Authors: M.P. McDonald
“Mark.” She stopped a few feet away, crossed her arms and ran her hands up to her shoulders a few times, as though warding off a chill. “How are you doing?”
The concern in her voice drove his emotions to the surface, and he blinked hard, looking away with a shrug. He cleared his throat. “Guess I’ve been better.”
“That’s the understatement of the century.”
Startled at the flippant tone, Mark stared at her.
She surveyed the stark cell and then bent her head, giving it a shake. “I’m sorry. That was a cruel comment.” Tears swam in her eyes when she finally looked at him again. “I’m confused. When I get stressed, I say dumb things. Do you realize I had to call in every marker I had just to find out where you were?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just glad to see you.” Despite his shame at having her see him like this, he felt a thrill that she was here. Why hadn’t he confided in her before? He should have shown her the camera. It wasn’t like there hadn’t been plenty of opportunities. If he’d shown her from day one, when he’d first contacted her in an attempt to change the outcome of a photo, maybe none of this would be happening. Maybe he wouldn’t be stuck in this damn jail cell. He hung his head. Hell, maybe three thousand people would still be alive. It was a huge maybe, but he couldn’t help wondering.
“Mark, I only have a few minutes. It’s only because my partner knows some of the Feds that I was even able to get in here at all.”
Her gaze swept him, and he rubbed his chin self-consciously, the bristles prickling his palms. He looked like crap—like the terrorist they were labeling him. Did she see him that way?
How much credibility and trust had they built up in the two years since they’d met? Maybe if they’d started dating right away, he’d have told her his secret, but their romantic relationship was less than three months along. There hadn’t been much time to tell her about the camera and dreams. It was a poor excuse and he knew it. He wished he’d given her a chance to understand, but he hadn’t. He’d never given anyone a chance.
He’d convinced himself he couldn’t divulge the secret of the camera and dreams to anyone. It was too risky. What if the camera fell into the wrong hands? It was a legitimate worry, but not the whole truth. A part of him had relished the cloak of mystery; the feeling of being a real-life superhero.
Jessie tucked her hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. “Talk to me, Mark. What have they got on you?” Her voice shook.
Mark searched her face. Would she believe him now? He had no proof. “I thought I could help stop the attacks. That’s all I was trying to do.” The words came out in a harsh rasp. His leg bounced with pent-up nerves and the chain clanked, drawing her eye once again. Trapping the chain under his foot, he willed his leg to still. Eyes closed, he leaned forward, hands clasped behind his neck. Most times, he could wake from the nightmares, reason out how to change them—could make things right.
The planes hitting the buildings, the fall of the towers, the terror on the faces of the people fleeing—it had been too catastrophic. There was no way to fix it, even as he had called the authorities to warn them, part of him had realized that. He was only one man.
Jessie paced, her heels clicking on the cement and echoing in the cell. Her black boots crossed in front of his vision as he opened his eyes.
“How could you think you could stop the attacks? Unless...were you part of it?”
Even though he’d worried, hearing her voice her doubt felt like a kick to the chest. “You really think that?” Did she know him at all?
She bit her lip, but her eyes didn’t waver. “What the hell am I supposed to think, Mark? In the two years I’ve known you, you have never leveled with me! Not once! At first I overlooked it because you had good information and were pretty harmless. Then I overlooked it because...”
Jessie turned away and crossed her arms. When she spoke again, her voice cracked, “I overlooked it because I’d come to care for you.” Facing him, she swiped tears off her cheek with a brusque motion, her eyes accusing. “You want my trust? Well, why the hell didn’t
you
trust
me
?”
He had blown his chance. Mark sagged back against the cinder-blocks. “I should have. But I was an idiot.”
She paced again, her arms tight across her chest. “You’ve been running around Chicago sticking your nose into situations where it doesn’t belong. Turning up at bank robberies, or at the scene of a drive by shooting, only you just manage to get yourself and bystanders out of the line of fire.” She paused her pacing long enough to level a look at his leg. “Usually, anyway.”
Mark dropped his hand to his left thigh, rubbing the scar. He could feel the ridge of it through the coveralls they had made him wear.
“So, you’ve never once told me who your sources were. Do you understand how that makes you look now?”
“Yeah.” He drew in a ragged breath and bent his head. The remains of a cockroach stained the cement between his feet. He nudged it with his toe.
Kneeling beside the bed, she looked up into his face. “Listen, Mark. You helped me out a few times with tips on cases. I appreciated that, even if my boss gave me grief over how I’d acquired my information. So, now, I want to help you. Will you let me?” Her voice softened and her eyes bore into his.
“I already told them the truth. What more can I do?” Mark held her gaze. Whatever it took, he’d do it. He had to clear his name. Even if that put the camera in the wrong hands. He grimaced. Not that there was much chance of that. The authorities had ridiculed that explanation.
“You need to lay all your sources out for them. Names, dates, places. If you fully cooperate, your lawyer will push for leniency.”
A roar built in his ears as his hope plummeted. “I can’t do that.” She asked the impossible.
She shook his leg, her voice rising, “You have to do it. You have no choice in the matter.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t do that because I don’t have any ‘sources’!” He raked a hand through his hair. “I have...” Oh God, this was hard. “I have a camera. Those times when I showed up...the robberies...the shooting...I-I have a camera and when I use it, the photos that come out...they aren’t anything I photographed. There’s pictures of those things happening.”
Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
He licked his lips and rushed on, “I don’t know where they come from, or...or how they end up on my film, but they do. Then at night, after looking at the photos, the images come to life in my dreams. Like a movie—” He shook his head with a mirthless laugh. “The next day, they come true...unless I do something to stop it.”
The look on her face had gone from disbelief to pity.
He reached for her hand. “Please, you gotta believe me, Jessie. You’ve seen me stop things. How else would I know what I know?”
She pulled free and backed to the cell door. She turned, her shoulders slumped as she rested her head against the steel. For a long minute, she remained that way before facing him. “You realize how that sounds?”
Mark nodded. What more could he say? He picked at an orange thread on his sleeve. It sounded insane. He knew that. Flicking the thread from his fingers, he watched it float to the floor and rest beside the cockroach. “They think I’m crazy don’t they? You think I’m crazy.”
She threw her arms wide. “What do you expect? You give them this bizarre story and then wonder why they don’t believe you?” She stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “Come on, Mark.”
“Jessie, listen,
please
.” He willed her to believe him. “I was only trying to help—I did help.You know that!”
He saw doubt as she looked away. She thought he was crazy. Or guilty.
Oh God
. His gut twisted and pain ripped through him. Why had he tried to stop it? It wasn’t something isolated, like most of the things he’d changed. It had been bigger than himself. He should have realized that. This ability that he had to see the future in his dreams had never been meant for something this big.
“Right now, I’m the only one even willing to listen to you. The guys in charge,” she flicked her hand towards the hallway, “they’re done listening. They’re talking about enemy combatant status now.”
Her words seemed to come from a distance as his mind slowed. Nobody believed him.
“An enemy combatant, Mark. Do you have any idea what that means?”
He jumped as Jessie lifted his chin to meet her eyes. “No.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.
“It means no lawyers, no trials, and you leave your rights outside the door. It’s just you and them.”
Mark’s fear gave way to anger and it burned through him. What did they want from him? Did they expect him to confess to something that he didn’t do? “I dreamed the whole thing, Jessie. The whole damn thing.” He blinked sudden moisture from his eyes, embarrassed. “Why won’t anyone listen? Instead, they chained me up like I’m a goddamn animal!”
“That story won’t work, Mark.” She stepped back, putting distance between them.
Ignoring her comment, he cradled his head in his hands. The dream of 9/11 replayed in his mind like a horror movie. “I saw the planes hitting the buildings, Jessie. I saw them collapse. Hell, I even saw the damn hijackers. I told them all that.” Fists balled, he leaned towards her, his voice low and hard, “They could have stopped it if they’d listened. They could have stopped the attacks.”
Mark stepped towards Jessie, barely catching himself when the chain brought him up short and the metal cuff bit into his ankle. With a cry of frustration and rage, he yanked his foot, ignoring the cut of the metal against his leg.
“Stop, you’re hurting yourself! Are your crazy?” She moved as if to stop him, but paused, fear flashing in her eyes.
It was gone in an instant, but he saw it and staggered back at the realization that she was truly afraid of him.
“Crazy?” He spread his arms wide. “Look around you, Jessie. I guess…I guess I am…crazy.” He choked out the last word, wanting only to crawl into a corner and curl up with his shame and humiliation.
The guard burst into the room and shouted at him to sit down. Mark took a step backwards to sit, but saw the fear and alarm splashed across Jessie’s face. Ashamed of his outburst, he reached towards her, intending to apologize. He never got the chance. The guard slammed him against the wall, and Mark’s cheek and forehead cracked against the cinder blocks. His vision flickered and he tasted the salty tang of blood in his mouth. More guards filled the room and his hands were yanked behind his back and cuffed. The door clanked shut and Jessie was gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
A half dozen guards circled him. Dressed in riot gear, the men looked ready to battle an army. One held chains, another clutched darkened goggles and some kind of earphones. Still another had a pair of thick mitts tucked under his arm. Mark took a step back in confusion. What the hell?
One guard, empty handed, moved behind Mark and undid the cuffs, only to re-secure them in front. “Raise your arms.”
He lifted his arms. “Where am I going?”
The guard wrapped a chain around Mark’s waist and let the end drop towards the floor. He spoke in a cold voice, “I have no idea and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Shocked, Mark ignored the snide tone. “What about the hearing the lawyer said I’d get?”
The guard shrugged and adjusted a pair of goggles.
Before Mark could ask another question, the guard placed the goggles over Mark’s eyes. Every last spark of light cut off. Earphones settled over his ears and all sound disappeared as well.
Disoriented, he shook his head to dislodge the equipment. His hands were caught in a paralyzing grip and the mitts forced on. Anger overcame his shock. The moment the men released him, he doubled over and tried to rip at the goggles, but the chains thwarted his attempts. Rationality abandoned him as terror and the survival instinct kicked in to high gear. Mark knew it was useless to fight, but he couldn’t help it. Self-preservation demanded that he try. He yanked his hands, but dizzy in the black, soundless void, he stumbled. His right shoulder smashed against the concrete. He barely felt the impact as terror consumed him. His efforts to get free of the gear were futile and he was hauled to his feet.
He hunched in a half- crouch, his body quivering. The chain around his waist tightened and tugged him forward. It was either fall again, or give in. Gasping, he took a step and slid the other foot up to meet the first. The length of chain shortened his steps, and he had to manage a jogging shuffle to keep pace with the guards.
When he would slow, the hands on his biceps squeezed, forcing him to quicken his pace. Would they drag him if he fell?
Mark’s toe caught on something and the floor changed from smooth concrete to something rougher. Asphalt? A hand went to his head while the two on his arms lifted. Confused, he balked, but was pushed from behind. The chain around his waist went taut, and off balance, he stumbled, banging his shin on something. He swore at the sharp pain, then realized that he was supposed to step into a vehicle. It took a few attempts for him to find the edge with his foot, and then he climbed in. He sat on the first seat he bumped against. The chains tightened with a little jolt, and he guessed they had secured the ends somehow.
His heart pounded from the exertion and he panted. It felt like he had run a mile instead of what was probably just a short distance through the jail hallways. What was the point of all the security measures? Wouldn’t this transport have been easier on everyone if he could at least see where he was going?
The vehicle started and stopped several times and turned a few corners. Stop lights and traffic. He could almost see it. After that, there was a stretch of unbroken motion with a few bumps. They had left the city and its pot-holes behind. When the vehicle stopped, the chains went tight before loosening, and he realized someone had unclipped him from the seat. Responding to the pull of the chains, he twisted on the seat, and took a leap of faith that the ground would meet his foot as he stepped out.
Wind tore at his clothes and he hunched his shoulders against it. The air smelled of exhaust and gasoline...no... An airport. Where the hell were they taking him? He trembled from more than just the icy blasts of air.