“Son, what are you afraid to tell us? We realize you were in a prison, not on a luxury cruise. You don’t have to spare us the details.” His dad’s eyes locked on his, full of more sorrow and anguish than Mark had ever seen him show. “Our imaginations have probably conjured up the very worst.”
Overwhelmed, Mark broke the visual connection. “They never beat me.” He couldn’t bring himself to lie, but he didn’t want them to imagine things that never happened. “ Most of the time, I was treated okay.” The pancakes were soaking up the syrup. Soon they would be soggy and cold. He took another bite.
“Hon, we won’t think less of you no matter what happened in there, okay?” His mother smiled, her bottom lip trembling.
“I know. But you don’t have to worry. Mostly, I was just bored.” He shoved in the last forkful of pancakes.
Seventeen
“So, what are your plans?”
Mark looked over the top of the newspaper at his dad. “What do you mean? Today? I was gonna—”
His dad shook his head and cut him off. “No. I mean, for work. For getting on with your life.” He took the seat across the kitchen table. “It’s been a week. You have to start thinking about your future.”
Mark folded the paper and set it down beside his coffee cup. His father’s tone took him back to when he was twenty and had rebelled against returning to college. He had gone two years and done okay. School had been easy for him, but he found it boring. How many times had he tried to make his father see that it just wasn’t the path that he wanted to take? Especially not pre-med.
It had been drilled into him his whole life that he would be a doctor like his father. “I’ve been looking through the help wanted ads every day, Dad. I made a resume and sent that to a few employers.”
Mark put both elbows on the table and raked his hands through his hair and flashed a brief humorless smile. There hadn’t been a single ad seeking a newly-freed terrorist suspect. He took a deep breath and folded his arms on top of the paper. “I have an unexplainable gap in my employment history, and all my references are shot to hell. I’m not expecting much response.”
His dad rose and poured himself a cup of coffee. “If you would’ve finished college, you wouldn’t have this problem now.” He leaned against the counter, feet crossed as he sipped from his mug.
The muscles in the back of Mark’s neck tensed. “Yeah, well hindsight’s a bitch, isn’t it?” He tried to quell his anger and took a gulp of his coffee. What had he expected from his father? Support and warm fuzzies? The glimmer of warmth the first few days after Mark had returned had faded and now his dad was back to his classic ways.
“Are you still having your special dreams?”
The coffee sprayed across the paper as Mark choked at the question. When he could talk, he stammered, “N-None since I was in prison.” He evaded his father’s gaze and blotted the paper with a napkin.
Those two dreams still puzzled him. Why had he had them when he no longer had the camera? The other question he had was why had the dreams been about him? That had never happened before. Mark closed his eyes and recalled the details. The interrogations blended with reality until he couldn’t tell which had been dreams and which had been real. The memories of the interrogations and the dreams wove together in his mind and now he couldn’t, with certainty, separate them.
“So you’re done with that non...stuff?”
“Nonsense?” Mark jerked his head up. “Isn’t that what you were going to say?” He jumped up from the table, ignoring the coffee that sloshed and made a puddle. “I know you always hated that I chose photography instead of medicine, but goddamn it, even though I don’t have a bunch of letters after my name, I made a difference in people’s lives, Dad.” Mark clenched his jaw and fought to speak through the spasm in his throat. “I did.”
His voice broke as anger burned through him at his own emotions. He shoved the chair under the table and picked up his cup, dumping the contents into the sink. It took every fiber of self-control to keep from hurling the mug across the room. Instead, he rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. He thought he had learned to shrug off his father’s comments. After all these years, it shouldn’t hurt so much.
He heard his dad come up behind him, but the steps stopped a few feet away. “Listen, son. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Mark bit his lip and stared out the kitchen window. It had snowed the night before and icicles shimmered and glinted in the sun as they hung from the eaves. Out of habit, his mind framed them in a shot, then with a snort, he pushed the image out his mind and dried his hands with a kitchen towel. “Well, whatever. The camera is gone and so are the dreams.”
* * *
“Mark, you know your dad. He just wants the best for you.”
His mom stood in the doorway of Mark’s bedroom, but he couldn’t look at her. The tears on her cheeks tore at his resolve to leave.
“Yeah, that’s what you always told me, but he has a strange way of showing it.” Mark stuffed his meager wardrobe into an old duffel bag. He owned just a few pairs of jeans and sweat-shirts. When he used to come visit, he’d left his good clothes at his loft. At his parents’ house, he tended to do odd jobs, helped in yard and other chores. If they went out to eat, it was to a local diner, so there was no need to dress up. Now, he wished he had left a few decent things here. A few days before, he had picked up some socks, underwear and shaving gear at the discount store. After shoving those in, he grabbed the old pea coat. It would do for the rest of the winter. It would have to if he was going to make his money last for any length of time.
“Don’t do this, hon. Don’t leave angry. Please.” She clutched at his arm as he brushed past her.
Mark clattered down the steps, trying to ignore the tendril of pain that began in his gut and wound its way up to squeeze his heart. He stopped at the front door and set the duffel down. “I’m sorry, Mom. I have to go. I’m not angry...I just...I just can’t stay here.” Earlier, he’d dug a pair of gloves out of the hall closet and now he held them up. “I hope it’s okay if I take these.”
His mother looked at them blankly, then nodded. “Yes, of course. I think there’s an extra knit cap in the closet too. I’ll get it.” Her voice shook and he swallowed hard. He was the worst son ever.
Her eyes brimmed a few minutes later as she handed him the cap along with a lumpy paper bag. “I tossed some things in there in case you get hungry on the bus. Do you have any money? I think I have some cash in my purse and I can send you some more when you get settled.”
Mark shook his head. “I’m okay. They gave me a little money when I left.” Even if he had been penniless, he wouldn’t have taken any help. His mother wouldn’t care, but his dad would attach so many strings, the loan would look like a vast spider-web and money would be the fly in the middle. He swept her into a hug and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mom.” He tightened the hug. “I’ll keep in touch.” He broke away and scooped up the strap of the bag. “Bye.”
“Good-bye, and I’ll tell your dad you said good-bye too.”
Mark just nodded as he pushed the door open. He flinched at the sound of it closing behind him. Was he doing the right thing? There was no alternative. When he was younger, his dad had seemed like the most powerful man on Earth. Nobody stood up to his dad. He wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, Mark had felt pride in the way other kids had seemed a little afraid of his father. He hadn’t blamed them. His dad could be scary sometimes. Now, Mark knew better. There were scarier men out there. He knew because he had met them.
His feet crunched across the frozen gravel as he made his way to the main road. The air bit his nose while his breath steamed around his head. He was glad for the gloves and cap and turned the collar up on the coat. It was going to be a long hike.
His mother thought he was going to catch a bus to Chicago, but he had decided to try and hitch-hike instead. Every penny counted now.
Three hours later, his feet almost frozen, he finally got a ride from an
old trucker. Mark’s lips felt stiff as he tried to smile and thank the man.
“No problem. It’s awfully cold out there to be trekking very far. I’m going to Gary, Indiana. If you’re going farther, you’ll have to find another ride.” The man sounded the horn as he merged into traffic, his eyes darting to the passenger side mirrors. “Damn cars can see I’m trying to get going. I don’t know why they can’t switch to the middle lane.”
Mark cringed as a little red sports car whizzed past. “I’m going to Chicago, so if it’s not too much trouble, you could drop me off somewhere as you pass by. It doesn’t matter where.”
“You got it.” The other man reached out and turned the heat up when Mark couldn’t suppress a shiver. “You look half-frozen.”
“I am. And the other half is cold as hell.” Mark took his gloves off and blew into his hands then held them out to the vent.
The trucker laughed and nudged an open package of cookies across the seat. “Help yourself. I eat too many of the damn things.” He patted his impressive belly.
Mark ate a few cookies and then settled into the seat. The heat seeped into him, relaxing him until he dozed.
The cell felt like an inferno and Mark stripped down to his boxers, but the sweat poured off him. Had the air conditioner broken or was there a fire somewhere? The water in his sink had been shut off and he didn’t think it was close to a meal time yet. He’d give anything for a drink of ice cold water. He sank onto the steel shelf, at first it felt cool, but as his body warmed it, his skin stuck to the metal. His head ached and his throat felt raw.
The cell morphed into the interrogation room and Mark stood in front of the team, acutely aware of his almost naked state of dress. The chain around his waist scraped against his back.
A man Mark had never seen stuck his face close to Mark’s. “We’re turning up the heat .You brought this upon yourself by not telling us the truth.” Even in a dark suit and tie, the man wasn’t sweating.
How was that possible? As Mark wondered about that, the man snapped his fingers and pointed towards a long board in the corner of the room. “We got some water for you. Ice cold. You said you’d do anything for it.”
“I didn’t say that! I only thought it!” He knew what that board was for. He tried to swallow the fear, but his throat was too dry. “You don’t need to do that.”
The guards grabbed him and wrestled him to the board and strapped him down. One gripped Mark’s head and the man in the suit held a pitcher of water just above Mark’s face. A shudder shook him. “No!”
“Whoa there, buddy. Time to wake up.”
Mark started awake, and brought his hands up to wipe his face. It was dry. The lights of Chicago lit the interior of the cab.
“You okay?” The trucker raised an eyebrow.
“Just a dream.” He scrubbed his eyes. The cab had grown hot and Mark unbuttoned his coat. His mouth felt parched, but the thought of water sent a wave of revulsion through him. He tried to cover the shudder by stretching.
The cookies were gone and a smattering of crumbs covered the trucker’s belly. The man noticed Mark’s gaze and looked down, swiping the bits away with a grin. “Told you I’d eat too many. Any place in particular you wannabe dropped off?”
Home would be good, but that wasn’t an option. Ducking his head, he caught sight of a green road sign that announced the Addison Street exit one mile away. He shrugged. “I guess since it’s not too far away, Division or Ohio would be fine.” He recalled a little hotel right off Ohio that shouldn’t cost too much. At least it didn’t look expensive. In the morning, he could look for work. There were plenty of warehouses just west of the highway. They weren’t too picky about who they hired as long as the person had a strong back.
“You got it. I’ll exit on Ohio and loop back around.”
Ten minutes later, Mark stepped into the parking lot of a McDonald’s. He grabbed a quick meal then headed for the hotel. The price wasn’t outrageous, but he would have to find something cheaper as soon as he could. He lay on the bed, his hands behind his head. The only light in the room was the dim green cast by the bedside clock.
The hotel was in the heart of the city and he was literally surrounded by millions of people. The mattress shook whenever a heavy vehicle passed the motel. Cars beeped their horns, and down the hall, a door slammed. The city pulsed with life. It surrounded him, pushing and prodding him to dive back in, but as much as he wanted to, he didn’t know how. He glanced at the door. He held the key and he could leave anytime he wanted, but where could he go? It wasn’t places that he had missed, but people. Someone to laugh with, have a beer, see a movie. He ran through a mental list of some of his old friends. Even before he’d been locked up, he hadn’t called them often. It was his own fault for ignoring the friendships in favor of using the camera.
The only one he’d been close to was Jessie. He rolled his head to look at the phone. He could call. In twenty seconds, he could be talking to her. What would he say? She hadn’t believed him before he left. For all he knew, she had a boyfriend now. It had been a year. Hell, she could be married. Mark shifted on the bed and swung his legs over the side. It was only a little after seven p.m.
He rubbed his hands on his thighs, then reached for the phone. It took him a minute to recall her number and another minute to work up the nerve to dial it. After four rings, a machine picked up. Mark slumped as he listened to Jessie’s voice asking him to leave a message. He couldn’t do it. Not without knowing what her life was like now. The phone made a gentle click as he set it onto the cradle.
Well, that was that. There was nobody else to call. He flopped back on the bed and sighed. It was just as well. Better to start over fresh with no reminders of his previous life.
* * *
He awoke to bright sunlight streaming into the room. His melancholy mood from the night before had passed and he felt a spark of energy. After dressing, he grabbed his duffel bag and left the hotel. Hopefully, he’d find a cheaper place today. First on his agenda was breakfast and a newspaper. He obtained both at a diner a few blocks away. Over a plate of pancakes smothered in syrup and a side of sausage, he perused the help wanted section. The waitress lent him a pen, and he circled some possible opportunities. There were a couple of warehouse jobs, just like he had expected, but the job listing that piqued his interest was one for a photo lab. The pay wasn’t great, but it would be a step in the right direction.
After noting the location of the lab, he looked for rooms to rent. He saw a couple that sounded decent, but decided he should find a job before he committed to an apartment or room. Location had to be a consideration and walking distance to the job was first priority. After that was price. As he circled the phone numbers, it occurred to him that he had no way for any prospective employers to contact him. He couldn’t get a room until he had a job, but he couldn’t get a job until he had an address and phone number. Shit. Mark slapped the pen down on the paper and blew out a breath.
“Something wrong, hon?”
Mark turned to the waitress, who stood beside the table holding a pot of coffee. She frowned and looked genuinely concerned. He shook his head and tried to muster a smile. “No. I just...I have a small problem I was thinking about.” He reached for his wallet. “I guess I’m ready for the check.”
“Sure. You want a refill on the coffee?”
He thought for a second. It was foolish to waste time, but then again, he’d wasted over a year in prison; what was a few more minutes lingering over a cup of coffee? Just the luxury of being able to sit and watch people come and go while sipping the hot brew was something he wanted to savor. “Yeah, another cup would be great.”
She poured, then before moving off to the next table, paused. “I’m being nosy, but if you want to share your problem, I’m a good listener.”
Surprised, Mark glanced from the sugar packet he held in his hand up to her. He hadn’t had anyone to share a problem with in a long time. She was probably just being polite, but he shrug
ged and answered anyway, “I just got into town last night. I don’t have a job yet, and haven’t found a place to stay tonight—I have money, that’s not the problem,” he added hastily, not wanting her to think he might stiff her on the bill. “I was looking in the paper for both a job and a room, and realized I need one to get the other.” He shook his head and poured the sugar into the cup. “It’s a catch-22.”
“Hmmm...it is.” She put a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “What kind of job are ya looking for?”
“Anything, really.”
“Well, what have you done before?”
“I was a photographer, but it’s been awhile. Someday, I’ll get back into it, but for now, I’m not picky.”
“We get lots of folks from the neighborhood, and one of the regulars was just moaning about having to work all the time because he couldn’t find good help. You might try him. He runs a camera shop around the corner.” She pulled out her pad of paper and jotted something down and tore it off, handing it to him. “You just give this to Gary and tell him Lois sent you.”
“I—I will. Thanks.” He glanced at the note. She had written that Gary better hire Mark because she was tired of listening to Gary’s complaints. Mark grinned. “He’d hire me on your say so?”
Lois shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I know a good guy when I see one. Serving people all day, you get an instinct.” She tapped the eraser on the pencil against her temple. “Besides, I got a son about your age. You remind me of him.”
Touched, Mark smiled and tried to cover his emotion with a joke. “So he’s a handsome son-of-a gun too?”
The waitress threw her head back and laughed. “You bet.”
He tucked the paper into his wallet, took out a twenty and handed it to her. “Here’s for my meal. Keep the change.”
“But breakfast only cost about seven bucks. This is an awfully big tip.”
Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series) Page 31