Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series)

by M. P. McDonald

  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 20

  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.”

  Her amused expression returned. “Take your time. I have all day.”

  He almost stopped and went back for a clarification, but decided he’d find out soon enough. Quickly, he grabbed his clean clothes from his dresser and went to shower.

  Toweling off, he realized he’d need some help getting his sling back on. He'd tugged his jeans on, even managing to button and zip them. The shirt was easy as he had chosen a button down and after pulling it on, eased his arm into the sling. Mark couldn’t wait to be rid of the thing, but he still had awhile before the surgically repaired shoulder would be strong enough to support his arm.

  He was becoming adept at doing most things one-handed, especially as his hand healed, but he couldn’t wrap the belt around his back and hook it onto the front of the sling. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but it eased the pressure on his neck. Opening the door, he stepped into the living area. “Uh, Jessie? Can you give me a hand—”

  A half-eaten granola bar dangled from her fingers as she perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. A glass of orange juice sat beside her. She looked at him and nodded, setting the bar down. “Sure.” She hopped off the stool and strode towards him.

  Brushing her hands together, ignoring the few crumbs that fell from them, she said, "I noticed the camera on the counter. Don't you think you should take a little break from it?"

  Mark felt a surge of anger. It was mis-directed, and he knew it even as he snapped, "What is it with everyone wanting me to give up the camera?"

  She held her hands up as though warding him off. "Hey, it was just a suggestion."

  Mark forgot about the camera as she moved closer and reached around him to retrieve the dangling belt. The familiar light floral scent of her hair wafted up to him, and he wanted to bury his nose in the shiny strands.

  "I just thought you might do more harm than good with the camera right now. I never intended to make it sound like you should give it up completely." She stepped back and hooked the clip onto the ring and tightened the strap. "I should warn you that the news is still overrun with Mark Taylor stories. One camp thinks you're the second coming, the other thinks you're a total fraud."

  Mark grunted as his shoulder pulled back with her tugging. The pain drew him from his thoughts of her hair and made him wonder if she was right. A rock settled in his stomach. He had an inkling what could be the problem with the camera. It had tested him and found him wanting.

  Finished, Jessie looked up at him. “Are you okay? You look a little green around the gills.”

  Trying to walk lightly, he made his way to the bed and sat on the edge. “Yeah. I’m fine," he answered, his voice flat.

  Finding his shoes, he eased his feet into them; not that he was going anywhere, but it was easier on his feet to walk with the support of the sneakers.

  Jessie followed him and sat on the bed too. “You don’t sound fine.” Her eyes tried to lock with his, but he averted his gaze.

  “I just thought of something, but it’s not a big deal.” He took a deep breath and stared at the soup can across the room. It had bumped into the wall and lay as evidence of his flawed character.

  “Care to share?” Jessie asked quietly, her voice laden with concern.

  Swallowing, he closed his eye
s for a second. "I think the news is partly right about me."

  She crossed her arms. “What part would that be? Do I need to start going to the Church of Taylor?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “No, nothing like that…but…but what if it was some kind of…test?” Mark glanced at her quickly then shifted his focus to the floor, finding a fascinating scratch on the wooden surface.

  “You think God was testing you?”

  Nodding, he risked raising his head. “Maybe.”

  “What makes you think God had anything to do with it? It was just a sicko cult leader who was trying to make a name for himself with his members.”

  “But why did he pick me? Other than that brief encounter, he didn’t know me from Adam.” Mark cringed at his poor choice of words. “And he got away with that, so why come back and risk getting caught? I mean, he knew that I could identify him.”

  Jessie shrugged. “Your name was in the news and it would have a bigger impact than just anyone off the street.”

  “Exactly. But why was I in the news to begin with?”

  “Because of all that crap that the reporter said about you. Kern bought her story.”

  Mark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah. She's the one who mentioned the second coming. We both know it's a crazy notion, but I can't get around the fact that the photos and dreams are true. Which begs the question of how does it work, and why am I the one who gets the dreams?"

  "You're not starting to believe your own press, are you?" she asked, punctuating the question with a chuckle.

  "No, that's not what I'm getting at. I don't believe that I'm special, but I am beginning to wonder if I'm just an instrument, a puppet. A way for God—or whoever—to fix mistakes or hand out second chances."

  "Kind of like a mob hit man in reverse." Jessie smirked.

  Mark rolled his eyes. "You know what? Just forget it." He stood and crossed the room and slumped onto the sofa.

  * * *

  Jessie closed her eyes and shook her head, cursing her smart-ass mouth. It had been her armor from her teen years, her defense mechanism against classmates who'd teased her for being too skinny, with big eyes, buck teeth and scraggly blond hair. Her only defense had been her sharp tongue. After she filled out and had her braces off, boys stopped teasing her, but she'd found that in times of stress, the old habit of striking out with sarcasm kicked into high gear.

  Hesitantly, she approached Mark and sank onto the chair beside the couch. He sat on the edge of the cushion, his head resting on his hand and elbow propped on his knee. His hair, still wet, stood on end from when he'd run a hand through it. The strands slowly settled into place, except for two stubborn spikes. She reached out of habit, intending to pat them into place, but he blocked her hand and leaned away from her. Her throat tightened, the feeling working its way down to settle in her chest. It hurt more than she expected, but no more than she deserved.

  "I'm sorry, Mark. This is why I left. I'm no good for you. You need someone like Lily who never dives into the sarcasm pool head first."

  "Lily? What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You guys would be perfect for each other. She's cute. She believes in you with all her heart and you're both photographers—"

  "So does that mean Jim would be perfect for you? Or your partner, Dan?" He looked away and stabbed his hand through his hair.

  Jessie sighed. "No, that's not what I mean. I meant that I think you are special, even if I try to pretend that you aren't."

  Mark turned, his eyes questioning.

  She nodded. "I know. I don't act like it, but that's because it scares the crap out of me, Mark. I don't measure up. I'm not good enough for you."

  Confusion crossed his face, and then he laughed. "Now you're the one falling for the stories." He shook his head, chuckling.

  Taking a deep breath, Jessie stood and paced behind the couch. She stopped at the brick support beam, remembering entering the loft the night when Mark had been taken. The sight of blood on the bricks had sent terror shooting through her heart. Since then, she had tried repairing the cracks in her armor.

  She trailed her fingers over the rough brick. Someone had cleaned it, but she could still spot a dark stain about six feet off the ground. Behind her, she heard Mark stand and limp towards her. His gait was better than it had been the day before, but she knew his feet still caused him pain. She turned and found him beside her. Lately, she had seen him sitting or lying down, but now, he towered over her and her eyes were level with his chin. He was looking over her head at the bricks and a muscle tightened in his jaw.

  “They held me there first, and I thought they were going to kill me right then.”

  Jessie looked back at the pillar. “There was blood on it when I came up here that night.” Mark glanced at her, but she wasn’t sure if what she said registered because his eyes were distant.

  “Kern told me that what they were doing was a test—to see if I was like Jesus…because I had saved a lot of people.” His voice cracked and he cleared it before continuing, “and Jesus saved people too.”

  Jessie hadn’t heard this part. Mark had told what had happened physically, but hadn’t offered many details. Dread curled her toes. What else had they said to him?

  “He told me he could do a different ritual instead. An…an Aztec one where they would rip my heart out and show it to me before I died.” He made a motion with his hand in front of his chest. His eyes were wide and focused somewhere beyond the pillar.

  She felt like she might vomit. No wonder he was so worried about Kern coming back.

  “Then he put the knife against me and he…he stabbed me and I thought he was going to do it—that he would pull my heart right out of my chest.” His hand went to his stab wound and he rubbed it absently, his eyes a million miles away. “He said I was lucky because he didn’t put it all the way in.”

  Jessie shuddered and closed her eyes. Now she fully understood why Mark had begged Kern to shoot him. “I’m sorry.”

  He blinked and focused on her, his brows drawing together in confusion. “What do you have to be sorry about? You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “I know, but I wish I could have prevented it from happening. Between the camera and Jim's dream, it seems like we should have been able to stop it."

  Mark shook his head. “That’s why I think it was a test. I had the photos right there on my camera, but I didn't bother to develop them. This was all my fault, nobody else's."

  Now he wasn’t making sense. "Who do you think is testing you?"

  "I don't know." Mark sighed and circled the sofa, sitting heavily and rubbed his hand down his face. “The camera…it's part of all of this. I don’t know how or why, but for some reason, the camera uses me to show certain images that I can change. If I could figure out who controls the camera, I could figure out how it works.”

  It was obvious to her who was in control, and she didn't believe God was testing Mark. Wasn't fifteen months as an enemy combatant test enough? "I have no doubt where the images on the camera come from and who plants them in your dreams. What I do doubt is that it was some kind of macabre test. What happened was a glitch. A mistake. Nothing more. You were meant to see the film, but you were tired and didn't. It just means you're human. "

  "You think I don't know that? Every time I screw up—and I've done it plenty of times, Jess—I look in the mirror and know that I'm just some idiot who's in over his head. God finally figured it out too. It doesn't surprise me that he's given up on me."

  "Fine. Keep thinking that, Mark, and you'll never get your gift back."

  He rose from the couch and crossed to the door. "I have some things to do in my office."

  * * *

  Mark took a sip of coffee. Lily hadn’t yet arrived and he was glad for a few moments of quiet as he sat at his desk. He looked through the drawers, noting that things had been moved around, but Lily had told him of the police’s initial efforts to find out where he was. As far as he
could tell, Jessie was still upstairs. That was fine with him. He'd already embarrassed himself enough around her.

  Taking out a pencil, he opened the account books, intending to do some bookwork, but after glancing through them, his mind wandered. His brain was too full of questions to continue working on the books. Was Jessie right? Had it all just been a colossal mistake? He could handle that. It wouldn't be the first time he'd failed to stop something, and he doubted it would be his last. The difference was he'd always tried before. He hadn't ignored the camera like he had the night of his kidnapping. He drummed his fingers on the desk. The urge to talk to someone was strong and he pulled out his wallet and retrieved Scott Palmer’s card.

  As he lifted the phone to dial, Jessie knocked on the door and opened it. “Mark?” She tucked her hair behind her ear in the nervous habit that she had.“Can I come in?”

  Mark dropped the phone and palmed the card. He slid it into the top drawer. Jessie’s eyes followed his movement, but she didn’t question him. “Since you're here already. You might as well come on in.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out, her gaze darting to the left before settling on him. “I’m sorry if I sounded patronizing. I was trying not to upset you and I guess I failed at that.”

  Mark didn’t let his face soften and he didn't speak. Did she think he was so fragile that she couldn’t be straight with him?

  Stepping into the room, she crossed her arms and her eyes dropped to the floor. “Look, I’m a cop. I’m trained to be skeptical.”

  “And you’re very good at your job,” Mark said, his voice hard.

  Jessie bit her lip then said, “I thought I was good at it, but I guess I’m not as good as I believed. If I was good, I’d have found Kern already, and, well, anyway, I wanted to tell you that I called Dan and he’s going to send over a uniformed cop to keep an eye on the place.”

  Mark relented. He couldn’t help it. Her distress and sincerity was plain as day in the expression on her face. Jessie was never this humble and he couldn’t stand it. He sighed and motioned to the chair on the other side of the desk. Propping one elbow on the desk, he swiveled to be parallel to the desk and tilted back in the chair. “Don’t leave. If I have to have a babysitter, I’d rather have you than some other cop.”