M McDonald - March Into Hell

Jessie glanced in that direction and wrinkled her nose. “Right.” Looking back at Dan, she said, “I didn't know you were here."

"You were pretty preoccupied, but I arrived about the time they put Taylor on the gurney."

She shivered. "It was horrible, Dan."

"I know. As soon as I heard it come over the radio, I headed over."

Jessie sighed. "I came back in to find Jim. Have you seen him?"

"He was over there a minute ago." Dan pointed to a door behind the spot where the cross had stood. "There's evidence the cult left through that door, probably only minutes before you guys got here. We think they had someone monitoring a police scanner."

"Great." She shook her head, wishing she hadn't called in the silent alarm. "Once I find Jim, we'll be taking Lily to the hospital or to get her car at the studio, which ever one she wants, and then I’ll be back to help with the investigation.”

Dan shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

“Excuse me?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. It was her case. She’d been the one to track down the plates and the van, had called in to find the address of possible textile warehouses. Plus, she had been handling the Medea case, which bore striking similarities and was sure to be related.

“You’re too close to this one, Jess. I think you should take yourself off it.”

“How am I too close?” She glared at him, practically daring him to mention anything about her relationship with Mark.

“Come on. You know I’m right. Are you going to make me say it?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Say what?” Her hands rested on her hips.

Dan took a deep breath and looked away for a brief moment before meeting Jessie’s eyes. “You still have feelings for Taylor.” He put up his hands in a stop motion. “Look, I don’t care, but it might hamper the investigation or, even worse, when we catch the guys who did this, it could come up at the trial. You wouldn’t want to jeopardize the outcome, would you?”

Crossing her arms, Jessie remained silent for almost a minute. Did she still have feelings for Mark? She felt her face heat up. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit it was possible.

On the other hand, a defense lawyer could twist all kinds of innocent things into something sinister. Like how she and Mark had lived together for six months.

Or worse, what if they brought up Jessie's role in Mark's imprisonment? How she had ultimately been the one who had listened to Mark and dug deeper, proving his innocence? It had been the right thing to do, but would she have put her career on the line for just anyone? A smart lawyer would draw connections and let the jury think there was more going on between her and Taylor than a past relationship.

Was she willing to take that risk? Jessie thought of all Taylor had gone through and decided that she wasn’t. She sighed. “Fine. You’ll keep me updated?”

Dan nodded. “Of course.”

Jessie nodded and turned away.

“Oh, and Jessie?”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You’ll let me know how he’s doing?”

She couldn’t help smiling. Dan might tease her about Taylor and all the scrapes he got into, but Jessie had always suspected that deep down, he liked the guy. “I'll call you on your cell as soon as I hear anything.”

Mark felt himself lifted, the movement wrenching a hoarse groan from him. He shivered. For a few minutes, he’d felt a little warmer, but now all the blankets were gone. Maybe he’d kicked them onto the floor. Conversation swirled around him and he tried to follow it. He struggled to open his eyes, but even as the thought occurred to him, he felt himself drifting, his mind jumping to something else. Was he still in the warehouse?

“What the hell happened to him?” The voice was deep and Mark had the impression of someone big. Kern? The voice didn’t sound menacing enough.

“It’s crazy, Doc. Some bastards crucified him. Be careful, the nails are still in his hands and feet.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Look for yourself. See his hands?”

Mark felt his hand raised and unwrapped.

“Ouch.” It was the deep voice again, this time, sounding sympathetic.

The manipulation of his hand hurt and he attempted to withdraw it, moaning softly. As soon as he did, whoever held him released his wrist and loosely re-wrapped his palm. “It’s okay, Mark.” An annoying beep sounded at regular intervals.

“Hey, Doc, did you see his blood pressure? It’s only eighty-two over forty-six.”

“Is the IV wide open?”

“Yes. Both of them. We started another in the squad on the way in.”

He remembered hearing that voice before. It had told him to hold still and then his hands had been freed. It was a voice he could trust. It just occurred to him that the voices were talking about him. About what had happened. He flashed on the memory of the nail being held to his palm and he instinctively tried to move his hand. A wave of pain washed through him as his stomach roiled and he tasted bile. Intense agony radiated from his left shoulder, and his belly burned. His head and his feet added their own melody to the symphony of pain.

“Has he been conscious at all?” Hands skimmed over Mark’s head, pausing on a tender spot on the back. “We’ll need some x-rays of the head and a c-spine. Maybe a CT too.”

“He sort of woke up at the scene, spoke to a friend and the detective who was with her. Other than that, he’s been out of it.”

The hands continued their exploration, and Mark tensed as they rested on his left shoulder.

“Well, that’s obviously dislocated.”

Mark wanted to talk to one of the voices, ask what was going on, but his throat didn’t cooperate. Once, as a kid, he’d had strep throat and that misery paled in comparison to the raw, bruised feeling he was experiencing now. He had the sensation of trying to suck air in, but never getting quite enough. Exhaling was even harder, and in his mind, he pictured a blown up balloon with the neck pinched off. A little air could get out, but not all of it. He had the urge to sit up.

“Whoa! Lay back, Mark!”

“Can’t-“ Pressure on his chest prevented him from sitting. He gasped, “Please…” The voices began fading and he struggled to listen to them.

“Sats are dropping.”

“Yeah, I know. You have him on a hundred percent?”

“Yep. But he has audible stridor. He’s not moving much air.”

“Yeah, he’s working pretty hard."

Mark lost track of what they said next, his sole focus getting the air in and out.

Next, he heard a metallic click as his head was tipped with his chin pointing toward the ceiling. The position made him feel like he was strangling, but he had no energy left to fight them.

“Let me take a look here…I need some suction.”

Mark felt cold hard metal against his tongue. He gagged, tasting blood and renewed his efforts to sit. The guy with the deep voice had to be another one of Kern's followers. It was the only thing that made sense. Kern must have thought up another form of torture.

Someone grabbed Mark’s right hand, and another set of hands held his head still. Yet another invaded his belly, pushing and prodding. Someone or something was squeezing his throat. Was the noose still there? He panicked.

With a strangled cry, he bucked his hips and shoulders in an attempt to escape the hands. A heavy weight across his legs kept him from leaping off whatever he was lying on. Ignoring the pain and the shouts to calm down, he twisted and turned; using his head to try to bash anyone who was within reach.

The metal disappeared from his mouth and a mask with cool air covered his nose. He dimly wondered why they had stopped, but decided he didn't care why. All he wanted was more air.