March Into Hell (25 page)

His heart pounded. Even just thinking about it brought back the terror of that night. He rubbed his temples. "What I want to know is how Jim factored into all of this? It doesn’t make sense. How and why would Jim dream about what had happened--"

"No, it wasn't
'had happened'
, it's what was happening
right then,
possibly while he was there. At least, that’s the way I understood it. It was the prayers he heard first.”

“Prayers?”

“Yes. Bits and pieces of prayers.” Lily’s gaze dropped to the top of the breakfast bar for an instant before she took a deep breath and nodded. “Your praying woke him up. It wasn’t until after he was awake that he had the dream or vision of you in the warehouse.”

“How is that possible?” It wasn’t at all what happened when he had his future dreams. While they often felt real, he always had the sensation of waking at the end. It never was the other way around.

Lily’s lips compressed as she slowly shook her head and reached for his hand. “I have a theory.” She bit her lip and closed her other hand over the top of Mark’s, sandwiching his between hers. “I think you reached out to him.”

Mark started, caught by surprise at her comment. “Reached out? What do you mean?”

“I think,” she cocked her head to the side, “that your abilities expanded. You prayed for help, and God, as He does so often, didn’t answer directly, but allowed your plea to be heard by someone. Someone who could then come to your aid.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and smiled, “You reached out to Jim with your mind.”

He yanked his hand out of her grasp. “
No way
. You’re saying that I somehow sent a message to...
Jim
?” Shaking his head, he slid off the stool. “That’s like…like mental telepathy. Nope. No way.” He laughed sarcastically. “Lily, I think you’re right about a lot of things, but not this. I’m
not
some kind of freak.”

She shrugged. “I never said you were a freak. You have a gift. You should embrace it.”

“Some gift. This is more like a curse.” He raked his hand through his hair. “A new sweater is a gift, Lily. A necktie is a gift, but mental telepathy and seeing the future, that’s something else completely. I don’t know what it is, but it sure as hell is
not
a gift.”

Lily nodded. “Yes, it is. And Mark, I hope someday you'll realize how truly amazing it is. Whatever or whomever controls how the camera and dreams work, did not want you to die that night. You have someone watching out for you.”

Mark backed away from the breakfast bar, shaken by the thought. He was used to the magic that was the camera, but thinking about its origins and why it worked through him was something he tried not to think about. The idea that there could be more magic heading his way terrified him.

* * *

Lily insisted on washing the dishes and put the leftovers away for him to eat later. “Mark, why don’t you rest a bit?”

His bed sported a new navy blue comforter and it looked soft and inviting, but he didn’t feel like lying in bed. It felt weird to do so while Lily still puttered in the kitchen. He noted the new deadbolt on his door and felt a little more secure. After awhile, bored, he put an old Jimmy Stewart movie in the dvd player, and stretched out on the couch. Even though it was one of his favorite movies, he couldn’t concentrate. The commotion outside showed no signs of letting up and he rolled to a sitting position with a sigh, rubbing his stab wound absently.

Shouts and some kind of singing filtered up to his living room, even over the sound of the movie, and he stood and made his way to the window overlooking the street. Down below, in addition to the reporters, a large crowd like the one outside the hospital had formed. A police car was parked out front and its presence instilled a measure of comfort in him. He didn’t know where Kern was or even if he was still after him, but he was at a loss as to why Kern had come after him to begin with.

Mark stepped back when someone below looked up and pointed. The noise intensified and cameras began flashing. Sighing, he turned away and almost bumped into Lily.

“I take it they saw you?" Her lips pursed into a frown.

Glancing over his shoulder at the window, he took a deep breath and said, “Yeah. Lily…how am I gonna do anything with them hanging around?”

She shook her head. “I guess after awhile they’ll get tired of waiting for some kind of ‘sign’ from you and leave. Besides, until you're healed enough to use the camera, you don’t have to worry about it.”

He looked at his bedside table on the far end of the loft. It was empty except for the light and clock radio. "Speaking of the camera, do you know where it is?"

Lily slapped her forehead, her eyes wide. "Shoot. I forgot. It's in the trunk of my car. I can run out to get it if you want."

Mark considered telling her no. He wasn't sure he'd be up to it, but while he hated to admit it, he missed the dreams already. "If you think you can make it past the crowd, that would be great."

"No problem. I'm getting good at ignoring them, plus they think I'm boring. As long as they quit interfering with clients coming to the studio--"

"Wait.  What do you mean by 'quit interfering? Has that happened?"

Her face colored as though she had let a secret slip. "It's not a big deal, Mark. Just a few clients called to cancel. They were a little freaked out by the crowd."

"
Shit.
I'm sorry, Lily. I'll make up the losses. I have some money saved and--"

She put her hands on her hips and interrupted, "You will not!  You were upfront with me when we forged this partnership, and I was straight with you when I said I could handle it." Her eyes twinkled as she said, "Besides, for every person who has canceled, about three more have called to make appointments. We're swamped, partner." She grinned at him. "I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, she returned, the camera in hand. "I only had to fend off a dozen of your groupies."

Mark limped from the window where he'd been anxiously watching. "Seriously?" The crowd had stirred about the time Lily would have been outside, but he hadn't been able to see her car from his vantage point.

"No, I'm teasing. What I really wanted to do was give them the finger, but my mother might have seen it on the news."

Mark chuckled as he took the camera from her. He held his breath in anticipation of receiving the jolt of energy that he always got from the device. He waited. After thirty seconds, he frowned. Nothing. The camera didn't thrum or vibrate. It sat cold and lifeless in the palm of his hand.

"What's wrong?"

Mark turned the camera over, making sure it was the right one. Not that he had any that looked like it, but someone might have switched it out if they suspected. He squinted at it, sure it was his camera, but there was no connection. "It doesn't feel right."

"I didn't put any film in it, maybe that's what's wrong."

"I always keep some film in the closet, on the shelf." He tilted his head towards the closet next to the bathroom.

Lily found it and brought it over. Mark fumbled with the latch to get the door open to load the film, balancing the camera on his knees and holding it steady with the fingers of his left hand that poked out of his sling.

"You want me to do it?"

Mark shook his head. "No, I can manage." It took longer than normal, but he loaded the film and then headed towards the window. It was tricky holding the camera in one hand, but he lifted it and started snapping pictures of the crowd below. The photos would come out crappy, since he was taking them through dusty windows, but he wasn't worried about quality or composition of the photos. What did worry him was the lack of energy flowing from the camera.

Lily followed him, but stopped and leaned against the back of the couch. "Can you ever tell when it's working? Does it feel different when you press the shutter?"

He would have shrugged, but remembered in the nick of time not to. "Usually I can feel something even when I'm only holding it, and maybe it's because of the damage to my hands, but right now, it feels dead."

She made a noise that sounded sympathetic, but he concentrated on trying to get a few shots and didn't respond. He would have preferred to go outside and take photos randomly around town, like he normally did, but it was out of the question today.

When he finished off the roll, he let Lily take it downstairs to develop. There was no need for him to do that part. An hour later, she returned, her expression grim.

He knew the answer before she even told him. "It didn't work, did it?"

She shook her head and held up the photos. They appeared exactly as he'd photographed them. "Look at it this way, Mark. Whomever controls the camera and your dreams probably also realizes that you aren't able to correct anything at the moment."

“I can do stuff now, Lily.” Mark scrubbed a hand down his face, cursing softly when the corner of the dressing scratched his cheek a little. “Maybe not big saves, but I could do
something
.”

“I’m sure you probably can, but maybe the camera genie feels like you shouldn’t
have
to.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t know why he considered the camera's lack of future photo production as personally directed at him, but he did.  How often did he complain about the camera?  Daily. Instead of worrying, he should be whooping for joy. What if he was finally done with it? The thought was unsettling. Mark leaned his right elbow on the arm of the couch and rested his head against his hand.

Lily made her way to the door. “Mark, why don’t you at least try to sleep? I’m sure in a few days, things will get back to normal.” She paused with her hand on the knob. “Will you be okay up here?"

Mark lifted his head, feeling his face burn. He was grateful for her tact, knowing what she really meant was if he afraid to stay alone? He cleared his throat. "Yes. I’ll be fine. Thanks, Lily. For everything.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re home, Mark.”

* * *

Mark watched a movie the rest of the afternoon and as the sun began setting, he roused himself from the couch. This was normally his favorite time of day. Dusk dimmed the room while infusing it with a rosy glow from the setting sun as it reflected off the windows on the building opposite. Squares of light checkered the walls. He ate a bowl of cereal, not feeling like making anything big for dinner.

Afterwards, he washed up and came out of the bathroom to a loft that was almost completely dark. A chill raised the hair on his arms at the silence and darkness, and he hurried to turn on the light on the end table.

Later, in bed, he told himself that he just wasn’t used to sleeping in complete darkness after the hospital, but after tossing and turning for an hour, he sat up. Every fiber of his being cried out in weariness, but as soon he'd relax, he’d hear a squeak or rattle. He rationalized it was probably just the sounds of the old building as it settled, but it still set him on edge. The fact that the cult had entered the loft so quietly, and he hadn’t even known until they were pulling him from his bed, continued to haunt his memories.

If only he could know for sure that he would hear someone trying to get in the room. His mind flashed to the cans of soup in the cupboard. Feeling both stupid and relieved at the idea, he gathered the cans. It took a few tries, but he was finally able to balance one on the doorknob, and stacked a few more in front of the door. It wouldn’t stop anyone from entering, but at least he’d hear them if they tried.

He sank back on the bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mark awoke to the sound of pounding on the door followed by a thud as the soup can fell, knocking over the two beneath it. One can rolled noisily across the floor. His heart crashed against his ribs like a wild animal trying to escape its cage. He bolted up in bed.

“Mark?”

Jessie. He sagged back against the pillows and then flung the covers back and sat up again, slowly this time. He bit back a groan at a sharp twinge from his wound in his stomach. “Hold on.” His voice sounded scratchy and he cleared his throat. “I’m coming.” Standing, he raked his hand through his hair and tottered to the door. The first steps in the morning were always the hardest.

As soon as he opened the door, Jessie pushed past him, and looked around, her face alert. “What was that noise I heard? I thought you fell or something.”

Mark stole a guilty glance at the cans. He debated ignoring them or picking them up, but chose to ignore them as well as her question. “Did you need something?”

Jessie turned from her inspection of the loft, her stance relaxing. “I was just stopping by, like I said I would.”

Her gaze dropped, and Mark wanted to disappear into the floor when her eyes widened and focused on the soup cans. She took a step and grabbed one, her brow furrowing. Holding it, she looked at the other two and arched an eyebrow at him. “Is this your alarm system, or are the Boy Scouts coming by to collect for a food drive?”

Mark took the can from her, wanting to snatch it out of her hand, but refraining only because he didn’t trust his grip yet. “Something like that.” He motioned to the open door. “Well, now you’ve done your job. If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do."

Embarrassment made him more abrupt than he intended. He'd looked forward to Jessie stopping by, and now he'd ruined it with his stupid fears and soup cans.

Ignoring the hint, Jessie strolled to the couch and sat. “ Hmmm…soup cans. That was actually a pretty good idea, Mark. I like it.”

Sighing, Mark shut the door. “Listen, I know you probably think it’s crazy, but at least I knew I’d be able to hear if…if someone came back.”

The amusement melted off Jessie’s face and her eyes grew serious. “I know. I meant what I said. It
is
a good idea.” She bit her lip, her focus shifting away from him before coming back a moment later. “It’s hard learning to feel safe again. I
know
that.”

Mark felt his throat constrict and he swallowed, unable to respond. Jessie surprised him with her perceptiveness, but then she had been a cop a long time. He guessed she knew a thing or two about these kinds of things. He took a deep breath and inclined his head towards the bathroom. “Excuse me…I gotta…I’ll be back in a sec.”