M McDonald - March Into Hell

Jim rapped on the door. "Hello?"

Nothing. A soft glow from an exit sign threw off just enough light to illuminate the entryway. Not seeing anything amiss down here, Jim cautiously climbed the steps, noting lots of little puddles scattered on the stairs, as though someone, or lots of someones had entered recently with wet feet. At the top, his stomach tightened when he saw the loft door gaping open. He paused outside it to listen. All was silent, and with a deep breath, he crept around the threshold wishing he'd thought to bring his weapon. He'd gotten out of the habit of carrying it since he spent the majority of his time behind a desk.

Jim felt around for a light switch and swore when he found it and illuminated the room. His jaw clenched in reaction to the scene before him. It was obvious from the disarray, that something had happened here. The bedding hung off the mattress, the bedside table was completely overturned, and loose change dotted the floor. Stepping quickly over to the bathroom, he hoped maybe Taylor had felt ill and in a mad dash to the bathroom, had created the mess. It was a stretch, but he wanted to be sure. It was empty. Damn it.

Careful not to disturb anything, Jim pulled out his cell phone and called Jessica Bishop.

"Hello?" She sounded sleepy and confused.

"Jessica, this is Jim Sheridan. I had a dream about-."

"Jim? What in the world? It's almost four in the morning."

"I know what time it is. Could you let me finish?" Jim continued surveying the loft, his gaze landing on Taylor's black leather jacket in a heap on the floor near the end of the sofa.

"Okay, so what's the problem? I would kind of like to go back to sleep, if you don't mind."

"Do you know where Mark is?"

"Didn't we already cover this earlier today?"

"Listen to me, it's important. I need to know where Mark is, and if you know, could you please enlighten me?"

"And I told you before, he doesn't fax me his plans. Did you try calling him?"

"I tried, but it went to voice mail. His loft isn't too far from my place, so I decided to drive over." He took a deep breath, and let it out before continuing, "Somethings happened here."

"What do you mean?"

"I was greeted by the back door flapping in the wind. Then I found Taylor's apartment all torn up. He's nowhere around." He could hear a soft sigh and creaking through the phone.

"Sometimes he had trouble sleeping at night. He'd have flashbacks, and to forget about them, he'd go out for a run. That's probably what happened tonight."

Mark had never told him about the flashbacks, and he felt a twinge of guilt, but nudged it aside for the moment. "Look, I suppose that might be possible, but I think I'm smart enough to recognize a crime scene when I see one."

He paced from the side that contained the sleeping area to the kitchen at the far end. On his second pass, he halted suddenly, his attention zeroing in on several red smears on the sheets and more drops leading towards the living area. "There's blood on the sheets and floor."

She swore, and even through the phone, he heard the worry in her voice. "Yeah, that doesn't sound good. I'll be right there."

Jim tried not to disturb anything while awaiting Jessica's arrival. A quick scan of the kitchen area didn't turn up anything out of the ordinary. A couple of dirty dishes in the sink and a nearly empty refrigerator all indicated nothing other than a typical single guy's apartment. He followed the blood trail to a pillar and circled the brick support looking for any abnormal findings. About four feet up, he spotted a small piece of white fabric caught on the edge of a brick. Peering more closely, he guessed that it was part of a t-shirt. Higher up, Jim saw several strands of dark hair and a small red stain. A feeling of dread washed over him with the realization that something violent had happened here.

Unwilling to risk contaminating the scene, he stepped back and glanced at his watch. Mentally, he calculated how long it would take Jessica to jump into some clothes and drive here. At this time of night, the roads were practically empty, but it wouldn't be long before the morning rush began. He crossed to the window and watched, trying to piece together a scenario. Best case, Taylor had tripped into the pillar, cut himself and fell against the bed. The cut had needed stitches, and so he'd gone to the ER. Plausible, but improbable. Besides, Taylor's van was still out front.

"Jim?" Jessica burst into the room a few minutes later, her long coat billowing out behind her. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw the mess and turned to Jim. "Is this how you found it?

"Yes. And look here." He pointed to the evidence on the pillar. "There's more blood over there on the floor." He tried to ignore the way her face blanched and her eyes welled. Jim bent and pretended to examine the dry drops of blood dotting the hardwood; allowing her a moment to regain control of her emotions.

A few seconds later, he straightened and asked, "What do you think?"

She glanced at the blood on the floor and then over to the pillar before answering. "What I think…is that Mark didn't leave here of his own volition."

"I agree, but who could have come in here and where could they have taken him?"

With a short laugh, Jessica shrugged. "Well, with Mark, who knows? A month ago, I would have said no one, but now? With everything that's going on in the media?" She sighed and shook her head, meeting Jim's worried look with one of her own. "We need to call this in and get an evidence team out here."

For some reason, he'd held out hope that she would have a rational explanation for this, something a lot more logical than what he'd seen in his dream. An explanation like Mark was a sloppy housekeeper or he had a new girlfriend he'd been staying with. Not that either scenario sounded like Taylor, but it was a lot more likely than what he had. He gave a short nod of agreement, and pinched the bridge of his nose. As stupid as it sounded, he had to tell her about the dream.

"Wait, Jessica. I came by because-damn, this sounds ridiculous-but I had a dream. A nightmare, really, and it involved Mark. Something bad was happening to him and it was as if I was right there watching it happen. Only it didn't feel like a dream." He hoped the last bit didn't sound as lame to her as it did to him.

She stilled. "A dream? Like the kind Mark gets?"

"I don't know." He rubbed a circle on his temple as the images from the dream flashed through his mind. "Maybe. In the dream, he was in trouble."

"Trouble?" She moved towards him, her expression confused. "What kind of trouble?"

He hesitated as the sick fear that he'd felt in the dream claimed him again, forming a ball of dread that lodged in his throat. His tongue felt thick as he said, "Mark was…they had him in a warehouse, and there was a bonfire. There were at least a dozen people kneeling in front of him. I couldn't see them clearly because they wore some kind of dark robes or something with hoods."

The next part was the hardest, and as she came right up to him, he wished he didn't have to tell her.

"Jim…" she pleaded.

"First, just remember, this was only a dream, so don't get too upset, okay?"

Her eyes narrowed.

He sighed. "He was on a cross."

She stepped back, her brows knit together. "What?"

Jim fumbled for a way to explain it. It was too absurd to make it sound rational. "It was a cross, you know, like…Jesus."

"You mean he was crucified?"

The ball of dread dropped with a crash to his stomach. He nodded.

"Oh come on. That's crazy." Her mouth twisted into a sickly smile.

"I know. It's just that I've never had a dream like that in my life. I can recall it as clearly as if I just re-wound the tape and hit play."