanced at the camera. The camera stood on her nightstand, looking at her squarely, mocking her for the answers she did not have. She jumped when she heard her mother knock on her door.
"Deeta, breakfast is on the table. Would you mind washing the dishes on the sink, please? Your father and I need to run and your brother has already left."
Deeta opened her door. "Alright mom, I will." she answered. She followed her downstairs and grabbed a cup from the dining table. "Where's dad?"
"Already in the car. Alright, we're off then. And try to get some sun. I know it's still your day off but don't waste such a perfect day staying all day cooped up in here, all right? her mother said, kissing her on the forehead.
"I won't." she nodded. She waved goodbye as she watched her mother close the door behind her. Her thoughts went back to the camera. Pouring milk into her cup of tea, she wondered if it is even possible to find out to who previously owned the camera. 'It's not like I can search 'Magic Camera' on the internet.' she thought. But before she could drink her tea, a thought occurred to her. 'Or can I?'
She took her tea up to her room. Flipping her laptop open, she stared at the screen. 'It's worth a try.' she said to herself. She logged in to a photography website. Under an anonymous name, she posted a question. "If you found a camera and it turned out to be magic, what would it do?" she said as she typed the words. She hit "Enter" and waited. Halfway through her tea, the post remained unanswered. She glanced at the camera again and sighed. 'This is mental.' she thought. She went back to the kitchen and washed the dishes to try and take her mind off the camera. When she came back, she checked her post again. This time, there were replies. She browsed through the answers. Some thought she was off her rocker, some thought that it's not a relevant photography question, others posted ads instead of answers. Those who took time to answer the question ranged from x-ray cameras, future prediction, and the pictures developed move like those in Harry Potter. But one answer caught her eye: That it would take pictures without needing storage or film. She clicked reply and typed her next question, "And if it does, what would you do?"
After two minutes, there was a reply. "I don't know. I'd use it to capture around me, to just click without the worry of having to delete them if a better shot came along."
She asked again.
Anonymous: Wouldn't you want to know who owned it?
User: Probably.
Anonymous: What will you do to try and find out?
User: Ask around, I guess.
Deeta crossed her arms. 'I just can't ask people if they knew someone who owned a magic camera.' she thought. 'They'd send me straight to the nuthouse.'
Though, she did not find any answers that will help her uncover who owned the camera, the last answer did give her an idea. She closed her laptop. 'I'll carry it around and see if anyone will recognize it.' She closed her laptop. 'Might as well use it while I have it.'
By the time she left the house, the weather had turned a bit overcast. The sun was tucked behind the clouds. Slinging her bag to her shoulder, she headed for the park. 'I'll pretend to be taking pictures. With tons of people passing there, there's a good chance someone might recognize this camera.' she reassured herself though she sounded surer than she felt. She bought herself a cup of coffee before sitting on one of benches. She took out the camera and peered through the viewfinder from time to time to keep up her ruse that she was there to take pictures. An hour and half had passed but no one had taken notice of the camera. Her coffee had already gone cold and she was beginning to get bored. When she peered through the viewfinder again, something caught her attention. An old man was sitting on one of the park benches, staring through a distance. His eyes had circles around them, wrinkles drooping. His gaze wailed sadness, heartbreak. 'That's old man Powell.' She knew him because he frequented the pub with his wife. 'He always orders a glass of old ale. And they just sit around and talk and laugh.' But he hasn't dropped by the pub recently. 'Not since his wife died.' She remembered the pub owner telling about it to a few of his friends. The news saddened her. They were a happy couple. She remembered them dancing together when she and her father came to fetch her grandparents from an event for old couples. Mr and Mrs Powell were one of the few left dancing. They were dancing like it was their wedding day; happy, full of love and promise. Then she saw Mr Powell looked at Mrs Powell. His eyes sparkled, like his eyes were reflecting a beautiful star in front of him. Like she was the only woman in the world. Then he kissed her like it was their first. And before a tear could fall from her eyes, she took his picture. The camera clicked and the picture counter switched to "7". But when she saw the picture, she gasped, shocked beyond belief. It wasn't a picture of man sitting on a park bench. It was a happy couple dancing the night away: a happy Mr and Mrs Powell, like the one from her memory.
Disclaimer: All photo credits go to respective owners.
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