Memento Mori

by R.R. Scott

About the Author: R.R. Scott is a Toronto-based writer and a long-time reader of mysteries and thrillers. Outside the printed word, his pastimes include amateur astronomy and other citizen science pursuits. These hobbies fill the time between cases in his every day career as a private investigator. While this is his first published story, he has further Adam Cole stories to tell, including a full-length novel he hopes to soon see published.

Excerpt

The old man pulled back his jacket and reached inside. Ancient dust and sweat rolled out in a nauseous wave as he pulled a brown envelope from an inner pocket. He held it a moment longer than he should have and his hand trembled once he handed it over.

Adam Cole, not yet thirty, took the envelope and immediately noticed its thick quality and hard backing. There were no markings but he knew it was the sort issued by professional photographers. He pulled back the flap.

The old man closed his eyes and turned away. “My wife only ever had one photograph taken, many years ago,” he said. “It was a wedding gift for me, and is one of my dearest possessions. She spoke of, one day, doing another in old age. But I never imagined this.”

Two cabinet-sized photographs slid out into Cole’s hand, face-to-face, so that only the cream-coloured, glossy backings showed. Curiously, they lacked the photographer’s monograph—quite unheard of. Otherwise, they seemed to come from a reputable studio for they were of heavy cardstock with gold-bevelled edges.

“I warn you, Mr. Cole,” the old man croaked, keeping his head turned away, “they are not pleasant.”

Cole flipped them over onto the round table that separated him from the old man, his client. The left photograph was a matte-finished, sepia-toned image of an old woman, withered with unkempt, wiry hair. Her face, blurred by the prolonged exposure process, was a mask of dismay, mouth agape and eyes bulged with terror. Her small, naked body was lashed to a chair large enough to swallow her.

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