Mark Taylor: Genesis (Prequel in the Mark Taylor Series)

by M. P. McDonald

  She returned carrying a tray bearing her lunch of a cheeseburger, small fries and a large drink. Sitting, she shrugged out of the blazer and twisted to drape it over the back of her chair. More impure thoughts crossed his mind at her profile, but the holster strapped over her shoulder, and the butt of the gun under her left arm banished the thoughts almost immediately. The badge clipped to her belt didn’t hurt either.

  He sipped his coffee, unsure what to say, and decided to let her do all the talking. Maybe if he kept his mouth shut he could climb out of this hole of suspicion he had fallen into.

  She washed down the first bite with a sip of pop, then said, “So, what’s the deal? I can’t figure out how you knew someone was going to rob that gas station at that time. Either you had inside knowledge, maybe helped plan the heist, or you just got incredibly lucky.” It was clear by her tone which scenario she considered most likely.

  “Lucky?” He smiled, hoping she would let the subject drop. “Honestly, I swear I had nothing to do with it, but as far as how I knew, I’d rather not say. I don’t know if the guy you arrested has friends.” Would she understand the implication?

  Cocking her head to the side, her gaze roamed over Mark as the corner of her mouth turned up. “I should push you on this, but someone like you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

  “Someone like me?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You look like a freaking boy scout.”

  He grinned. “I actually was a Boy scout. Didn’t quite make it to Eagle, but the camping trips were a blast.” The grin melted away. “I swear to God I had nothing to do with the robbery.”

  She took another sip of her drink and he tried not to focus on her mouth as she did so. “So what was it? A premonition?”

  Could he reveal that much? Did people believe in premonitions? He shrugged. “Something like that.” Mark pulled his attention from her mouth and used a napkin and scratched a bit of dried up ketchup off the table.

  “Do you have them often?”

  “Lately, yeah.”

  “Did you have one about this meeting? About me?”

  His head shot up. Was she flirting with him? “Uh…”

  “It’s true I had questions about your source of information, but I never considered you a suspect.” She lifted one shoulder. “I figured the perp was lying. I actually just wanted to thank you.” Her cheeks had taken on a pink hue. “The guy we brought in had several outstanding warrants for some violent crimes. Whether he was intending to rob the gas station is irrelevant now.”

  “You’re welcome.” Mark sat back, unsure what else to say.

  The detective balled up her cheeseburger wrapper, and set her drink on the tray. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah, I hope so.” He realized he did hope he would see her again. He opened his mouth to ask her out, but hesitated. Was she allowed to date someone who had given a tip? It wasn’t like there was anything unethical about it that he could see. Not like a doctor-patient relationship.

  She shrugged back into her jacket, then stood, tray in hand. Mark rose too, and touched her arm. “Wait. I wondered if…if I could see you again?”

  Her eyes met his, a glint of humor showing. “I probably shouldn’t agree to it, but sure? Why not? When?”

  It wasn’t the most enthusiastic response he had ever received, but then again, it was one of the strangest lead ups to a date that he could remember. “Great! How does Friday sound? Can I get your number?”

  Detective Bishop dumped her garbage and set the tray on top of others before she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “That’s fine. You can call me at the precinct.”

  He took the card. “Detective Jessica Bishop.” It was strange finding out her first name after asking her out. “Jessica. Nice. I’ll be in touch.”

  “How’s your steak?” Mark took another bite of his own. He had ordered medium rare, but it was more like medium well. He hoped Jessie’s had turned out better.

  “It’s…okay.” Jessie smiled, but he could see the gray hue of her steak and he was pretty sure she was just being polite.

  The beef seemed to form into a ball of lead and settled in his stomach with a thud. This date had not turned out at all like he had hoped. First, Jessie had called saying she was running late and asked if she could meet him at the restaurant. Mark almost asked for a rain check, but worried she would think he didn’t have much interest in dating her, when in truth, he was just worried about cutting it too close. At least if they drove their own cars, he could hit the mini-mart afterward without her there to witness the event.

  He canceled his reservation at the nice steakhouse because restaurant couldn’t change the time to accommodate Jessie running late, and he then had to call Jessie back to let her know where to meet him. He was surprised she still agreed to go because it wasn’t that great of a restaurant, but his choices were limited due to needing to find someplace in close proximity to where the shooting would occur.

  On top of all that, dinner service was slow. Mark glanced at his watch. Damn, it was already pushing nine p.m. He shoveled in a mouthful of food in an attempt to eat faster but how could he rush Jessie? Was he supposed to skip an offer of dessert? He stole another look at his watch. A couple of minutes after nine. He considered blowing off the save. The kid got what he deserved for trying to rob someone, but guilt didn’t just knock on the door to his conscience, it tried to beat the door down. Chagrined at his thoughts, he remembered how young the robber was, and how it had been a fake gun. He was a heartless bastard for even considering letting the kid die just so he could have a better date.

  After a few more minutes ticked by and Jessie still had most of her meal to eat, he grew desperate. He had to leave now if he was going to make it on time. As a last resort, he clutched his stomach and grimaced.

  “Mark? Are you okay?”

  It wasn’t hard to fake his distress. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to have to cut this short. I’m…I’m on some antibiotics, and sometimes they tear up my stomach.” He wanted to choke on the lie, especially when her expression became concerned. She waved for the waiter and Mark asked for the check.

  When she reached for her purse and pulled out a credit card, Mark eased up on his act enough to wave her off. “Oh no. I have it.”

  She walked him to his car, instead of the other way around and with him being ‘sick’, he couldn’t suggest going out for a drink or anything.

  They stood awkwardly, and finally she gave him a peck on the cheek. “Call me tomorrow. I want to know you’re okay.”

  Anger at the stupid kid who practically asked to be killed simmered in him, ready to boil over. He glanced at the clock. He didn’t have time to waste being angry. The shooting would take place in only ten minutes.

  Mark didn’t know what to get, but he needed to purchase something, or at least look like it and do it soon, so he could be next behind the teen. He grabbed a carton of ice cream from a chest freezer near the door and got in line behind the teen. There was no gun visible. He decided to wait until the gun came out and then just make a grab for it. There was no danger since it was a fake, and he had five inches and probably thirty pounds on the teen.

  The door to the store opened, and Mark heard a gasp. He shot a glance towards the sound. Jessie?

  “Mark?” She sent a pointed look towards the ice cream in his hand. At first, he didn’t understand her glare. Then he realized that a man with a stomachache probably wouldn’t be out buying ice cream five minutes later.

  “I can explain.” In the few seconds it took him to utter the sentence, the teen moved up to the counter and yanked the gun from within his baggy sweatshirt.

  Distracted, and not ready for it to happen so quickly, he didn’t process that the robbery was in progress already.

  “Freeze!”

  Mark turned to Jessie, his jaw dropping in shock at the gun pointed at the teen. Jessie? She was the shooter? She couldn’t know it was a fake gun at
that distance.

  He leaped between the teen and Jessie. “No! Don’t fire! It’s a fake gun! Don’t shoot, Jessie!”

  “What the hell are you doing, Mark? Get outta the way!”

  Mark held his hands up, palms out as he said in as calm a voice as he could muster, “Listen, it’s a fake gun. Just a water pistol or something.”

  Her glared scorched past him and landed on the boy. “Is that true?”

  Mark risked a glance over his shoulder. The teen nodded towards Jessie and dropped the gun. The unmistakable sound of plastic hitting the floor made Mark’s knees go weak with relief.

  Jessie’s posture relaxed, and her shoulders rose before they wilted and she let out a deep breath. “Dammit, Taylor. I should just shoot you and be done with it.”

  CHAPTER FOUR, July 2001

  As the novelty wore off, the camera became part of his everyday life. Mark sat at his desk and stared at his accounting records. He was losing money. Had he really canceled that many jobs? It hadn’t seemed like a lot at the time, but they added up. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t control when someone needed to be saved.

  On top of that, Chicago P.D. had called him in for questioning in several cases. Some incidents stemmed from when he had given them tips and they became suspicious, and other times simply because he had to call in police or the fire department to help him save someone. After one fire in which he saved a family by waking them when their smoke detectors didn’t sound, the fire chief had practically accused Mark of arson.

  The cherry on top of the pile was staring back at him from his spreadsheet.

  “Damn it!” He shoved the computer mouse across the desk. Giving up the camera was out of the question, but he couldn’t go on like this either. He’d be homeless before long.

  Homelessness held no appeal to him, so he created a schedule and stuck to it as much as possible. While he couldn’t control the times of the incidents he needed to prevent, with careful planning, he could minimize the disruption they caused. Most of the time, he could work around his shoots, but occasionally he had to call the client and ask to start a little sooner or later. Most were fine with it, and some confessed to running late themselves, or wishing it was sooner because they had somewhere to go afterward. He found most people didn’t care what the excuse was. They were either going to be okay with it or they weren’t. The vast majority of his clients didn’t have a problem unless he had to be seriously late, but Mark did his best to avoid that at all costs. To make up for it, when he was with a client he gave them his full attention, pushing the camera and any save he had to do from his mind. It was the only way he could do both successfully.

  Every morning, he took a few photographs, but then set the camera aside to work with a client or attempt a save. After taking care of his office work, he had to develop the photos, study them, and go to bed to begin the cycle all over again. There was hardly a moment to eat, let alone go anywhere besides the places the camera sent him on its missions.

  His nights out with his friends dwindled to once a month. No matter how hard he tried, he just didn’t have enough hours in the day. He wanted to have time with friends and he especially missed dating, not that he had been a Casanova, but he had dated his share of women. He missed their company.

  His last date had been the failed fiasco with Jessica Bishop almost a year before. He was starting to feel like a monk.

  The excitement of the camera overrode almost all the other desires, but the truth was that it wasn’t just his obsession with the camera. It was a matter of timing. Many of his friends were settling down and just weren’t available to hang out with him anyway. Others had drifted away, which was the case with Mo. Although he had finally chosen photos for the book and had sent it to some editor, it had been months since he had called Mark with an update. Whenever Mark would call him, he only got voicemail. He figured Mo was avoiding him due to the book. Maybe it hadn’t turned out the way Mo had envisioned, but Mark didn’t dwell on it. He had too many other things to worry about.

  He almost spilled the beans to his parents the first Christmas, but when his dad had introduced him to one of his colleagues from the hospital, the other doctor had politely asked Mark what he did for a living. As he replied, Mark had happened to glance at his father and stopped short at the expression his father wore. He might as well have had a blinking neon thought bubble over his head that said, “My son is an embarrassment.”

  Flushing from anger, Mark had mumbled something about photography and left the party. He passed a drug store that promised one-hour photo developing. In spite of his usual rule against it, he dropped off that day’s film, intending to show his father what he really did, but when the photos came back, the camera had chosen to give him only actual photos that day. Not that it mattered, as his father was called into the hospital for an emergency the next day and Mark wouldn’t have been able to have his dad watch him make a save anyway. He took it as a sign that he was meant to keep it a secret.

  Just one more roll of film and he could call it a day. Mark took a deep breath and reined in his impatience. It would be foolish to rush the photo shoot, especially since it was for one of the biggest clients he’d ever landed. It wasn’t every day that he had an opportunity to shoot a major print ad that would appear in over a dozen magazines and a few billboards. This one job would pay the rent for the month and then some. It was just that his other camera beckoned—the special one.

  He smiled at the kids sitting on the couch, hoping to mask his eagerness to be done. Mark was sure they were just as eager to be done, but they had been real troupers. The stylist had fussed over their clothes and made each child change outfits three times. Through it all, the child models had remained good-natured. He quickly snapped the cover closed and advanced the film to the first frame.

  “Okay, guys, this time, I want ‘Mom’ on the sofa with your daughter cuddled at your side. Jake, you can kneel at the coffee table and eat popcorn,” Mark said to the young boy playing the son in this ad. Glancing over his shoulder to the other model, Mark circled his hand around the small fake living room he’d set up in the studio. “And ‘Dad’ you sit on the other end of the sofa, with your feet up on the table.”

  The man, in his early thirties, probably close to Mark’s own age, eased onto the couch and leaned forward, plucking the remote control off the table beside the bowl of popcorn. He held it up, his eyebrows raised. “May I hold the clicker?”

  Mark grinned. “Of course.”

  The mother made a face and then laughed. “I feel completely at home now.”

  “What about me? Can I eat the popcorn?”

  Laughing, Mark grabbed a handful himself. “Absolutely. This is supposed to look like a real family watching television together. Just don’t get any grease on the couch. It has to go back to the store when we’re done here.” He tossed the popcorn in his mouth, crunching on the salty kernels as he did a few test shots with his Polaroid. Satisfied, he strode over to the stereo and turned the music back on. An upbeat tune started blasting, and the kids lit up and it was just that energy Mark was hoping to capture. The ‘parents’ settled in, looking for all the world as though they were watching a great movie on the television. The perfect family shot. Mark moved around, snapping from different angles, catching the mother toying with the little girl’s hair while the dad nudged the son with his toe, both grinning. The client was going to love this. The furniture, the highlight of the shot, was shown as comfortable, sleek and kid friendly all at the same time.

  In a few minutes, he was done and he shut off the music, much to the boy’s disappointment.

  “We’re done. You guys were all fantastic. Go on and get changed and I’ll let the client rep know we’re finished and you can all get your slips signed.”

  Mark unloaded the roll from the camera and put it with the other two he had taken of the shoot, and slipped all three into a bag with the date and the client’s name on it. He set it on his desk to send in with the rolls fro
m his morning shoot for a different client. These shoots paid well, but he was glad that tomorrow he didn’t have any shoots scheduled. Things had been going so well lately, he found he needed at least one day a week to organize sending proofs back to customers and clients, booking shoots, and arranging for delivery of whatever props he needed.

  “Bye, Mark!” Jake waved as his real mom tried to hustle him out of the studio. Likely, she was trying to beat the evening rush hour.

  “Great job, Jake!” Mark gave him a thumbs-up. He’d have to remember to tell the kid’s agent how easy he was to work with.

  Over the next few minutes, the rest of the models left and Mark locked up the studio, taking his special camera with him. The second his hand closed over it, the familiar tingle of energy thrummed through his body. He couldn’t quite explain it. It wasn’t like a shock, exactly, but more of an adrenaline rush or a surge of concentrated energy. He just hoped the camera would produce a future photo today. The two previous days had been a bust. Empty days had occurred a few times before, but thankfully, the magic had always returned. Each time, he had feared whatever mystery triggered the future photos and dreams had dissipated.

  Mark strode down the street, basking in the warmth of an early July afternoon. The heat wave of the past week had eased and an occasional refreshing breeze off the lake made it a perfect day. The hot smell of asphalt, exhaust, and the faint scent of chocolate from the Blommer Chocolate factory, wafted through the air.

  He stopped on a corner as he waited for the pedestrian crossing light to change and tried to decide what to photograph. So far, it hadn’t seemed to make a difference what his subject matter was; if a future photo was going to appear, it would supplant the original subject. Since most of the photos on a roll of film didn’t become future photos, just a select few, he had taken to making sure to not waste any shot just to be in a hurry to get the precognitive pictures. He had even been able to sell a few at a small art gallery. He found that using the camera had sharpened his photography skills. Because any picture could turn out to be a future photo, he paid closer attention to the details of what he was photographing so if that picture did end up changing to a future one, he could try to puzzle out if there had been something in the original subject matter that tied it to the future photo. So far, it was still a complete puzzle to him.