“Really? That’s wonderful!” She beamed at him over the rim of her coffee cup.
He shrugged, but couldn’t quite smother the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “They don’t pay much, but it’s a start. Gary suggested me when a woman came into the shop and mentioned looking for a photographer for a small wedding. “
“It’s a great start. Soon, you’ll be back to how you were before.”
Mark wrung out the sponge, giving it a harder than needed twist. “Yeah. Maybe.” Bending his head, he scrubbed the baking sheet. When would every mention of the past stop hurting?
A minute or so later, Jessie’s hand reached into the sink and caught his. “Mark. Stop. You’re going to ruin the finish on that.”
He blinked. “Sorry. There was some chicken stuck to it.”
She took the sponge out of his hand. “I’m sorry I said anything about the past, but we can’t keep tiptoeing around it.”
“Who asked you to?” Mark snatched the sponge and began wiping the counters. He heard her sigh, but ignored it. “You can talk all you want about the past. Hell, I can talk about it if you want.”
“Right.”
He glanced up at her skeptical tone. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked. He flung the sponge into the sink. “What do you want to know?”
“What were the other inmates like?”
“I have no idea. I never saw any others.”
Surprise showed on her face and she dropped the tough stance. “Ever?”
“Nope. It was just me and the guards.” He grabbed the roll of paper towels, tore off a few and turned to dry the counters. “They weren’t too chatty.” His attempt at humor died as the remembered loneliness swept over him. “I saw a doctor occasionally, and a few times, a chaplain came by. He was nice.” Ducking his head, he used his thumbnail to scrape a drop of barbecue sauce off the counter. “And Jim and Bill, of course. Saw them more than I wanted to.” Lost in memories, he stopped scraping and stared at the slate gray stone beneath his hand.
“Mark, you don’t have to say any more. I’m sorry.” She’d lost the skeptical note.
He snapped back to the present and shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.” Wadding up the paper towels, he sought a change of subject, throwing out the first thing he could think of. “Getting back to photography, I was thinking of using my camera again. Just a few times.”
Jessie stopped in the act of filling the soap dispenser in the dishwasher and straightened, box still poised. “Your special camera? Seriously?”
Mark nodded, not sure when he had made the decision to use the camera again, but the feeling had been building ever since he’d held it, and now that he’d said it out-loud, a surge of excitement shot through him. “Not every day. I have to work, but I have a few days off a week. If something comes up, maybe I can make a difference.”
Mark slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Jessie. Today was the day. He stretched and rolled his shoulder, wincing as it popped. The dream to match the picture was still fresh in his mind. He’d wondered if the dreams would still come, but now he had his answer.
“Are you going?” Jessie scooted up in bed, the t-shirt she wore, one of his, slipping off her shoulder
He was tempted to say he hadn’t dreamed any details and return to bed. After hiding the magic of the camera for two years, and then being punished for using it, his first instinct was to deny what he was planning on doing. But this was Jessie. She knew all his secrets.
“I figured I’d go. It couldn’t hurt to at least see if I can change it.” There. He’d committed.
She held his gaze until Mark had to shift his focus. They’d discussed it, and he knew she’d support him if he put the camera down forever, but he knew she wanted him to use it if he could.
He grabbed his clothes out of a drawer, setting them next to the camera. The thrill of using it yesterday still simmered inside of him, and he picked it up, shivering at the hum of energy that coursed up his arms. It felt odd, but pleasant, like a warm tickle in his muscles.
Jessie caught his eye in the mirror. “You want me to go with?”
Mark had thought about asking her to go with him. He’d love nothing more than to have her along to push him to use it, but he had to know if he could do it on his own so he shook his head. “No. I gotta do it myself.” He set the camera down and rummaged for his socks.
The bedsprings creaked followed by the soft slap of Jessie’s feet on the hardwood floor. She hugged him from behind and planted a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You’ll be fine, but if you need anything, I’ll be here.”
He swallowed and his voice was rough when he said, “I know.”
An hour later, he trotted down the EL platform steps and headed west. His photos had shown a warehouse engulfed in flames, but even worse, in his dream, he’d seen two people trapped inside the building. Two blocks later, he turned north. The area teemed with warehouses, but the one he sought sported a faded red logo on the side. It might have been a cardinal at one time, but the elements had turned it into nothing more than a faint outline. It was still easy to spot and he tried the front door. Locked. Of course.
The dream had omitted a key piece of information-where the fire would start. Without that, Mark could only guess. He circled to the back, skirting around an overflowing Dumpster. Pot holes filled with stagnant water dotted the pavement, and he swore when he stepped in one and flooded his shoe. Shaking his foot, he approached the deserted loading dock. Where the hell was everyone?
“Hello?” Silence. Mark swung up onto the cement block. There had to be somebody around. At least the two who were in his dream should be somewhere about. The large door was closed, so he tried a smaller one beside it. It opened, and Mark chalked one up in his favor as he stepped into the dim interior. His earlier jitters settled into a low hum of energy. The cavernous room was empty except for broken boxes and trash littering the floor. His footsteps echoed and dust motes clogged the air as he crossed to a door on the far side of the room.
Smoke. More than just dust filled the air-some of it was smoke. Tendrils licked around the base of the door. He touched the wood. It was warm, but not hot. This door had been in the dream and he was sure he could open it without facing flames. Still, he cringed when he pushed it open.
He coughed at the first blast of heat and smoke. His eyes watered and he crouched as he went left.
“Hey! Anybody in here?”
“Help!”
The cry came from directly behind him, and Mark spun. “Where are you?”
“We’re stuck in here!”
The voice came from behind a heavy metal door. Mark tried the doorknob. “It’s locked!”
He scanned the hall for anything he could use to pry open the door.
“We hid in here when the watchman came by this morning, now we’re locked in. There’s a crowbar behind the door by the loading dock. Hurry!” Coughing punctuated the instructions.
Mark raced back the way he’d come, looked behind the door and found the tool. When he reached the door, a fit of coughing overtook him and he crouched for a few seconds, hoping the clearer air close to the floor would ease his breathing.
Straightening, he jammed the flat end between the door and the jamb and pushed. He groaned with the strain. The door wouldn’t budge.
Sweat ran into his eyes and he swiped his forearm across his forehead before bending to grab another lungful of air to try again. The latch broke with his second effort and he had to catch himself before he fell into the room.
The men rushed past him, and Mark staggered after them, but when they got outside, he didn’t stop to chat, he just handed one the crowbar and kept walking. His throat burned and getting a drink of water was his second priority. His first was to use the pay phone up the block and call in the fire.
As he hung up the phone, he broke into a grin. He’d done it. He was back. A quick stop in a mini-mart for a
