| Romance Fiction posted September 29, 2025 | Chapters: |
...28 29 -30- 31... 
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What The Pictures Reveal
A chapter in the book Yesterday's Dreams
The Untold Story Chap 8
by Begin Again
The darkness wrapped around Rachel as her mind whirled, trying to understand — knuckles grinding Anthony's cheek, the square watch flashing, a small boy pressed to a man's trouser leg, screaming. The pressure tightened until a ragged "Oh, God —" rattled, exploded in a scream, and the black split to light.
The room tipped. She lurched, hair in her face, breath breaking fast. Where was she? What was happening? Her heart raced.
Noah was already at her side. He caught her wrist mid-surge and set his palm to her shoulder, steady enough to stop the fall without pinning her. "Easy," he said, his voice low and close to her ear, so the word landed softly and comfortingly.
Her lashes fluttered. She blinked at him as if she was trying to see through water. The tremor in her chest ran under his hand; he kept it there, an anchor, feeling each breath fight and settle, fight and settle.
Her eyes flicked to the ceiling, then the walls — wood paneling, a small window, a sofa under her back instead of the pharmacy's tile. "Where am I?" The words rasped out, half breath, half question.
"Upstairs," Noah said quickly. "The apartment over the pharmacy. You fainted. I carried you up." His hand stayed steady on her shoulder. "You're safe here."
When her weight settled against the cushions, Noah twisted toward the doorway and called, "Doc, our patient is awake."
A step sounded at the doorway, and Dr. Patel stepped into the room; his coat was half-zipped, and the strap of his bag bumped his knee. "Morning, Rachel." He crouched at the sofa's edge, so his eyes met hers. "I'm Dr. Patel. Okay if I take a quick look?"
Her nod was small, cautious.
Two fingers slid to the inside of her wrist. He watched a second hand, then her face. A penlight flashed once. Her pupils pinched and released; she blinked hard against it.
"Did you hit your head?" His voice was even, steady as a metronome.
She wet her lips. "No. I — saw something." Her voice broke, rough-edged and raw.
"Mm." He didn't ask for details, but continued his examination. "Any pressure here?" He touched his own sternum. "Nausea?"
She shook her head. Noah pressed a paper cup into her hand. Water splashed against the rim when she lifted it.
"Your pulse is quick, but it's settling," Patel said. "What happened looks like a faint —your body slammed on the brakes to protect itself. Feels awful. Scary, but usually not dangerous unless you fall." He let that sit, eyes on her. "You don't have to tell me what you saw," he added, mouth softening, "but talking it through — with someone you trust — can help." His glance tipped toward Noah's hand still at her shoulder. "He's a good man."
Rachel's gaze followed his. Noah's jaw worked once, but he didn't look away.
"I know," she whispered.
.
Dr. Patel slid a card onto the table, tucking a corner under the lamp so it wouldn't disappear. "Here's the plan — sit a bit. No driving for a few hours. Small sips of water. If the spin comes back, lie on your side and call me. If anything feels off — such as pressure, confusion, or changes in vision — call sooner. I'm across the street for the next hour. I'll check back. Though you might consider getting something to eat."
Dr. Patel slid a card onto the table, tucking a corner under the lamp so it wouldn't disappear. "Here's the plan — sit a bit. No driving for a few hours. Small sips of water. If the spin comes back, lie on your side and call me. If anything feels off — such as pressure, confusion, or changes in vision — call sooner. I'm across the street for the next hour. I'll check back. Though you might consider getting something to eat."
He patted the sofa's back like it was a person and stepped out. The door clicked; the room exhaled.
Rachel's fingers tightened until the paper cup creased. "Where are the pictures?"
"They can wait," Noah said. "You don't have to —"
"No!" She shook her head and then stopped. A tear slipped from her eye, catching at her chin. "They can't, Noah." She drew a breath that trembled. "I think I saw what happened to Anthony." She inhaled a ragged breath, and a few more tears trickled down her cheek. "Mark was in the picture — he was there. He saw what happened." A bigger sob escaped, and she leaned into Noah's shoulder, mumbling, "I don't understand — why Mom — or anyone — didn't say anything."
Noah's hand pressed just a fraction firmer, an anchor more than a hold. "Okay," he said softly. "We'll look. Together."
He handed her a tissue and reached for the manila envelope on the coffee table. The metal clasp gave with a small resigned sigh. Rachel wiped her cheek with the tissue and pinched the first glossy by its edges.
Noah touched her hand. "Are you sure? You don't have to do it now?"
"I do. It's been hidden far too long."
She gasped, but this time she didn't faint. Her eyes blurred as she stared at the photo —
An ordinary yard — shaggy grass in need of mowing, a forgotten bicycle tossed against the hedges, and a scene she couldn't erase. A bloodied shirt, a bandaged man's head — Anthony — his mouth open mid-word. Another man, his fist already moving. The square watch on his wrist glared like a neon light. At the edge of the frame — blurred — a young boy.
Her breath clipped. "Anthony — and that's Mark." Her fingertip hovered over the blur. She looked up at Noah. "What happened that night?"
Noah didn't answer. His hand stayed at her shoulder, offering warmth and comfort.
She slid the next photo free.
The neighbor's fence line, slats casting thin jail-bar shadows. Tessa, the babysitter, half-turned, hair dragged by the wind. Mrs. Lawson's hand braced on her arm as if to root her in place. Both of them were facing the yard that wasn't ordinary anymore. Tessa's mouth was open — possibly a scream.
Rachel swallowed. She pressed the edge flat and set it aside, then turned to the next picture.
A bathroom mirror fogged at its edges. Julia's reflection ghosted in the glass, chin set, eyes too bright. A dark line disappeared into her hairline, purple swelling around her eyes, and smears of blood across the porcelain. A towel clenched uselessly in her fist.
The room tilted again — not much, just a notch of memory shifting. A low moan escaped before she could stop it. Noah's arm gathered her in, giving her a safe place to rest.
"Rach, I'm so sorry. I'd heard rumors but —" he shook his head. "You know how gossip is. She never said anything to anyone."
"Noah, how much have I suppressed?" She shivered. "I remember — the yelling, doors slamming, and muffled screams."
"Your mind couldn't deal with it, Rach. It's not your fault."
"But — I left her here. Why didn't I take her with me?"
Noah's voice was barely a whisper, "She didn't want to go. She chose to stay."
She turned the picture face down and drew the last one out of the envelope. For a moment, nothing registered, and then she gasped as she dropped the picture, as if it had burned her fingers.
Noah picked it up. Pain and anger registered in his eyes. "Oh, my God, Rach."
She stuttered, "It — it's me."
A child on a bed — knees tucked, face turned away to protect whatever was left to protect. Red, blistering welts stretched across the small back, and the reflection of a man's distorted face and a belt in his hand.
Something in Rachel's chest went quiet, and then it grew loud. "My father," she said to the paper, to herself. "Joe did this. Joe did all of it." The next breath shook. "And Mark — he saw." She blinked hard; tears stood, then fell. "All these years, and he — Oh, Noah, I don't even know him, yet, he's my brother."
Noah's thumb moved once against her shoulder, not a stroke, just presence. "I'm here. We'll get through this together."
She let the photo fall onto the table face up. The welts appeared to be still rising under the light. She closed her hand, then opened it, and reached for the envelope again, almost afraid the past would disappear again.
*****
Down on the street, a ticket flapped under a wiper like a small, mean flag. The pharmacy bell chirped. Lizzie looked up from the counter and waved. "Hey, Karen. What brings you out so early?"
Down on the street, a ticket flapped under a wiper like a small, mean flag. The pharmacy bell chirped. Lizzie looked up from the counter and waved. "Hey, Karen. What brings you out so early?"
"Came for aspirin. Got a headache that won't quit."
"Aisle three — you know the drill."
"Lizzie, have you seen Rachel? Her car is in the no-parking zone, and she's got a ticket."
Lizzie glanced at the register as if it had the answer she was looking for. Finally, she leaned across the counter, whispering, "She's upstairs."
Karen felt the heat spread across her cheeks. "Oh! I didn't mean to pry. I just thought — never mind what I thought."
Lizzie smiled, almost laughing at Karen's frustration. "It's not like that. She fainted, and we had to call Dr. Patel. Noah carried her upstairs."
"Fainted? Is she alright?"
"I think so, but I don't really know, except the doctor was here and then he left."
Karen stepped to the base of the stairs and cupped her hands. "Rach? It's me. You decent?"
A beat, then Noah's voice answered, "Is that you, Karen? Come up."
The stairs announced each footfall. Karen reached the doorway, took in the little apartment with one sweep — the envelope, the fanned photos, the crushed paper cup, and Noah's arm around Rachel's shoulder.
"Hey," Karen said, softer than she'd planned. "You scared the hell out of Lizzie."
"Sorry." Rachel tried for a smile and didn't get far. "I'm okay."
"Dr. Patel was just here," Noah said. "Says she needs to sit. We were —" He glanced at the table. "Going through some things."
Karen's gaze fixed on the pictures. "Those are the things."
"They are," Rachel said. She turned the photo only far enough to show grass, the slash of a watch glare, then laid it back as if it might cut. "They say what everyone kept quiet."
Karen lowered herself onto the opposite cushion. She glanced at the pictures, winced, and turned her eyes away, focusing on Rachel. "All right. Tell me what you need."
"The truth," Rachel said. She didn't look away. "This story has been quiet for too long."
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