M McDonald - March Into Hell

“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 eyes 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.