Camille made me feel like I was in a feast, a love fest, a passion play all rolled into one. Why was it like that with her? Was it her youth? Rosie and Marie were around the same age, Margot just a bit older ... it wasn't her youth. Was it her beauty? Margot is a beautiful woman, so is Marie and so is Rose ... not, it was not her youth, it was not her beauty, even if the camera could not avoid but adore her.

What was it then? What was it that made this experience stand out from the past?

It was her energy and the desire, I'm sure now. I felt like a vampire sucking fresh blood. It was the energy I could feel coming out of her, pervading the room, injecting me with renewed life. It was the desire to have her, to love her, to torture her, to make her immortal.

I wasn't thinking all those thoughts, I was feeling them. I had to stop for a moment to get a hold of myself, leaving her to struggle on her cross. I changed the angle of the camera a little, getting a closer look at her. I did that from time to time after a few strokes of the rod. It was the only work I permitted myself to do with the camera.

But everytime I saw through the lens I realized I was very nervous about the whole thing. I was anxious about the image, I wasn't pleased with the 'set', I wasn't happy with the light.... and I didn't have the capacity to concentrate in anything but the action at hand. So I decided that the camera work would be the sacrifice of the moment. It ha to be that way.

When I worked and scenarion such as this with either Rosie or Marie ... or even Margot, I was a bit more careful with the camera work. I took my time, but still, in those occassions I was also concerned about everything. The difference this time was that a powerful force was taking over my very soul and I knew my life was changing.

With every stroke of the rod I said goodbye to my recent past, I said goodbye to Rosie and Marie, I said goodbye to the time of waiting for this to happen. It was not just the situation. It was her. It was Camille and what she meant to me from this day on.

Camille didn't mind the wait. She was doing what she had to do, what I told her to do. I told her to struggle, to suffer, to anticipate the worst, because things could only get worse for the victim of the crazy killer. I had mentioned before, as an introduction to her acting lessons, the value of subtext and of physical memory. She was putting all that into practice.

She moaned and whimpered. She cried out her anticipation and her pain. She hanged from her bonds, her wrists in pain. Her body felt the unceasing sting of the broken skin. She was doing well, she was true to her situation and I couldn't be any happier.