 The conversation was normal until one of the speakers suffered a sudden and violent death. It began when a young, fresh-faced youth with an old-fashioned camera drape around his neck approached a young woman sitting on a park bench. Excuse me, miss? He began tentatively. She looked up from her phone and brushed a lack of blonde hair out of her green eyes. Yes, she said, masking her mild annoyance with a smile. I'm doing a photography project for my school, he said. And I was wondering if I could photograph you. Oh, she said. The request seemed to puzzle yet flatter her. She thought for a moment and then said, Sure. Great, said the young man, smiling. Over there by that tree would be best. The woman gladly obliged and the two strode over to the tree together where the woman posed somewhat awkwardly with a smile that was almost genuine. Actually, the young man said, Would you mind moving over a couple feet to the left? Just here, the woman asked, shuffling over a couple feet. Just a bit more, he said. She moved over a few more inches and smiled. Two things happened at once. The camera flashed and the young woman's head exploded into a bloody pulp. Suddenly the world's volume was turned down. My heart pounded in my ears. The woman's body went limp and sank to the grass, spilling blood from her neck and a torrential fountain. The bystanders screamed and my hands fumbled from my phone to dial 911. My hands were shaking badly and I almost dropped the phone into the grass. After I dialed, I held the ring phone to my ear and looked up. The young man was nowhere to be seen. I wondered where he had gone, but the thought was driven from my head as a 911 operator picked up. 911 said the woman's voice. What is your emergency? But I couldn't answer. Something was severely wrong with me. There didn't seem to be enough air in my lungs and my hands started to feel cold and numb. I was dizzy now. The world spun and the ground rose up to meet my face, smashing my nose painfully. My vision began to swim in darkness and then there was nothing. When the EMTs revived me, the woman's body had already been packed into the ambulance and taken away. Though the blood stain remained, a dark stain of brown against the green of the grass. The EMTs said I'd had a panic attack and passed out. The police took my statement and they sent me home, numb with shock. A few weeks later, I found out that the woman had been hit by a stray bullet from someone shooting cans in their backyard a mile away. It was a one in a million shot, they said. A week later, I saw the young man again. He wore the exact same clothes, had the exact same haircut and tearful grin, and the same old-fashioned camera was draped around his neck. I saw him by chance through the window of a restaurant, chatting up an elderly couple who sat in a corner booth. The silent, smiling conversation did not last long before the young man convinced them to get up and move to another booth. He lifted his camera to his face and... nothing happened. The old woman smiled and cocked her head to the side as if she was asking him something. He smiled back and raised a finger before lifting the camera to his face again. There was a sound like roaring thunder and the wall of the restaurant exploded into dust and debris. A truck had crashed through the wall and demolished the old couple's booth. The young man stood there as if nothing had happened. He raised the camera to his face, took one more picture and then turned to leave. He pushed the door to the restaurant open and walked out. He stopped and scanned the street. His gaze halted on me. The screaming and the chaos faded into silence as his preternaturally blue eyes bore into mine, turning my insides to ice. And then, in a moment, he was gone. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. I hoped after that to never see him again, but fate did not care much about my hopes. It never does. I was having dinner with my wife and five-year-old daughter, Sarah, and the air was filled with laughter and the smell of my wife's baked pork chops and creamed mushrooms. Sarah was telling us a story about a strange man she'd met by the school who had offered to take her picture. She said he had a strange smile and a really old camera like she had never seen before. My heart sat up and began to beat against the inside of my chest. Trying to maintain the illusion of calm, I set my fork down gently on my plate and I told her that if she ever saw that man again, she was to run and that she absolutely, under no circumstances, was she allowed to let him take her picture. But he did take my picture, Dad, said Sarah. He wouldn't let me see it, but he said he'd come show me when it was ready in a week. What? I gasped. My voice was hoarse and small. My wife was looking between my Sarah and I with a look of concern and confusion. Sarah seemed to sense that something was wrong and her chin began to quiver. Nothing's wrong, honey, I said. Everything is going to be okay. The lie struggled out of my throat and the guilt of it seized my heart and squeezed it tight. Sarah's eyes were watery, but she continued what she was saying. He said something else to Dad, she said uncertainly. He said it was very important. Yes, he said he wouldn't develop my picture if you let him take yours in the park tomorrow at noon. A wave of relief intermingled with sadness washed over me and a tension I hadn't even noticed dissolved from my shoulders. I could feel the tears starting out in my eyes as I kissed my daughter's head taking in a huge whiff of her scent. That scent of pure youth that makes the old feel young again. I kissed my wife hard on the lips, savoring the taste. Half lipstick and half the pork chops you just eaten. I love you, Jeanine, I said. And I love you too, Sarah. They looked at me uncomprehendingly concerned as if I had lost my mind. I've always loved my family more than life itself and tomorrow at noon I guess I will have to prove it. Perhaps I can get the better of the stranger. Perhaps not. Wish me luck.