Heat crept up Mark’s face, and he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just a little jumpy.” He wasn’t sure why he felt a need to explain his actions, but he added, “I haven’t seen my parents for over a year, and, well, I’m just a little nervous about seeing them again.”
The sailor nodded, his expression sober. “I understand.” He was quiet for five minutes or so. Mark felt bad for reacting the way he had.
It figured that he would scare off the very first person to talk to him normally in over a year.
“It’s going to be dark out soon. I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind giving you a lift.”
The sailor was like young puppy, and even though Mark kept nudging him aside, the kid came back for more. Mark saw the earnestness in his eyes. “My parents live about ten miles north of the city. That’s way out of your way, I’m sure.”
His face lit up. “No, it’s not. We live in the north end, just inside the city. They won’t mind.”
The kid looked so eager, Mark didn’t have the heart to say no, so he shrugged. “Well, ask your parents when you see them. If it’s okay with them, I’d appreciate a ride.”
“Great!” The sailor grinned. “Wow, I don’t even know your name.” He stuck a hand out. “I’m Tommy Wilson.”
Mark looked at the hand, then shook it and smiled. “Mark Taylor.”
* * *
A few minutes later, the bus pulled into the station. The driver exited and began unloading the luggage from the compartment underneath the bus. Mark stood and stretched. Tommy zipped up his coat and peered out the windows. His face broke into a grin and he pointed. “There they are!” His enthusiasm made Mark smile. The kid was practically dancing down the aisle of the bus.
Mark followed and stood back as Tommy hugged his parents. They were all talking at once, smiling and laughing. The reunion went on so long that Mark began to sidle away, figuring Tommy had forgotten about him. With a last look at the happy family, he turned and shoved his hands into his pockets. There was only about an hour of light left and he quickened his step.
“Mark! Where ya going?”
He turned to see Tommy jogging towards him. “I...ah, well, I don’t want to bother anyone.”
“Naw, no bother. My parents are okay with it. Come on.” Tommy made a follow motion with his hand and turned back towards the parking lot.
Mark saw no graceful way out of the situation and as a cold wind whipped his hair around, he decided that a nice warm car was preferable to walking in the frigid dark. He just hoped there wouldn’t be too many questions.
Tommy made introductions, and his parents greeted Mark with in a friendly tone, although his dad, who wasn’t much older than Mark, did study him for a long moment before saying, “Well, I’m freezing, so let’s get going.”
Mark trailed behind the group and got in the backseat beside Tommy. He gave the father the address then settled back, listening to the parents quiz Tommy on what had gone on in basic. Had it been hard? Were the drill instructors mean? Was the food good? He was glad for all the chatter because it allowed him to remain silent.
Tommy borrowed his mother’s cell-phone and called someone, and judging from the grin on the kid’s face and the way he turned away from the rest of the car, Mark guessed it was the girlfriend.
Tommy’s dad glanced at Mark in the rear-view mirror. “So, Tommy said you’re going home to see your folks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir? That’s awfully formal. My name’s Jeff.” Every few seconds, he would take his eyes off the road and look at Mark. “I bet they’ll be glad to see you.” Was there a hint of a question in that statement?
Mark nodded, meeting Jeff’s gaze for an instant before averting his eyes. The other man knew something. He could tell by the tone of his voice and how he regarded Mark. Feeling a need to fill the silence and to answer an unspoken question, Mark said, “They’re not expecting me. I want to surprise them.”
“You live in Chicago?” He was digging.
“Yes, sir.” Mark didn’t offer more. He squirmed and glanced at Tommy, who was oblivious to everything except the voice on the other end of the phone.
“Are you military? You sound like it.”
“No, sir..., uh, Jeff. I’ve just been around military people a lot lately. Guess it wore off on me.” He tried to chuckle and make a joke, but it fell flat.
The car stopped at a light and Mark saw Jeff exchange a glance with his wife. The light turned green and Jeff focused his attention on driving and didn’t ask Mark any more questions. The rest of the drive continued with only Tommy’s voice breaking the silence.
* * *
“Thank you for the ride. I appreciate it.” Mark wanted to jump out of the car before it came to a complete stop in front of his parents’ house, but instead, he tried to smile at the Wilsons. “It was a pleasure meeting all of you.” Mark opened the door and shook Tommy’s hand again. “You take care, and good luck with the Navy.” With a last wave, he shut the door and began walking up the drive.
The house looked the same as he remembered. The porch, with its white spindle railing, hugged the sunny yellow home. The flower beds lay fallow, but he pictured them bursting with flowers as they usually were in the summer. The memory was so vivid, he could almost hear the lazy buzz of the bees that had been a melody from his boyhood. How many times had he sat on those steps and guzzled lemonade underneath a blazing summer sun?
The second floor was dark, but warm light shone from the front windows, and he knew that the kitchen in the back would be bright. Mark sniffed. Wood smoke. His dad always loved a good fire in the fireplace. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and mounted the steps.
Should he knock? Normally, he just walked in because his parents never locked the door. There was never a need. He didn’t want to scare them though. He compromised and knocked, then opened the door a tiny bit. “Hello?” The scent of wood burning mingled with another tantalizing aroma. Beef stew?
Mark winced as something in the kitchen hit the floor with a loud crash. Then his mom’s face peeked around the corner from the kitchen into the long hallway to the front door. “Hi, Mom.”
“Mark?” She looked like she didn’t believe her eyes, then she gave a shriek and flew towards him and into his arms. “Oh my God! It really is you.” She alternated between hugging him and pulling back to see his face. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Norma? What the hell is going on?” The basement door opened and his dad, his protective goggles pushed up on top of his head, froze as he saw Mark. “Jesus Christ!”
His mom broke away, but kept an arm around Mark’s waist. “Mark’s home, Gene. He came home!”
Not seeming to comprehend, his dad looked from Mark to his wife for a few seconds before he finally moved, his steps hesitant as he approached.
Mark swallowed hard. “How have you been, Dad?”
His father’s steps quickened. “Mark.” It was all he said, but it was enough. In a heartbeat, his dad’s arms were around him, his hand going up to the back of Mark’s neck and pulling him close. “We’ve missed you, son.” His voice was thick.
Wood shavings clung to his dad’s flannel shirt and he smelled of pine and varnish. Mark could only nod and his throat swelled. He sighed when his mom reached up and feathered his hair.
His dad broke off the hug and took a step back, eyeing him from head to toe. “Are you okay? Did they treat you well?”
Mark saw the worry on his mom’s face, and said the only thing he could, “Yes, sir. I’m fine.” He tried to smile, but then had to duck his head and bite his lip to keep his emotions in check. “I don’t really want to talk about it now, if that’s okay.”
She ran her hand up his arm, stroking it gently, and tilted her head. “Oh, hon, we don’t have to. Are you hungry? Dinner is almost ready.”
“I’m starved.” Mark did smile then, and rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait to taste your cooking again.”
His dad clapped h
im on the back. “It’s good to have you home.” Nodding, his lips tight, he turned and abruptly went back to the basement.
Sixteen
Steam rose from his plate. Mark closed his eyes and inhaled. Damn. It smelled great. The carrots and celery added color to the stew. Big pieces of beef swam in thick gravy, bumping up against chunks of potatoes. Two corn muffins perched on the edge of the plate where they dripped melted butter to mix with the gravy.
Mark took a bite and knew he was home. His mother poured him a tall glass of milk and he gulped it. “Ah. This is great, Mom.” He swiped his hand across his mouth and dug into the mound of food on his plate.
His mother beamed and hardly touched her meal. Every time Mark looked up, he found her watching him like he might disappear any second.
“Your son is right. This is a wonderful meal, Norma.” Using his muffin to sop up some gravy, his dad made quick work of eating. “I bet you didn’t get food like this in prison.”
Cornbread lodged in Mark’s throat, and he thought he might gag. Grabbing his milk, he took a swallow. “No, sir. Nothing like this.” He still had a half a plate of food, but his stomach churned and his appetite had deserted him. He poked at the carrots with his fork.
Prison. Did that make him an ex-con? He had never been convicted of anything. Hell, he had never even been charged with anything. He felt his mother looking at him and kept his head down.
“I didn’t think so. You look kind of skinny, but no worries, your ma will put some meat back on your bones.” His dad chuckled and laid his fork and knife across his plate.
“Gene.” She gave him a stern look.
“What? It’s true.” He patted his stomach. “Got any dessert?”
“There’s apple pie.”
Mark bit the end of a piece of carrot, but couldn’t manage any more. He sat back and gave his mom an apologetic smile. “Dinner was delicious, but I guess my eyes are bigger than my stomach.” After the talk of his weight loss, he wanted more than anything to polish off his dinner, but he just couldn’t.
She frowned at his plate and then held his gaze for a long moment. Nodding, she stood and held her hand out for his dish. “I’m sure it’s probably just all the excitement getting to you.”
“It’s okay. I can get it, Mom. You sit and eat.” Mark rose and crossed to the sink. “Apple pie sounds great, but I think I’m going to have to take a rain check.”
“Well, maybe later on tonight you’ll be hungry again.”
“Maybe.” Mark rinsed his dish and stuck it in the dishwasher, then grabbed a cup and poured coffee from the fresh pot. “Anyone want some?”
“You can pour me a cup,” his dad said, then he cleared his throat, and continued, “If you don’t mind watching me eat my pie, I’d like for you to sit and talk with us.”
He’d known the questions would come, but he’d hoped to delay the inevitable as long as possible. “Yeah. Sure.” Grabbing two more cups, he poured coffee for his parents. His hand shook and he spilled a few drops on the counter.
In the window above the sink, he saw the table behind him. His mom shook her head at his dad, but his father only nodded. Mark was surprised at the expression of sadness that stole across his father’s face. His mother sighed and then stood and went to the other counter and began cutting the pie.
After all he had been through in the last year, this should have been easy, but as he carried the cups to the table, his heart thumped so loudly he could hear it inside his ears. He told himself it was just his parents, it wasn’t like he was going to be interrogated.
He blew on his coffee as his father stirred some cream into his own. Done stirring, his father set the spoon on the saucer with a clink. “Tell us what happened. We don’t know much.”
Mark rolled the mug between his palms, watching the coffee swirl inside. “Honestly, I don’t know much either. One minute, I was elated because I helped save a baby, the next, the police were slapping cuffs on me. The FBI showed up, whisked me to their office and asked me about some phone calls I made on September 11th. I had dreamed about the attack, and thought I could stop it.” Mark couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
His mother shot a confused glance at Mark’s father before turning back to Mark. ”A baby? We didn’t hear anything about a baby. And what phone calls?”
Of course the baby part hadn’t made the reports. It might have ruined the image they tried to paint of a heartless terrorist.
His dad pinned Mark with a hard look. “There has to be more to it than that.”
Mark rubbed circles on his temples. “ It’s complicated. You guys remember my trip to Afghanistan about four years ago?”
His dad shrugged and his mother nodded.
“Well, the guy I went with, Mo—Mohommad Aziz— was also arrested. It seems he had some connections to al-Qaeda. He told officials that I was involved too.” It still hurt to think of his friend’s betrayal and he took a sip of coffee to hide the pain. The only explanation was desperation on Mo’s part. If he received the kind of questioning Mark had, well, he could hardly blame the guy.
“Were you involved?”
The accusatory tone hit Mark physically with a sharp stab to the chest and his cup rattled when he set it down. “What do you think, Dad? Tell me. I want to know.” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.
“I don’t know what to think.” His father drummed his fingers on the table, his mouth stiff. He glanced off to the side, as if composing his thoughts. He spit out the words as if he was tasting something nasty. “I’ll tell you what I know instead. I know that my son—my only child—who I raised to respect people and to love this country, was taken away and accused of one of the most horrific crimes imaginable against his own countrymen.”
Mark shook his head, cradling it his hands. “No. I didn’t—”
His dad froze him with a look as he cut him off. “My son is gone with no word, and I have to get my information from the news media—when they call to get interviews with the parents who raised the ‘monster’.”
“Gene, he’s not a monster. He’d never do something like that.”
“I’m just repeating what was written.” He glared at Mark’s mother before pinning it on Mark. “Do you know what this did to your mother? I’ll tell you. She was kicked out of half the clubs she belonged to, and the other half hardly speak to her. Everywhere we go, people whisper and point. We’re pariahs in our own community.”
Mark turned to her but she evaded his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She shrugged, her eyes bright with tears. “It wasn’t a big deal. Not compared to not knowing where you were or how you were doing.”
His dad didn’t let up. “I lost about half of my patients, other doctors shun me, and it’s become so bad, you’re mother and I were thinking of leaving town.” He stabbed a finger in Mark’s direction. “So don’t go thinking this has just affected you.” He circled his finger to encompass the three of them. “It’s affected all of us, and your mother and I deserve to know the truth. We deserve to know why you’ve shamed us.”
“I never meant to shame anyone.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat, taking a moment to gather his composure. “I...I went to Afghanistan, but I only took photos for Mo’s book. I never did the things they said I did. I never went to any training camps. I never said a bad word about the U.S.”
He rubbed his eyes with his first two fingers and thumb. “While I was there, I bought an old camera. An antique.” He cursed that day. “I never told you guys because it sounds crazy, but when I’d use that camera, I’d get photos of things that were going to happen.”
His dad scoffed and crossed his arms. “I thought you could do better than that.”
His mother remained silent, which was almost worse.
“Let me finish, dammit!” Mark glared at his father. “It’s true, and not only that, but after seeing the photographs, I dreamed about them. Dreams like you never imagined, Dad. Three dimensional dreams, movies
almost. Only, it’s never good stuff. It’s always someone dying or getting hurt.”
He used to hope for good pictures and dreams. He took plenty of happy photos with the camera, catching images of blissful couples strolling in the park, but the dream pictures never had happy endings. “When I wake up, I know exactly what’s going to happen to the person in the dream. If I’m lucky, I can stop it. I can turn the photo into a good one.”
He could see they weren’t buying it. His father shook his head, and his mother had tears welling in her eyes. They thought he’d lost his mind. “It’s true! I swear it.” He wracked his brain for a way to prove it, but had nothing. “Remember when I was shot?”
“Of course, hon.” She reached across and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “How is your leg now?”
Mark pulled his hand away in frustration. “It’s fine, but I didn’t get shot because I was taking photos in a bad neighborhood. A cop was going to be killed. I had the photos and dream the night before so I took my camera to the neighborhood as a cover. I had to wait until the right moment, then I tackled the officer just as the drive-by shooting began. That’s a fact.” He pointed at his father. “You can check it out. I never told them the cop was going to get killed, but nobody can dispute that I tackled him just as the passing car sprayed the corner with bullets.”
“Son, I know a doctor, he’s a good guy. You could talk—”
“I don’t need a shrink, Dad. I’m not crazy. I was able to stop it because I knew. It’s not the only time. I stopped dozens of things since I got the camera.” He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and plowed ahead, “That’s what happened to me on September 10th. I took some photos. Nothing special, just some shots of the Chicago River, only that’s not what developed. What I got were pictures of the planes hitting the Twin Towers.”
His mother wiped her hand across her cheek, leaving a wet smudge. “And?”
“Don’t play along with him, Norma.”
Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series) Page 29