That left only one problem unaddressed. His publisher. He would argue his case with Amanda to see if they could give him any extra leeway—any at all—to ease the process of paying back an advance he’d already spent. His breathing resumed a more normal rhythm with shorter, sharper intakes. It had taken him nearly a year to write nothing. How on earth could he deliver something in a matter of weeks? There was only one response to that. He would force the inspiration to come. Maybe Google could inspire him. He’d been gifted enough to take Howard’s idea and improve it to the point of publication, so he would just do it again with some other idea he’d find. He’d make it his own.

Daniel broke into a jog. He could do this. His jog graduated into a sprint, buoyed with if not an escape plan then at least an escape route. He nudged aside the grief over Gramps’s camera to be dealt with at a more appropriate time.

He crunched up his driveway and then flung open the front door and brushed past Kelly in the living room.

“Daniel? Can we talk about—”

“Not now, Kel.”

Daniel hustled toward his study, firing on all cylinders, fueled by anxiety and adrenaline. He pushed open the door, and his world shattered. Blinding, flashing pain flared behind his eyes.

No!

The camera sat on Gramps’s recliner. Daniel slumped against the doorframe and sank to the floor, the last of his resolve melting as the adrenaline ebbed away. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t, his rational side argued. Stress caused hallucinations—he knew that from the textbooks, and he’d even diagnosed it a number of times in his office.

Daniel crawled on his hands and knees to the chair, expecting the vision of the camera to fade. Instead, its unblinking lens caught the light and sparkled. His fingers clung to the edge of his desk as his eyes popped up next to the camera, a snail checking to see if the bird had gone. It hadn’t. Through the window on the back of the camera, Daniel saw film.

Sobs burst from his chest as he slumped back to the floor. He didn’t even need to check the tiny letter on top of the camera. He knew all the film had been used.

Thirty-Six

The single lens of the camera bored a hole in Daniel’s soul. Accusing, all-knowing. He settled back into Gramps’s recliner. Would Gramps have had more than this old chair if he’d dealt with his secrets earlier? If he’d spent his money on something other than—

Daniel bolted upright. Gramps had been a gambler, but there was another reason he’d had nothing. He’d continued to pay for photos, and the price had kept going up.

This was his future. But it didn’t have to be.