M McDonald - March Into Hell

Jim had said Mark should try reaching out to Kern to get him to the revival, and maybe viewing the photos had been enough. Stretching, Mark wondered if it had worked. His head even ached, as though Kern had left a trace of his evilness behind.

Mark shuddered, hoping like hell that nothing like that could happen. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He needed to call Jim. He glanced at the clock. Seven a.m. Well, maybe he'd shower first. The stale smell of fear still clung to him.

Clouds had taken control of the sky and cast the loft in shadows. Mark drummed his fingers on the breakfast bar, glancing around at Jim, Jessie and Lily. His dream had matched the photos, but only to a degree. He had only sketchy details. When he'd first awakened, he'd had the sense of knowing what Kern had been thinking in the dream, but the longer he was awake, Kern's thoughts slipped away. It was like trying to hold onto a handful of slime. The harder he tried to hang onto the details, the more they squirted out of his mind.

"That's it? All you remember is that Kern is wearing a dark suit, has gray hair at his temples, and you didn't see him until just before you were shot?" Jim glared at Mark as though he'd done something wrong.

"I told you reaching out to Kern wouldn't work. All it did was give me a muddled dream." Mark spun off the stool and yanked open the fridge. After staring inside for a few seconds, not sure what he was looking for, he snatched a bottle of water, then kicked the door shut hard enough to make the fridge contents rattle. He shouldered past Jim, and plopped onto the sofa.

The other three carried on a hushed conversation, but he tried to block them out, focusing on the scenes in his dream. He couldn't help if he wasn't shown everything. He got what he got and there was no way to edit in scenes he missed.

Lily sounded like she was scolding Jim and Mark almost smiled. She was the only one who seemed to get away with it. One of the stools clanked, followed by footsteps on the hardwood. Jessie stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the television as she sat on the coffee table.

He tried to ignore what she held, but she pushed the Kevlar vest into his lap. "You have to wear it, Mark. If you refuse, we'll call the whole thing off."

"But now that we know what he's going to try, we can stop him before it gets to the point where he…he shoots me." His mouth suddenly devoid of moisture, he took a gulp of water.

"Just put the damn thing on, Taylor. I don't understand why you're arguing about it."

Mark swiped his arm over his mouth and craned his head to see Jim. "I just think the vest will show. If it does, it could alter what happens. If he sees the vest, he might do something differently than what he did in the dream."

Jim paced the loft, passing behind the sofa. It was making Mark nervous.

The pacing stopped. "Okay, so it's not the vest you object to, just that he might see it?"

Mark nodded. Jessie moved over to the chair beside the sofa, and he knew they both thought he was being pig-headed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Kern was still there, still inside his head and privy to his thoughts. He tried to keep his uneasiness under wraps and pretend like this was a routine save.

"Be straight with us. Jessica and I get the feeling you're hiding something."

Mark sighed and massaged his forehead. "I'm not hiding anything. You saw the photos the same as me and Lily. I told you guys the whole dream, but I can't explain how I feel. It's like there's this…" He circled his hand in front of his face, "this feeling like Kern is here. I keep smelling rotten eggs and burnt popcorn, and for some reason, I think of him when I smell it. It's crazy, I know."

Lily perched on the other end of the sofa, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "I bet Kern's soul smells more like shit than-"

The remark was so unexpected, Mark burst into laughter, cutting off whatever Lily said next. Jessie chuckled too, but then turned thoughtful. “Mark, what if you wore a robe like 'Reverend Jim' here plans on doing?"

Mark smiled at the hint of sarcasm in her Reverend Jim reference. When Jim had first told them his plan to be the Reverend and guide the revival, he and Jessie had almost laughed it off. Jim was the least religious person Mark knew. In fact, if the guy practiced a religion, Mark wasn't even sure what it was.

Lily had spoken in Jim's defense, saying it was perfect. Jim would be on the stage, or altar, as she'd called it, and would be able to see the crowd. As an added bonus, his robes would hide his gun.

A robe? Mark couldn't see himself in a robe. It would feel silly, but it could work. He didn't think that what he wore, as long as it wasn't a visible vest, would make much difference to Kern. "Can we find another robe on such short notice?"

"No problem." Jim had his cell phone out and began arranging it before the words were out of Mark's mouth.

Jessie moved from the chair to sit beside him on the sofa, resting her hand on his knee. "Listen, I know this whole thing has you spooked, but we won't let anything happen to you."

"I guess I'm not doing as good a job as I thought of hiding my fear." He chuckled as he twisted and untwisted the cap of his water bottle.

"Jeez, Mark, you have a good reason to be spooked. I know if I dreamed my own death by the hands of that monster, I'd be a basket-case."

Mark shrugged. "I just want it over."

"By tomorrow, it will be." Jim put his phone in his pocket, and grinned. "It's all arranged. Don't worry, Mark. I got my best guys on this. Kern is on a lot of wanted lists, and now we finally know when and where he'll be, thanks to you."

Mark paced the small office of the warehouse. He'd been sequestered since shortly after their meeting in his loft. Jim had wanted to beat the crowd so he wouldn't have to walk a gauntlet to enter the building. The office led out to the back of the altar, so he'd never have to go through the crowd. Mingling with the crowd was his second biggest fear. Kern, at least, was a known danger, but the crowd, even if they meant well, terrified him almost as much as Kern and his gun.

He'd been wired with a small ear piece. He wouldn't need a microphone hidden on him. With his cell, and a plainclothed cop right outside the door, he was safe enough for now. Now, it was a matter of waiting. He padded from wall to wall, absently rubbing his shoulder. He'd worn the sling for most of the day, but had chosen to remove it for the revival. The tight quarters reminded him of his cell, and the fact that he couldn't leave, added to the impression of being a captive. Rationally, he knew he wasn't, but the feeling wasn't rational.

Sounds filtered to him from within the warehouse. Jim expected several hundred people to turn out, and had chairs set up for that many. His estimates came from what they could see of the crowd in the photos and from what Mark recalled from the dream, but they had mere snapshots of the event.

He paused his pacing long enough to cock his head and listen. It sounded like a lot more than a few hundred people out there. His stomach did a backflip. Why had he agreed to this? Mark pulled out the notes from his speech, but after staring at them, crumpled them and tossed them into a wastebasket. He was a terrible speechwriter. He'd be better off winging it.

There was a short, hard knock on the door, and Jim entered. "We have standing room only. In fact, we had to turn some folks away at the door, and they weren't too happy about it."

"How many is 'standing room only'?"

Jim shrugged. "Our permit allows for only a thousand people, so once the count hit that, we had turn folks away from getting inside, but a bunch decided that just being near the building would be better than nothing. They're hoping to hear your words of wisdom through the open doors."