M McDonald - March Into Hell

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I am.”

She sat and took a deep breath, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. After a moment, she glanced at the phone. “Were you getting ready to call someone?”

Mark felt the blood rush to his face. “Uh, yeah, actually I was going to make a personal call.”

Nodding, she stood and crossed to the door. “I’ll take a look around the place. Are you doing photo-shoots today?”

"I'm not shooting, but Lily has a couple. I have a ton of paperwork I can do." At least one little piece of his life could get back to normal. He picked up the phone, and instead of calling Scott Palmer, he called Lily to ask her if she needed him to switch out backdrops. After clearing the air with Jessie, he didn't feel the need to call the psychiatrist anymore.

Mark ventured outside for the first time a few days later. He was so weary of being cooped up, and the weather was unseasonably warm. Cops patroled often enough that the crowd had thinned, and a fender bender down the street claimed the crowds attention for the moment.

He stood in the doorway and closed his eyes for an instant. The sun heated his face and a soft breeze tickled through his hair. It felt wonderful.

The snow had completely melted, even the dirty piles in the corners of parking lots. The sky dazzled an endless deep blue. Mark decided to head towards the lake front. He always liked watching the first sailboats of the season sail out on trial runs.

The second he stepped foot onto the sidewalk, someone spotted him, and before he knew it, he was surrounded. Mark held his arm out, trying to keep people away from his injured shoulder. “Hey!”

The hands touched him and his skin crawled. The sensation was so much like the night of his abduction that it was all he could do to keep from striking out. His breathing quickened. “Get back!” He reflexively swung his arm when someone touched his head.

Mark tried to duck away from the people, but a woman had a determined grip on his collar. The material pulled on his still tender neck, and he reached up to pry his shirt from her fingers. With a loud rip, the material gave way.

It was like a feeding frenzy in a shark tank. More hands reached in, tearing bits from his shirt and even his pleas that they were hurting him didn’t stop them. If they were so in awe of him, why would they do this? Only the whoop of a police siren, and the screech of tires as an unmarked sedan came to halt at the curb beside him kept Mark from hitting someone or being torn apart.

“Step away from the man!”

Mark had never been so happy to hear Jim's sharp commanding tone. He sagged as the crowd fell back.

“You okay, Mark?” Jim’s eyes bore into him, his mouth set in an angry line.

Mark nodded. Jim ordered the people to leave or they’d be arrested for assault. The threat of arrest did the trick and the crowd dispersed, some waving scraps of Mark's shirt as trophies.

Without a word, Mark turned and headed back into the studio and up to his loft. Anger filled him and he yanked a new shirt from his drawer. It took some effort to untangle the tattered remains of his old shirt from the belt of the sling and the longer it took, the angrier he became. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Finally, he reached behind his neck and pulled the support band over his head and tore the whole contraption off and flung it to the floor.

“You're sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, Jim.” He knew the other man wasn’t to blame, but Jim was the one that was there. “Those people are crazy!” Mark pulled his shirt over his head. He was so mad he was shaking and his next statement came out low and harsh, “I can’t live my life like this.”

“You won’t have to. It might not seem like it after that experience, but the crowds are down to about half of what they were a few days ago.” Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “Unfortunately, the ones who are still hanging around are the real zealots.”

Mark shook his torn shirt in Jim’s direction. “Ya think?” He threw the shirt on the sofa.

“Where were you going?”

“What difference does it make?”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Look, Taylor, I don’t give a damn, but since Kern’s still out there as well as Medea, it might be a good idea to at least tell me when and where you’re going so if you come up missing, we’ll know where to start looking!”

Mark’s anger evaporated and he dropped onto the couch and leaned forward. Cradling his head in his hands, he closed his eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault.”

“Forget it. Anyway, I was coming by to tell you that there was a possible sighting of Kern in the city. It hasn’t been confirmed, but I wanted to keep you up to date. You have your phone, right?”

Mark raised his head, his stomach knotted up tighter than a strand of old Christmas lights. "Yeah. I've been carrying it."

“Good. Listen, I don’t care if you’re going to see your bookie, I want to know about it, understand?”

With a snort of laughter, Mark let a smile crack his face. “Yeah. Got it. Loud and clear.”

“Good. I spoke with Jessie this morning and she's going to come by and stay here later today and until then, the CPD will increase patrols around the neighborhood. Tonight, Dan said he'd send over a uniformed officer to park in front of the building.”

Mark stood and held out his hand. “Thanks for saving my butt out there.”

Jim smiled and shook the outstretched hand. “No problem.”

Mark spent the rest of the morning cooped up in his office going over paperwork. It was a chore he hated and never seemed to find the time to do thoroughly. Now, he had nothing but time. He looked at the clock and wondered when Jessie was going to show up. He took a sip from a bottle of water and bent over the books again. After an hour, he tossed his pencil down and rubbed his eyes. The numbers had begun to dance and blur and he knew he was done. He stretched and winced when he forgot about his shoulder for a moment. He needed a break and decided to head to O'Leary's Pub. It had been his and Jessie's favorite place to grab a burger and beer, and right now, he craved something familiar and comforting. After a quick call to Jim that left him feeling like a teenager calling his dad for permission, Mark called a cab and made it out the door without incident.

The lunch crowd had left and happy hour hadn’t yet begun as Mark ventured into the bar, relieved at the change of scenery. He was glad he hadn’t hidden away at home. He saw some patrons point and whisper, but nobody approached him and he was grateful for that.

“Hey, Bob. How're you doing?” Mark approached the bar.

“Great. How ‘bout you?” Bob wasn't a chatty bartender, and not much fazed him. If he knew about Mark's recent troubles, he kept it to himself.

“Good. Can I get a tapper?”

Bob nodded. “Sure thing." He filled a tall glass and slid it in front of Mark. "I heard you had a bit of trouble."

Mark sipped the cold brew. "Yeah, but it's all good now."

"Glad to hear." After a pause, he added, "The Cubs are coming on in a few minutes. You want me to put them on?"

“Sure.” He smiled and took another swig then rounded the bar and settled on a stool closer to the TV to watch the game. It felt good to do normal things.

Jessie showed up during the fourth inning. “Hey, Mark. This isn’t exactly staying out of sight.”

Mark finished off his second beer and set the glass down with a thump. The leash was beginning to strangle him. “Look, Jess, I can’t hide forever.”

“Nobody’s asking for forever, just a few more days.”

"How did you know I was here?"