Mark thought of nighttime in Chicago. It was never truly dark. Some nights he would go to the roof of his building and look south towards the Loop. He never tired of the gorgeous skyline. It killed him to think that people thought he wanted to destroy something so beautiful. He curled on his side, facing the wall. Sleep came more easily than usual. The little bit of fresh air had done its magic, and with his head turned in to his bicep to block the light, he caught the faint scent of spring on his skin.
“We’ve tried to give you a break. Did you notice the extra food? The time outside? Those perks don’t come for free. Now you have to pay for them. You have to give up some information.”
“I can’t, sir.” Why did they keep asking him the same questions? Frustration welled and Mark clenched his teeth as he tried to slow his breathing down. He leaned against the wall, his arms spread wide, only his fingertips holding him away from it. His legs angled behind him as though he was doing a push-up against the wall. Only he had to hold the position. For hours. The white cinder-block an inch from his face blurred into a vision of faint gray craters and white ridges. A black scuff mark marred the wall. His arms burned and when they gave him permission to use his forehead to help hold his weight, the relief only lasted a few minutes.
“I bet your friend Mo didn’t hold out this long before pointing the finger at you. Why are you protecting him and the others?” Jim tapped him on the shoulder with a pen or pencil. Mark wasn’t sure, but even the light tap hurt his quivering muscles.
The clank of the door slot awakened Mark and he bolted up in bed. What the hell? Instead of the interrogation room, he was still in his cell. His body was slick with sweat and he swiped it off his face. It had been so real. It was like one of his camera induced dreams. How could that be? Shaking, he got up and began pacing the cell.
CHAPTER NINE
“Jeez, lady. I almost called the police when I developed these photos.” The owner of the photo developing shop grimaced and shook his head as he rang up her total. “Including the new film, that will be ten dollars and sixty-six cents.”
Jessie cocked her head. “Excuse me?” She handed him her money. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He held up his hands and looked to the side briefly. “Hey, whatever you’re into is your business, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t bring your film here anymore. At least, not if it has pictures like those on it.”
Confused and embarrassed but not sure why, Jessie took the envelope of pictures and left. She sat in her car in the parking lot and pulled out the prints. Her niece grinned at her, not the least bit bashful about the two missing teeth. More pictures of the recital, and one of her sister and Maggie. She held one up to get a better look. Maggie had leaned towards her at the last minute and instead of a head and shoulders shot, it was an extreme close up of Maggie’s nose and eyes. It looked kind of cool, even if she did say so herself. Grinning, she flipped through the rest.
The last few should have been group photos of Maggie with her ballet class, but instead, one was a side view of a man facing a concrete block wall. His body leaned forward, arms spread wide with only his fingertips and forehead holding the weight of his body off the wall. Where in the world had that photo come from? Shaking her head, she set it aside. There must have been a mistake at the processing lab. The guy at the camera place should have been paying better attention to his work instead of looking askance at her. She focused on the very last picture, hoping to get at least one group shot.
She gasped at the image on the paper. It wasn’t a group shot. A man sat on a bare concrete floor with his hands shackled to his ankles, his face screwed into a mask of pain. On the edges of the photo were booted feet with camouflage pants tucked into the top. She noted a chain that ran from the man’s shackled ankles, to a ring anchored in the floor. The poor guy. His face, eyes open but glazed with exhaustion, angled towards the camera. A shiver of recognition shot through her. Her hand shook as she took a closer look. With a shocked cry, she flung the picture on to the dashboard.
It was Mark.
All morning, Mark waited. He knew it was inevitable. They would come for him today. He tried to eat breakfast, but it came up as his stomach churned. The day dragged on, and the muscles at the back of his neck tightened, sending waves of pain shooting through his skull. Alternating pacing with sitting against the wall massaging his neck, he tried to put the dream out of his mind. Maybe it was just a regular dream. A very vivid regular dream. Lunch came and went untouched. When the command came to present his hands for the shackles, it was almost a relief. The waiting was over.
Mark stood motionless as the team assembled in the interrogation room. Head down, he didn’t bother trying to listen for idle chatter this time. What good would it do?
Bill approached. Mark could tell by the sound of his footsteps. They were slower, less measured than Jim’s. “Did you enjoy your nice little break?”
Mark clenched his fists, and then took a slow deep breath forcing his fingers to relax. Anger would do no good here. What could he reply to that? Yes? That he’d had a grand old time? Better to remain silent. He didn’t think he would be able to control his sarcasm if he spoke.
“Say again? I didn’t hear you. Look at me when I speak to you,” Bill snapped.
Even though he was the ‘good’ one, Mark doubted that Bill had a speck of sympathy for him. “I had a great time…sir.” Mark tried not to glare and averted his eyes, focusing on the wall across the room. He made sure he looked above the group, including Jim, seated at the table watching him.
Bill leaned into Mark’s field of vision, his eyes narrowed. “You know what? Just to get this show on the road, what do you say we start out with a little stretching exercise?” He motioned to the guards. “Get him in the rowing position.” He turned back to Mark. “You ever rowed a boat?”
Mark hesitated, looking past Bill to Jim at the table. Did he look annoyed with the suggestion? It was hard to tell. “Uh, yes sir. A few times.”
“Well then this should bring back some memories.”
The position they put him in did bring to mind rowing a boat, but only if he remained in the coiled position without ever pushing with his legs and straightening his body. The shackles bit into his wrists and his back muscles jerked. They left him like that while they went to get lunch. The guards remained, but neither spoke to him. What was the purpose of this? Mark tried to come up with something he could tell them. Had something happened in Afghanistan that they would want to know about? He straightened his knees as much as he could to ease the pulling on his shoulders. That worked for about a minute, then his hamstrings burned. Mark bit his lip to keep from moaning. His thighs ached as though red hot pokers were being jammed into them.
Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, the itching causing its own torment. He wiped his cheek against his arm, then left his head there, blocking out the bright lights.
In a small town outside Kabul, he had witnessed a woman being beaten by a crowd. He’d wanted to rush over to help, but Mo had stopped him with the warning that the crowd would turn on them if they did anything. It was the custom there, and there wasn’t anything they could do. Horrified, Mark had turned away, but not before using his long lens to get some shots of the atrocity.
That night, Mo had gone off alone, telling Mark he was just going to visit some old friends. Mark hadn’t felt like socializing after seeing the scene in the town square and had been happy that Mo had dropped him off at the hotel in Kabul. What if Mo’s visiting had been something more sinister? Mark groaned with both physical and mental anguish. How could he prove that he had been at the hotel and not off hatching plans with Mo and the bad guys?
The door to the room opened and Mark tried not to look at the men as they filed in, not wanting them to see his weakness, but he couldn’t help stealing a glance, despite his best efforts to refrain. He hoped that someone would release him now-before he began to moan. It took all his willpower to remain silent. Bill had a bag from a fast food restaurant. The scent wafted to Mark and his mouth instantly flooded. He swallowed and tried to ignore
