March Into Hell (23 page)

“I’m afraid I’ve been advised not to answer that due to the continuing investigation.” Mark was glad that Jim had given him a few good comments to say in reply to questions he either couldn’t answer or didn’t want to answer.

“Hell yeah, it hurt.
A lot
.” Mark glared at the reporter. “What do you think?”
Idiot
.

“I’ve never claimed to be anything except a co-owner of a photography studio. All that other stuff, that’s crap you guys said, not me.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim move up on his left, just a little behind him as a reporter asked Mark if he was the second coming.

“No, dammit! I’m not the savior. I have no divine powers, and I am not the Son of God. I’m the son of 
Gene Taylor
!” Mark ran his hand through his hair and ignored the rest of the shouted questions.

Looking down, he circled his finger in a wet spot on the podium left by the water bottle and tried to find a way to make them leave him in peace. Finally, he looked up. His eyes roved the crowd, lingering on some, willing them to understand.
Needing
them to understand-- praying that they would. “I just want to go home and live my life.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Come on, Taylor.”

Jim put a hand on Mark’s back and guided him from the podium, making it easier for Mark to ignore the questions that were still being flung at him. He limped through the main entrance, dropped into the wheelchair, and propped his head on his hand. The chair began rolling, but Mark didn’t bother to look where he was going; he just watched the white and gray flecked tiles slide beneath him. Vaguely, he heard Jim walking somewhere behind him, the rapid clip of his shoes matched by the  squeak of the nurse’s as she pushed the chair. On his other side came Jessie's quick familiar step.

Eventually, Mark raised his gaze as the hallways lengthened and dimmed and they encountered more turns. The mute posse passed noisy equipment rooms, empty boxes stacked in the hall, and large bins piled high with red trash bags. Finally, they exited through a door, and ended up on a loading dock. A plain blue sedan was parked beside it, and by the similarity with Jim's vehicle, Mark recognized the car as government issue.

The chair stilled. The nurse set the brakes and said, “Here we are. You take care now, Mark.”

Mark turned to her and forced his best to smile. “Thanks so much for everything. Everybody was great.”

“Come on, we don’t have too much time.” Jim moved up to Mark’s side ushered him into the backseat while he took the driver's seat. Jessie climbed into the back from the other side.

Mark had pictured the police getting him to a cab safely, not a true police escort. “What’s the deal? Why can’t I just take a cab?”

“Look, Taylor, every reporter in the city -- hell-half of the ones in the country -- want to corner you. We’re doing this to make sure you get home in one piece.”

“But--”

“Just shut the door, we’ll discuss the rest en route.”

Mark sighed. He wasn’t up to arguing, and Jim had a point. “Fine.”

“Here’s the deal. Kern is still at large, and going by what happened to witnesses in the past, it’s a good bet that he’s making more plans for you.”

Mark shivered as  if someone had doused him with a bucket of cold water, and looked from Jim to Jessie in disbelief. He had thought everything was over; that he would be able to get on with his life. His jaw tightened, and he turned away from them, staring out the window, but not seeing the pedestrians crowding the walkways, instead he saw Kern’s pale face and dark, reptilian eyes.

“Mark? Are you okay?” Jim asked quietly.

The tone was a far cry from his normal no-nonsense all-business tone, and Mark was mildly surprised. He found he couldn’t trust his own voice at the moment though, so he  kept quiet, just giving a short nod in response. In effort to rid his mind of the image of Kern, at the next stoplight, he focused on a young couple who appeared to be window-shopping. The woman pointed at a set of bright yellow kitchenware in the display case. She smiled up at the guy, who just grinned and shook his head. All Mark could think about was how lucky they were.

Jim cleared his throat and Mark glanced at him. More good news was on the way. He could tell from Jim’s posture. “What else?”

“Well, we aren’t sure it’s safe for you to go back to your loft.”

Truthfully, Mark's stomach twisted into knots at the thought of sleeping in his bed. He wanted to go home, but his sense of security felt completely violated there. Still, he knew it was important to get back to his routine as soon as possible. He couldn’t avoid going back forever, so the sooner the better. “But we’re almost there now.”

“Yeah, we assumed you might need to get some of your clothes and things, and then we can take you to another location."

“I don't want to go anywhere else." The thought of being forced to leave his home against his will-- yet again -- sent a surge of panic through him.

Jessie shook her head. “Look, Mark, we’ve arranged for you to stay with a friend of a friend for a few days until we get more figured out. He lives in Indiana.”

“Uh-uh.” Mark crossed his arms. “I have to stay here. It’s not an option.” He was being stubborn and he knew it, but so far, all except one of the camera's tragedies had occurred within the city limits. Besides, he had photo-shoots scheduled. They had canceled too many already.

“We know this isn’t easy, but we don’t have many choices.”

“Listen you guys, I appreciate all the trouble that you’ve gone to, but I need to stay in my loft.” Mark glanced at them, then dropped his gaze as he tightened the strap on his sling. “I…I guess it’s like climbing back in the saddle, you know? The sooner I do it, the better.” He swallowed and heat climbed his face. In all his recent encounters with these two, it seemed like he always ended up looking like a basket case. "Besides, all my equipment is there."

The car pulled up in front of the studio, and Mark saw that Lily hadn’t been kidding. The sidewalk out front was a zoo. Cameras began flashing before he even opened the door. Mark sighed and turned to Jim. “I hate this. Will it ever end?”

Jim’s mouth set in a firm line and he took a deep breath, his gaze fastened on Mark’s eyes. “I know you do. We’re doing our best to catch Kern but I’m afraid we don’t have any control over the press.”

Jessie pointed towards the front of the car. "Dan came here ahead of us, trying to keep things quiet. I'll go find him to come help us get you inside safely." She exited the vehicle and began ordering reporters to back up and give them some room. Jim watched for a second then turned his attention back to Mark. “Hang in there.”

"Hanging is not my strong suit," he responded with a tired grin, trying to lighten the mood. It might have worked, except the door suddenly opened.

Dan stuck his head in  Mark's door. “Are you ready? I’ll do my best to clear the way.”
      

Mark nodded, his gaze darting over Dan’s shoulder, thankful that at least the sound of the crowd covered the hammering of his heart. Trying to ignore the shouted questions along with the screams and squeals from the people gathered behind the reporters, he took a deep breath and climbed out of the car.

* * *

Jim pushed the door against the people who crowded it, and  boomed, “Back off, people! Let the man out!” He searched for Jessica. She was tough, but her slim frame proved a disadvantage in this situation. Jim spotted her urging the crowd from the entrance.

Jim  maneuvered with his back to the car door, but he didn’t need to be looking to know exactly when Taylor came out. The screams and shouts became deafening, and the camera flashes had him seeing spots.
Damn it!

He checked to see how Dan and Mark were faring, and felt a jolt of disbelief when hands reached over the detective's shoulders and grabbed at Mark. The poor guy stumbled back, almost falling into the still open car door. Jim took a quick step towards him even as Dan swatted the arms away.

“Hands off!” Dan shoved the offenders back and blocked further access, allowing Mark to stand and move towards the door of the studio. Jim added his voice and felt like a football player trying to crash through a goal line stand. He went ahead of the other two to aid Jessica as she stood with her arms out, attempting to block  as many people as she could.  A few steps behind Jim,  the crowd closed in like tsunami of people, pushing those in front right into Mark. Jim looked over his shoulder just as Mark staggered.

What were these people
thinking
? The crowd seemed to worship Taylor, and yet, they were terrifying the man.

Pissed, he pulled his cell-phone out of his pocket and called the Chicago P.D. dispatch and identified himself before saying, “We're at the corner of Hubbard and Wells, and need back up immediately. There's a mob situation going on right now!”

Jim shouldered his way through the crowd, trying to be mindful of the many small children he saw mingling in the throng. Not only was Mark at risk here, so were those children. It wouldn’t take much for one to fall under the feet of the mass of people and get trampled before anyone even noticed. “Please, folks! Someone’s going to get hurt here. Back up!”

Jessica left her place near the door and returned to help Dan as the two of them tried to clear the way for Mark while Jim was forced to push back against the crowd on his side.

Jim cast a glance over his shoulder when he didn't feel the press of Jessica, Dan and Mark behind him. Their progress was stymied and Mark appeared rooted to the sidewalk. He turned towards Jim,  his face drained of color, his  eyes, huge and fixed on the mob. Jim saw him shudder when a sea of hands reached for him. He was teetering on the edge of panic. Jim had seen the signs before in other situations. It went beyond the deer in the headlights look.  It was akin to a deer surrounded by a pack of salivating wolves. He swore when he noticed that Taylor kept his weight off his right foot. That was probably part of the problem. Not only was the guy surrounded, but he was hobbled too. Just like a deer with his tendons slashed. Easy prey.

Jim fought his way back  to the trio, wondering when the hell the cops would arrive. At that instant, a child darted between legs and touched Taylor’s hand, then dashed back with a squeal of triumph. Like a switch being thrown, people swarmed forward, their mass too much for four people to fend off.

Even the reporters started looking frightened and now many turned to face the crowd, adding their own shouts to those of Jim’s. Taylor’s shirt sleeve was torn by some seeking hand, and he tottered as he lost his balance for a second. If it hadn’t been for a reporter steadying him, he would have gone down. Jim hated to think what the outcome would be if that happened.

Several babies were shoved towards Mark and he limped backwards, holding his hand up. Over the din, Jim could barely hear him as he pleaded,“I’m not what you guys think. Please…just let me go inside.”

In response, another baby was pushed towards him. At the same time, the crowd surged forward, knocking the infant from the mother’s hands. Mark dipped his shoulder and caught the baby between his right arm and his chest, using his left hand to steady the infant.

The mother screeched,“He saved my baby! Did you all see that?” Instead of taking her baby back, she lifted her arms heavenward and closed her eyes, swaying back and forth, chanting, "Praise the Lord."

Jim reached Mark and took the child and returned her to the mother, startling her into opening her eyes. With a snort of disgust, Jim  put one arm across Taylor’s shoulders, and shoved people with the other as he forced their way through the crowd. Taylor let out a strangled groan as Jim dragged him along. He hated having to pull Mark , knowing the guy was hardly in the best shape to be rushed through a crowd, but there was no other option.

Sirens announced the arrival of the police—finally—and also caused the people to turn their attention away for a moment. It was all they needed the door open, Dan blocked the crowd from entering, and Jim and Mark stumbled into the building.

The dim interior, so quiet after the screams and shouts, seemed almost unnatural.

Lily was waiting inside and took Mark's arm, letting him lean on her as he hobbled towards the back of the studio. It took the combined strength of the other three to shut the door and lock it against the push of people. The trio leaned back against the door, gasping for breath. Nobody spoke.

 Mark limped to his desk and collapsed onto his chair, his head hanging as his chest heaved.

Jim staggered over, surprised at how drained he felt. He sat on the edge of the desk. His heart still raced, and he couldn’t imagine what Mark was feeling. Hearing pounding, he looked to the door, glad to see Dan remained against it, standing guard. Jessica had crossed to the back corner of the office and was filling a paper cup from a standing water cooler. He glanced back at Mark. “You okay?”

Mark nodded but didn’t look up. His right elbow rested on his knee and his hand reached under his sling to rub his abdomen. Jim remembered the stab wound he’d suffered and he noted a long scratch on Mark’s exposed shoulder. Jim grimaced. It was his fault. It was his job to see that Taylor made it through the crowd, and he should have anticipated something like this. Instead, he  had failed miserably.

Mark took the cup from Jessica and guzzled the water. Jim pushed off the desk to grab a drink too. After he downed the first cup and re-filled it, he finally felt his heart slow down. He tried to take stock of the situation. "How's it looking out there?"

Dan peered out the front window then threw over his shoulder, "I think it would be best if you got out of sight, Mark.”

Jessica edged towards the windows. “I wouldn’t put it past them to break out the glass.”

Jim followed her gaze, his mouth dropping open at the faces pressed against the window. “I guess this didn’t go quite how we planned.” Uniformed officers began moving people back from the windows, but Jim could see it wasn’t an easy task.

Mark raised his head at that, a hint of smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “No?” He straightened, wincing as he did, his eyes going to Jessica. "Thanks for the drink, but about now, a shot of whiskey might be more appropriate."