bottle of water, and then he was up the steps to the “L”. Fellow passengers wrinkled their noses at him as he walked through the car, but he didn’t care. His heart raced with excess adrenaline and his hands still shook. It was the best feeling in the world. He thought of Jessie and amended his thought. It was the second best feeling in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mark examined the latest photos in the dim red light. What the hell? He looked at the whole batch and swore as he made sense of the images. Bodies and…blood? Bodies of men, women and children, teens and senior citizens-people who’d probably just been celebrating only moments before the photos were snapped-lay sprawled where they fell.
A white flag with a blue ‘W’ curled into the corner of the photo. He recognized that flag. Wrigley Field. Bile burned the back of his throat. Instead of one or two pictures depicting a tragedy, five photos had developed. Every one of them showed the same scenes, the only difference was the gate number over the exit tunnel.
This was big. Mark’s hand shook as he hung the last photo to dry. How would he stop this? Who could do something so horrible? He shook his head. Stupid question. The real question was why?
He wasn’t even sure what had killed the people. Leaning forward, he peered at the photos looking for clues. Other than the blood and bodies, there didn’t seem to be much out of the ordinary. There was no debris or smoke, so a bomb wasn’t likely. For so many to die or be injured, it had to have been something quick. Automatic gunfire?
As he studied the photos, he began seeing individuals. A blond woman still clutching a small child. Poking out from beneath a man was a tiny foot. A baby. Mark gagged and braced his hands on the counter, hanging his head. Several slow deep breaths later, he tried again, taking each photo down. They were dry enough.
He didn’t want to see the faces, he only wanted to find clues, but his eye was drawn to the faces despite his attempts to look past them. It was no use. Every body became a person. Every person became someone’s child, someone’s mother, someone’s best friend.
Or someone’s torturer. Mark snapped the fourth picture from the clip. Shit! Jim Sheridan. What the hell was he doing at a Cub’s game? Not that it mattered. He was there in the picture. A victim just like the rest.
He couldn’t look anymore. Not now.
What the hell was he supposed to do with these pictures? Mark yanked open the door of the dark room and stalked to the kitchen. He could throw them out. The trash was right there. He could pretend he had never seen them. His shoulders slumped. No he couldn’t. As tempting as it was, the dream would come tonight no matter what. Tossing out the photos wouldn’t change that.
What he needed was a shot of whiskey or a tumbler full of scotch, but he would have to make do with a lite beer.
Half the beer went down in one long guzzle, then he grabbed a second out of the fridge, tucked the pictures under his arm, and trudged to the sofa. He dropped the stack of pictures on the coffee table. In a corner of his mind, he had an idea that if he got plastered, maybe the dream that finished off the photos would never materialize.
He finished the beer and opened the second before flipping on the television, seeking distraction. His eyes kept straying to the pictures despite the baseball game playing on TV. Maybe because of it. The second beer went down almost as fast as the first, and he debated getting a third. Before he made up his mind, the phone rang, but he let it go three rings before he bothered to check the caller ID. It was Jessie. Part of him was glad, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her yet today as she’d had an early meeting, but right at the moment, he wasn’t in the mood to talk.
“Yeah?” There was a gaping silence on the other end and Mark winced, picturing Jessie’s surprise at his abrupt answer.
“Well, aren’t you full of sunshine and light.” She was pissed.
Mark closed his eyes and circled the heel of his hand on his forehead. “Sorry, Jess. I just developed my film.”
Jessie’s voice lost its sarcasm. “It’s a bad one? What happens?”
He nodded to the first question even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Real bad. Something big. And…and there’s something else…”
“Someone you know?”
Sheridan’s final grimace, frozen on his face, shouldn’t bother him so much. The bastard had it coming. “Yeah, I know him, that’s for sure.” He flipped the picture over. “It’s Sheridan.” Mark stood and paced to the window.
“Jim Sheridan?”
“Yep.” That third beer called to him and he heeded the call. With the phone tucked between his chin and shoulder, he opened the fridge and retrieved two more bottles and returned to the sofa. “And hundreds of others.”
“Shit.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He laughed, but the sound died in his throat. “What do I do?” It wasn’t fair to ask her. It was his responsibility. He sucked in a breath. His responsibility. Had he answered his own question? Grabbing the third beer, he gave the top a savage twist.
Jessie’s voice cut through his inner turmoil, “Listen, Mark. I’ll be home soon, I’m just leaving work. We’ll think of something. Have you eaten yet?”
Mark lifted the beer; despite the calories, it wouldn’t count as food. “No, I’m having my own little cocktail party.”
He heard her sigh. “I’ll grab some takeout. Don’t worry, we’ll work this out.”
Mark nodded again. “Okay.”
Jessie juggled the bags of Chinese food as she opened the door. “Hey, I’m here.”
Silence greeted her announcement. Puzzled, she set the bags down on the counter and went to the living room. Mark sat on the edge of the sofa, the fingertips of one hand resting on the mouth of a beer bottle. His other held a photo.
She walked to the back of the sofa and stopped behind him. Three empty bottles lined the right side of the coffee table. “Mark?”
Mark started and the bottle teetered, but he steadied it before it toppled. He looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t hear you come in.” His voice sounded wooden and his eyes were dull.
She leaned over and nuzzled his neck. “I brought food. Come and eat.”
“Don’t you want to see the pictures?”
“Not yet. I think we should eat first.”
“Oh. Okay.” He stood, swayed for a second, then ambled out to the kitchen.
He sounded distant and he hadn’t even asked what she had brought. “I got Chinese.”
“Sounds good.”
“I hope it tastes as good as it smells.” She had a feeling she could have brought him a plate of dog food and he would have had the same reaction.
Mark loaded a plate with fried rice, cashew chicken, and egg rolls. Jessie filled a dish for herself as well, and poured glasses of ice water for the both of them. Mark didn’t seem to notice when she took his beer and set it on the counter. He had brought the pictures in with him, and they lay face down on the table beside his plate.
“I wonder what he’s doing at a Cub’s game?”
Mark stared at the end of an egg roll. “Yeah, I can’t picture him in that light.” He shrugged and took a bite. After chewing for a few seconds, he said, “I guess he’s a normal guy most of the time.”
Jessie scooped up a forkful of fried rice. “Okay, so maybe we can get him to cancel his game plans.”
Mark put the egg roll down. His mouth set in a hard line as he stared past her, his fingers drumming on the
