A Miracle of Science

"I still think something supernatural is behind it, even if the camera didn't capture it, you see. Even without my second sight, I still have my regular intuition to tell me that," Ivy explained.

Cathal reached forward to pinch the corner of the photograph in her hands, bringing it slightly closer so he could see the details better. He glanced up briefly, as he could sense Victoria's gaze on him sharpening. He swore that just him breathing on Ivy too hard was enough to draw her suspicion, and he was starting to get terribly sick of it. He had little option other than to ignore it, however, as he knew it would be foolish to pick a fight with this lovely lady's chaperone.

And so he ignored Victoria and returned his attention to the photograph. It was lovely, much sharper than most photographs he'd seen, but still no signs of any spirits, like Ivy said.

"This Callaghan fellow, how are you sure that his methods work anyway?" he asked, releasing his gingerly grip on the photo. The man seemed nice enough, but the same could be said of the world's most successful conmen, and events like these were usually crawling with those. Not to mention the man's very title: Doctor. None of the doctors Cathal had ever met would dream to attend a séance, much less proclaim to capture ghosts on camera. And then you add in the fact that he's supposedly a practitioner of paganistic Irish magic, trained by his aunt that Evelyn loves to blab about. Any angle that you look at the man, there seemed to be something that just didn't fit in with the rest.

"Oh, he was kind enough to show us some of the other photos he had taken while we were in his room, and one of them – clear as day – captured the ghost of a woman." Ivy lowered her voice. "He's quite sure it's Marchioness Blake, and I'm inclined to believe him."

"Is that so?…" Cathal mused. He looked over to the other end of the bar, where the doctor was fiddling with the so-called spirit camera. He had no doubt that his angel was real, so he figured it would be a rather good test for Doctor Callaghan's methods. He was sure that a spirit photograph, supposing it were real, wouldn't – couldn't – measure up to the experience of actually seeing and feeling his angel with his own eyes and body. Even if Doctor Callaghan was no conman, an invention of science couldn't compare to the real, divine splendor of that light, that feeling of being watched over by a heavenly being. Cathal had much to thank for science, especially the pharmacological field, there was no mistake about that. But it could not make a man a god.

"Are you thinking of getting yours taken?" Ivy chirped.

"I might excuse myself and ask him, yes… I'm sure you two ladies can entertain yourselves while I'm gone?"

"We shall try, Mister O'Meara," Victoria sighed.

If the conversation had been on any other topic, Cathal would've been annoyed at that. But already Ivy and Victoria were fading into the background as white noise, as the thoughts of his angel ascended into the forefront of his mind. He limped over to the other end of the room, not even paying any mind to that slob of a porter tending the bar just a few feet away. Cathal had been trying his best to shoot him as many nasty looks as he could manage after seeing how he was being sweet on Evelyn, but, again, that was laughably unimportant to him in that moment.

He gave the doctor a good look over as he heaved himself onto a barstool. He had a good couple inches of height over Cathal, but didn't have the presence to justify it. He also didn't seem to be aware of the rather stern-looking expression he wore as he fussed over his camera. A meticulous man, befitting for his profession, he supposed. He wondered if Doctor Callaghan would try to lecture him on how to best treat his leg or, once he knew what he wanted a photograph of, what the best mental institutions in Ireland were. Doctors weren't supposed to lecture people who weren't their patients, but that hasn't stopped the ones he's met before.

Cathal cleared his throat. "That camera, I've heard it can capture spirits?"

Doctor Callaghan looked up from whatever he was in the middle of, the stern expression instantly melting away into something much softer as he met Cathal's eyes. "You would be correct… Mister O'Meara, was it? Pleasure to meet you." He cordially reached his hand out to be shaken, and Cathal took it, greeting him in kind. "Is there someone you'd wish to see?"

"I'm not sure if I can call it a 'someone' per se, but I do have interest in your services. How much do you charge for them?" He tried to reach for his pocket.

"Oh, there's no need for that at all. I like to offer this sort of thing pro bono publico, just being able to see what lingers around the people and places here is payment enough for me." Doctor Callaghan insisted. "So you said it's not a 'someone'? Can you tell me what you think it is instead?"

"If you must know… I have reason to believe that an angel has been following me for some time now, about a year. Actual sightings are rare and fleeting, but I can often feel its presence lingering around me. I understand that there is a world of a difference though, between a ghost and an angel, and I'm afraid I don't know enough about this contraption to know whether it captures anything other than just spirits." He gently tapped one of the camera's legs with his cane. "But, I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask…"

There was a subdued, but still palpable sense of surprise in the doctor's face as Cathal explained his situation, an occurrence he was all too accustomed to. Everyone is always surprised at first. At least he wasn't one of the ones whose first reaction was to laugh. Those were his least favorite. A disrespect to not only him, but to God and his divine messengers.

"I've never attempted to photograph an angel – so I can't promise you anything – but I have been able to capture things beyond the spirits of deceased human beings. And you are correct, I can't imagine there would be much harm in trying. I must ask, what does this angel look like? There are a few different interpretations of angels throughout the history of Christianity, ranging from entities of pure light, to interlocking wheels full of eyes, to human-like beings with wings and halos. Though, I'm sure you know that better than anyone."

Interesting. He did indeed seem to know his stuff. "That question is harder to answer than you'd think. My glimpses of the angel are always brief, on the edges of my vision. It's… almost like I see all three versions, and maybe more, all at once. Layered on top of each other, intersecting," Cathal explained, his voice becoming wistful, his thoughts being pulled somewhere Else. "One version maybe becomes more clear when I tilt my head to one side, and another when I tilt it the other way – but never enough to completely dominate its visage. And all the while it's shimmering like a desert oasis. I've tried to draw what I've seen before, but I can never capture it exactly as it appears in my memory."

"Very interesting. I'm rather curious now to see how it'll be captured by my camera, if at all. Would you like to do it now? We'll go up to my room and the whole thing will be over in fifteen minutes, give or take."

"Hmm." Cathal's mind came back down to Earth. "Yes, that would be lovely. You can go on ahead of me to get your things set up, it'll take me a while to get up there with this blasted stick."

"Aha, very well then. Meet me in Room 10." Doctor Callaghan scooped the camera up into his arms, its three legs tucked under one arm and the camera itself cradled in his other hand, like he was supporting the head of a baby. He quickly but carefully exited through the double doors of the bar, on his way to the room. Cathal spent a few more moments in his seat to finish his drink and pay his tab, then began making the upward trek himself.

It was still too early for him to be sure of his opinion of Doctor Callaghan. He wouldn't have even guessed he was a doctor if not for Ivy telling him beforehand, for one. No prying questions into his medical history, very little doubt in his guardian angel, not even a condescending "make sure you don't fall down the stairs". And then he offers spirit photography on the house? Out of the goodness of his heart? It almost seemed to be too good to be true. There had to be something that man was hiding. An ulterior motive, a selfish desire. Everyone had at least one. The sins are what make us all human, after all. What were Doctor Callaghan's? He tried to pick up the pace, not wanting to keep this mysterious character waiting for too long.

As Cathal neared the landing of the stairwell, an intense bout of dizziness errupted into his head, and he felt his legs trying to collapse undernearth his weight. He lurched forward desperately, slamming his body onto the landing to avoid cracking his head open on the stone tiles below. The edges of his vision were dark and murky, and he could hardly think straight from how nauseous he felt. He dragged himself with pale, clammy hands into the corner of the landing, and looked up the remaining stairs. A statue of an angel was waiting for him at the top, her arms outstretched in expectance of an embrace. Her stony gaze did not meet his. He looked down at the floor again, trying to get his heavy breathing under control. He wasn't going to pass out this time, he thought, but he was damn near close to it.

He was lucky. And stupid, for pushing himself during a time of physical weakness. But he had been lucky countless times before too, and that streak of his certainly couldn't last forever. He pulled back one of his sleeves. More blood had soaked into the bandages wrapped around his wrist compared to the last time he checked them. He tilted his head onto the wall behind him. For a while he contemplated abandoning his arrangements with Doctor Callaghan and returning to his room to rest like his body so clearly wanted him to do.

But no. He had already come this far. It would be cowardly to bow out at this moment. Imagine, being so weak as to be unable to sit and get one's picture taken. That wouldn't be Cathal. He planted his cane on the floor and used it to hoist himself onto his feet.

He reached Room 10, at long last, and gave it a firm knock. He was greeted yet again by Doctor Callaghan, but also by the pungent stench of chemicals, no doubt used in the process of developing photographs. He was accustomed to most of the worst chemical odors thanks to his frequent visits to doctors' offices, but there were still a few scents mixed in that were unfamiliar enough to deliver a hearty punch to his nose and lungs. He thought for a moment he would really pass out this time, but it seemed like he was lucky yet again. On the far side of the room was a corkboard, with a few photographs attached, and over to the left was the bench that he recognized from Ivy's photo. And in turn, the camera and Doctor Callaghan to the right.

"Oh, before we get started, do you know the name of your angel? It can ensure that it manifests beside you when taking the picture."

The doctor couldn't have known, but those words stung, almost as much as the terrible smells in his room. "I don't, regretfully. I have been trying, but it doesn't want to tell me its name just yet, it seems."

"It's alright, we can get by without it. Just wanted to check!" Doctor Callaghan replied lightly. "Take a seat right over there, please. Try to relax, clear your mind, and think about this angel of yours. Not too sharply focused, but instead keep it in the back of your mind as a steady presence."

Ha. As if the angel wasn't already an ever constant presence of Cathal's every waking moment. Nevertheless, he did just as the doctor instructed. The beautiful, infallable angel. The guardian haunting the periphery of his life. His obsession, his idol.

"Are you ready?" Doctor Callaghan stepped behind the camera and crouched down, almost in position to snap the photo.

Cathal nodded curtly, staring straight ahead.

"Alright. Three, two, one…"

A loud snap and a blinding flash emanated from the camera. Cathal's had his picture taken a couple times before, but not enough to get used to those unpleasant sensations. Still, he couldn't care less if he had blinked or made some other unfortunate expression in the moment. He was hardly the main focus of the photograph anyway.

"Now that that's done, I'll try to develop this quickly – two copies, if that's alright – one for you to keep and one for my own collection."

"Sure, it's all the same to me." Cathal stood up and drifted over to the corkboard to examine the other photos; he was keen to see the one of the Marchioness that Ivy had mentioned. He thought he saw what she was talking about, but before he could even get a good look at it, he noticed something much more eye-catching. Two different photographs of Evelyn. She looked quite beautiful in both of them, if a bit rough around the edges in one. But no spirits or entities captured in either, she must've been disappointed in that. Were these photos on her request, or on his offer, he wondered? What was the need for two of them, anyway? Such an enigma, that girl. His mind drifted as he examined the rest of the photos, waiting for Doctor Callaghan to be done with his chemicals. The one of the Marchioness was quite convincing, though he didn't know enough about the science of photography to discern how easy it would be to fake this sort of thing. One successful hit out of five attempts didn't paint the most promising picture either, but he supposed he would find out for certain in a few more minutes.

"Well, now. This is… interesting," Doctor Callaghan said to himself.

"What's the matter?"

"I… thought for a moment the photo came out overexposed, that meaning the picture is too white. It happens sometimes when too much flash powder is used, but…"

"Let me see." Cathal moved over to the dressing table where the doctor stood, faster than was pleasant for his leg. He ignored the flash of pain as his eyes locked onto the paper that Doctor Callaghan held in his hands. There was a flutter in his stomach when he saw the pure, radiant light. It dominated the image, nearly obscuring Cathal's own form. It was not nearly as beautiful as it appeared to his own eyes; the shimmering and shifting, the ever-turbulent transformation of its shape. None of that captured. There was no warmth in viewing it, no deep understanding of its adoration, the sensations that usually accompanied its appearance. But it was there, before his eyes, however imperfect it may be. And he didn't have to drag himself to death's door for it. Even while the flash was going off, Cathal was unsure if he expected the spirit photography to work, but he certainly did not expect to have the strong reaction to its success that he was experiencing in that moment. He was on the verge of tears. "That's– that's it. My angel."

"Oh. You're certain?"

"Yes. Definitely. Far from its true form but still, so wonderful." Cathal choked on his words. "Thank you, Doctor. You have no idea what this means to me."

"You are, er, very welcome," the doctor said, a bit taken aback. Was he surprised that his camera could capture such a divine being? Cathal didn't care to think too much on it, but that was the assumption he made in the moment. "I'll get started on making another copy, you can go ahead and take this one with you if you'd like."

"Yes, yes…" Cathal's eyes couldn't be pulled away, the doctor might as well have been a dissembodied voice, one he barely acknowledged as he made his way out of the room. "Thanks again, sorry to be leaving so quickly…" The words flowed out without him hardly thinking about them. He didn't care to look where he was going as he meandered down the hotel's labyrinthine corridors, back towards his own room. It hadn't occurred to him that he had abandoned the two ladies in the bar who were still expecting him to come back and continue their earlier conversation, but even if he had remembered them, that wouldn't have done anything to change his mind. Ivy was nice and all and he enjoyed talking to her, but there were simply far more important things he must concern himself with. Cathal's earthly desires were all but vanquished, as was always the case in moments like this. It was as close to holy as he had ever felt.

He gently slid the photograph into an inner pocket of his vest as he knelt down to retrieve his equipment from his lockbox. He really could not bear to continue on like this much longer, being so close to the edge of understanding and truly witnessing this angel of his, especially now that its image was permanently committed to that little piece of paper. He had to do this, then and there, that week. He put his babelstone on the floor before him, and clasped his hands together.

"Please, God. Please, my angel. I am ready. I am ready for you to show me your name, and have faith that you have a greater purpose for me in mind. I always, always have. This photograph didn't do anything to change that. But it makes me that much more excited– desperate to meet you. Please, hear me and grant me my greatest desire, to see you and know you." He sighed heavily, and unclasped his hands, his fingers aching from their own grasp.

He worked away at the babelstone and his notes tirelessly, with evening turning into night, and night turning into the wee morning hours. There were fleeting moments of apparent breakthroughs, steps closer to his goal, but each one was an illusion. A mistranslation, a mistaken guess, an incorrect assumption of the inner workings of Enochian magic. Every step forward was three steps back in disguise. Why? Why couldn't it come to him easily? Why wasn't his faith enough? Tears were in his eyes again – hot, angry tears – when he threw his materials back into the trunk and looked around the room listlessly, desperately, for anything that could answer his prayers of desperation.

His eyes darkened as he could begin to feel the pull. He got up, headed to the dressing table, opened the drawer. The razor gleamed at him, begging to taste his blood again. He needed to push himself harder. The angel wouldn't be satisfied until he went beyond human limits, beyond what he thought would be possible to survive. He needed to have faith that it would protect him. This would be the only way to show his dedication.

His sleeves were rolled up. The razor was in his hand. It glided over towards his arm, and then there was a crinkle from within his vest. He blinked. He forgot for a moment what that could possibly mean. He set the razor down, and pulled the photograph out of his pocket again.

It was a far cry from what the angel truly was. Every time he looked at it bolstered that fact even more in his mind. But as he looked at his own face, for a moment he was able to recognize his mother’s features shining through in his own. All at once, his mind drifted back to Doctor Callaghan's kindness, the episode on the stairs, his family, back home in Dublin… Maybe, that far cry would be enough. Even just as a stopgap. He was truly brimming with sorriness and self-loathing, knowing that he wasn't good enough for the angel to be pleased. He wondered why it was he that it chose to show itself to. Was it blasphemous to think it made a mistake in doing so? But he couldn't go through all this again, not so soon after the last time.

There had to be another way. A miracle. He had already been given one miracle by the doctor and his spirit camera. Maybe if he kept waiting and hoping and praying, another one would come along. He could finally use those spirit jars and get what he really wanted, no more blood, no more tears. He rubbed his thumb across the photo one last time, then returned it to his pocket. His eyes caught on the gleaming blade of the razor again. It was mocking him, and he loathed that. He opened one of his windows and hurled it as far as he could, where it was quickly swallowed by the thick haze of darkness, never to be seen by his eyes again.