Mark turned to her but she evaded his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She shrugged, her eyes bright with tears. “It wasn’t a big deal. Not compared to not knowing where you were or how you were doing.”
His dad didn’t let up. “I lost about half of my patients, other doctors shun me, and it’s become so bad, you’re mother and I were thinking of leaving town.” He stabbed a finger in Mark’s direction. “So don’t go thinking this has just affected you.” He circled his finger to encompass the three of them. “It’s affected all of us, and your mother and I deserve to know the truth. We deserve to know why you’ve shamed us.”
“I never meant to shame anyone.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat, taking a moment to gather his composure. “I…I went to Afghanistan, but I only took photos for Mo’s book. I never did the things they said I did. I never went to any training camps. I never said a bad word about the U.S.”
He rubbed his eyes with his first two fingers and thumb. “While I was there, I bought an old camera. An antique.” He cursed that day. “I never told you guys because it sounds crazy, but when I’d use that camera, I’d get photos of things that were going to happen.”
His dad scoffed and crossed his arms. “I thought you could do better than that.”
His mother remained silent, which was almost worse.
“Let me finish, dammit!” Mark glared at his father. “It’s true, and not only that, but after seeing the photographs, I dreamed about them. Dreams like you never imagined, Dad. Three dimensional dreams, movies almost. Only, it’s never good stuff. It’s always someone dying or getting hurt.”
He used to hope for good pictures and dreams. He took plenty of happy photos with the camera, catching images of blissful couples strolling in the park, but the dream pictures never had happy endings. “When I wake up, I know exactly what’s going to happen to the person in the dream. If I’m lucky, I can stop it. I can turn the photo into a good one.”
He could see they weren’t buying it. His father shook his head, and his mother had tears welling in her eyes. They thought he’d lost his mind. “It’s true! I swear it.” He wracked his brain for a way to prove it, but had nothing. “Remember when I was shot?”
“Of course, hon.” She reached across and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “How is your leg now?”
Mark pulled his hand away in frustration. “It’s fine, but I didn’t get shot because I was taking photos in a bad neighborhood. A cop was going to be killed. I had the photos and dream the night before so I took my camera to the neighborhood as a cover. I had to wait until the right moment, then I tackled the officer just as the drive-by shooting began. That’s a fact.” He pointed at his father. “You can check it out. I never told them the cop was going to get killed, but nobody can dispute that I tackled him just as the passing car sprayed the corner with bullets.”
“Son, I know a doctor, he’s a good guy. You could talk-”
“I don’t need a shrink, Dad. I’m not crazy. I was able to stop it because I knew. It’s not the only time. I stopped dozens of things since I got the camera.” He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and plowed ahead, “That’s what happened to me on September 10th. I took some photos. Nothing special, just some shots of the Chicago River, only that’s not what developed. What I got were pictures of the planes hitting the Twin Towers.”
His mother wiped her hand across her cheek, leaving a wet smudge. “And?”
“Don’t play along with him, Norma.”
Mark ignored his father and focused on his mom. “As soon as the pictures developed, I started calling around. I didn’t know what to do. It was so much bigger than the other things. I looked up numbers of different agencies, but I didn’t have anything concrete to tell them. The details don’t come until I dream.”
He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee. It was the best he’d had in ages, but he couldn’t enjoy it. Not with his dad looking at him with a mixture of revulsion and pity. “I woke up around five o’clock, and began trying to warn somebody. I called the FBI, the U.S. Marshals, the airports, police. Any place I could think of. Hell, I even called the National Guard.”
“Well, you didn’t do any good.”
“No shit, Dad.” He never swore at his father and hated to now. The anger, withheld for so long, burst out despite his attempt to stifle it.
“I know I didn’t do any good. If only people would have listened.” His anger drained out of him along with his energy. There was no point in it. It wouldn’t change anything for the better. He sat back and massaged his brow. “Anyway, I don’t have proof. Not anymore. I did before I was locked up, but I never showed anyone. I don’t blame you for not believing me. Nobody else did either.”
“Didn’t it occur to you that you could get in trouble for making those calls? They’re practically bomb threats.”
Mark nodded. “Yeah. I realized that afterwards, but at the time, I thought I could do something, ya know?” The frustration he had felt that day came back and he shoved a hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to do? Wouldn’t you have tried to do something if you had known?”
His dad’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s this ‘mysterious’ camera? If it’s so special, why didn’t you just show it to them?”
It was difficult to ignore the sarcasm, but he did his best. “I never got a chance. I suppose they took all my equipment, and your guess is as good as mine as to where it is now.”
“You didn’t get anything back?” For the first time, there was a shred of sympathy in his father’s voice.
“No. I went back to the loft and someone else is in my apartment.” Mentioning it to his parents dredged up the pain of his loss again, so he swallowed the lump in his throat and hurried to change the subject. “I told the Feds everything. I told them about the dreams and the camera. I told them about other things I had stopped, but they just thought I was crazy.”
“Oh, Mark.” The sorrow in his mother’s voice tore at his defenses. At least she wasn’t crying any more.
“So, why did they let you go if they didn’t believe you? Couldn’t they make the charges stick?”
“I wasn’t charged with anything.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense. So, it never went to trial?” His dad sounded surprised.
Mark picked at his finger with his thumbnail, worrying a ragged cuticle. “I never had a hearing let alone a trial.”
His father leaned forward. “I don’t understand. What happened? Start at the beginning, without all that camera crap.”
Mark sighed. “First, they locked me in a cell in Chicago for a few weeks, I guess. I spoke to a lawyer once, but then I was moved to another place. A naval brig. I only found out yesterday that it was in Charleston.” He shivered at the memory of the first terrifying transport spent in near total sensory deprivation, when he hadn’t known where he was going.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
Surprised at his dad’s perception, Mark shook his head.
“You’re not telling us something.” His mom’s brow furrowed.
He glanced between his parents. They didn’t need to hear anymore; didn’t need to know the ugly details. Especially his mother. “Listen, I’m kind of tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
Mark couldn’t maintain eye contact and pushed the coffee aside, gripping one hand in the other. He raised his head. His mother’s eyes brimmed and as he watched, a tear escaped and slipped down her cheek. His dad sat with his arms crossed, and when he spoke, his voice was low and hard, “And you’ve been there all this time? Couldn’t you even call us?”
Hunching over the table, Mark worked at the cuticle again. “No, sir. I never got to use the phone.” Guilt filled him and he wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t like he had a chance to call and passed it up. Is that what his dad thought? “I wanted to call. And a couple of times, I was allowed to write letters.” He leaned both elbows on the table and ran his hands through his hair, then rested his head on his palms. The bastards. They had promised that they would mail the letters. “I guess they never sent them.”
Mark pushed up from the table, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’m sorry. I…I thought they told you guys.” He turned and stepped to the sink, bracing himself against it. He had caused his parents so much pain.
A warm, heavy weight settled on Mark’s shoulder and he felt his father behind him. His dad tightened his grip near Mark’s neck, giving him a squeeze. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters.”
Mark clenched his jaw and didn’t dare look at his dad’s reflection, so he just nodded and tried to breathe
