through the pain twisting inside his chest.
There was a rattle and clink of dishes behind him and a few seconds later, his mom set the stack beside the sink. Mark stole a glance at her. She caught his look and despite the tears still streaming, she smiled. “I prayed every night that you were safe and that you would come home. My prayers came true.”
The wooden stairs creaked, the third one loudest of all, and Mark remembered that particular step giving him away once when he was seventeen and trying to sneak out of the house to go to a party. Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth as he turned to the right, his hand spinning around the wooden knob at top of the banister. The action came naturally, from a childhood spent racing up the steps, and careening down the hall. The knob had been the only thing that had prevented him from catapulting out the window at the top of the steps.
His old room still looked like he had left for college the week before. On the wall was a poster of Walter Payton, and opposite that, one of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. The double-bed looked huge and the blue down comforter puffed when he sank down into its softness. It was all he could do to keep from falling back and sleeping right then, but he wanted to shower first.
He rubbed his eyes and wandered over to the oak dresser. Some of his clothes were still here. He tended to leave his dirty clothes unless he needed them. It had made traveling from Chicago easier if he didn’t need to pack every time.
In the top drawer, he found some boxers and a tee shirt. Perfect. He shut the drawer and the jolt knocked over a couple of photographs on top of the dresser. Mark lifted one. His senior prom. He was decked out in a white tux with a pastel pink cummerbund that matched Becky Harris’s chiffon dress. They both grinned into the camera. His arms circled Becky, resting on top of her hands at her waist. Her blond hair, so curled and sprayed that it looked like it would crack if touched, came to just below his chin. She had been tiny, even in heels, and Mark remembered feeling so big and invincible holding her. He ran a hand through his short hair. In the photo, it had been longer and feathered. Mark chuckled at how much time he had wasted every morning making sure it looked good.
A soft knock sounded and Mark turned to the door. “Come in.”
His mom entered carrying a couple of bath towels and held up a new toothbrush. “I found this in the downstairs medicine cabinet. It was a free sample. There’s toothpaste, shampoo, and some disposable razors in this bathroom. If you need-”
“Thanks, Mom. I got it.” Mark smiled and cut her off. There was an awkwardness between them that had never been there before. He cleared his throat and set the towels on the bed. “I was just looking at my prom picture. What a goof I was.” The comment was meant to be funny, but his voice cracked. Mark averted his eyes from hers.
She crossed to the dresser and held the picture. “I remember taking this picture. You looked so handsome all dressed up.” A smile softened her features as one finger traced Mark’s outline in the photo. “I was a nervous wreck all that night. I was sure you were going to get drunk and crash the car on the way home.”
This was news to him. Vaguely, he recalled that a boy had been killed in a car crash after a prom night party a few years before his own prom, but like most kids, Mark had never considered it happening to him. “Why did you let me go?”
“It was your prom. What else could I do?” She shrugged. “Besides, I worried every time you walked out that door. But, you always came home okay.” Setting the picture down, she faced him. “Until today.”
Mark swallowed down the lump that threatened to choke him and picked at a snag on the towel, working the thread until it stuck out another inch. He tore his gaze from the towel and tried smile. “I’m fine.”
She shook her head and stepped close, wrapping her arms around him. “No, Mark. You’re not.” Her hands ran up and down his back. “But you will be.”
He nodded into her neck, not trusting his voice. After a moment, he stepped back. “Well, I probably should get that shower before I stink up the room.”
She didn’t smile at his attempt at humor, but nodded. “Good night, hon.”
Mark grabbed the soap and lathered up the washcloth, scrubbing his skin in an attempt to wash the stench of prison right out of his pores. The mint and vanilla scent of the shampoo filled the shower stall. It smelled so good, he was half-tempted to taste it. The hot water poured over his head and eased the tension from his muscles as the suds swirled down the drain. He watched them disappear and wished his memories from prison could disappear so easily.
Later, he lay in bed, his hands clasped behind his head. He had to figure what to do with his life beginning tomorrow. He couldn’t stay with his parents indefinitely. His thoughts drifted to Jessie. Would she have waited for him? For her, life had marched on, while his life had been captive in a cell. Mark turned and tugged his pillow, pounding a fist into it. Why should she wait?
She had feared and doubted him. Not that he blamed her. His story sounded impossible even to himself. Jessie dealt with cold hard facts, not mystical dreams and magical cameras. He punched the pillow into a ball and pulled it back under his head. As hard as it was, he had to accept that their relationship was over and had been for a year now. Just because his life had been on hold didn’t mean hers had been.
It was just as well. He had nothing to offer. At least before, he’d had a successful career. Now he had nothing. Thanks to the damn camera, he had been too busy to keep in touch with most of his friends, and the few he had were sure to have heard what happened to him. He doubted any would want to associate with him now.
Mark tried to push the negative thoughts aside. It would do no good. Better to think of the positive things. He was free. The bedside clock ticked and the tree outside scratched at the window as the wind blew the branches. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of another positive thing. Hell, he hardly had more than the clothes on his back and less than a thousand dollars in his pocket.
Maybe he could start a little photography business in Madison. He would have to get another job to save some money to get more equipment. His throat clenched at that thought. It was like losing part of himself. Being a photographer wasn’t just what he did, it was who he was.
The FBI had taken some of his equipment he knew, and probably all of his files. They had certainly gone through them all, but where they were now was anyone’s guess. The other equipment though, like his backdrops and lights, probably hadn’t been part of the investigation. Would they give any of it back to him? He hadn’t been guilty of anything. He didn’t have the first clue who to call to find out where his things had gone.
Mark wondered if his parents had any idea where it all might be. He rolled over, closing his eyes as he settled into the lavender scented comforter. Inhaling deeply, he smiled. As a teen, he had hated the smell. It was too girly and even his dad had backed him on that, but his mom always insisted the aroma would help him sleep. As he drifted off, he concluded she was right.
His shoulders ached and Mark gritted his teeth, trying to rise up in his toes enough to ease the pressure. How long would they leave him here this time? Bill circled him, a mocking grin stretched across his face.
“You know what we want. Come on, Mark. Who are you protecting? Is it worth it?”
He tried to gasp out an answer, but it was so hard to talk and concentrate with his shoulders aching so badly. “I’m not protecting anyone. I don’t have anything to tell you. I swear it.”
Bill reached up and yanked on something, tightening the rope. Mark groaned. “Stop!” Head hanging down, he panted. “Please…just…stop!”
“Mark? Are you okay, son?”
A hand shook his shoulder and Mark bolted up. “What?” His heart raced as he took in the golden sunlight that
