He’d have to develop the negatives he’d already shot—a waste of the remaining film on that roll, but he’d already been deprived of one pleasure back in the theater. Now, with her dress spoiled, he’d have no joy in dressing the doll again, and no joy whatsoever in giving her the bitch’s name. What had it been? Gilda.

He pushed it from his memory. He would find another girl tomorrow.

Maria waited inside the closet, arms held stiffly at her side, her blue glass eyes gazing straight ahead. Her bisque fingers would be cold to the touch. She had no teeth to bite.

He stared at her, turned, and walked to the bed. He knelt to retrieve the camera and film tank and light apron where he’d hidden them, picked up the doll, and set her on the mattress. He spent several minutes posing her, shooting what remained of the film.

When he was finished, he turned his attention to the film tank. He measured out the grains of pyro, sulfite of soda, and soda carbonate into five ounces of lukewarm water in the cylinder, added cold water. He repeated a similar process with the acid bath, dissolving the fixing powders in warm water he poured into a washbasin. He proceeded with the intricate transfer of the film cartridge from his camera, carefully lowered the reel into the cylinder, set it on a plate.

He got out his pocket watch, and every three minutes turned the cylinder, until twenty minutes had passed. He brought the cylinder to the sink, removed the transferring reel, and set it into the fixing bath; washed it five times in another bowl, changing the water each time. Last of all, he hung the filmstrip from a dowel to dry. Later, he would examine the negatives and make the prints in the same closet where he kept the doll. He used a flashlight for this, which gave the final prints a misty, dreamy quality.

He washed his hands, cracked a window to disperse the acrid scent of the chemicals, and returned to the closet. The familiar ritual of developing the film had calmed him, but as he gazed down at Maria in her yellow dress, he felt that ease dissolve. Her vacant gaze seemed focused on something in the room behind him: it took all his effort not to look over his shoulder to be sure he was still alone.