CHAPTER THREE
'Mark?'
He groaned and opened his eyes, squinting up at the bright overhead light. Mark knew that voice. Jessie. The very last person he wanted to see at this moment. Sitting up slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the hospital gurney and reached for his shirt. The hospital gown he'd worn earlier had been removed after the doc had sutured Mark's head. Between the blood and the saline, it had been soaked. Unable to grasp the shirt with his still-numb fingers, it fell to the floor just as the curtain around his cubicle fluttered. A hand appeared from the other side and grabbed the material, yanking it back. The metal balls in the overhead track screeched in protest.
'I knew I shouldn't have told you anything!' She stood at the foot of the gurney with her hands on her hips and looking much fiercer than her slender frame had a right to appear.
Her eyes narrowed as she glowered at him.
'You know what I do, Jess. Don't think just because you're not part of it that I've stopped using the camera.' Mark bent to retrieve his shirt, but a wave of dizziness swept through him and he almost fell off the gurney. Embarrassed, he eased back and tried to blink the room into focus again. The doctor advised Mark that he had a concussion, and he should take it easy for a week or so. It had been hard for him not to laugh out loud at that recommendation.
With a cluck of her tongue, Jessie bent and snatched the shirt, thrusting it at him. 'Here.'
'Thanks.' Mark fumbled with it, finding it difficult to handle the piece of clothing with his left hand bandaged and numb. Giving up, he clutched it against his belly. 'What are you doing here?'
'I received a phone call from the patrol officer who took your statement. You see, Mark, what you reported is out of the ordinary realm of usual criminal activity. So, being one of the detectives whose job is to investigate cult activity in Chicago, naturally, it was assumed that I would want to be informed of this event.' Arms crossed, she glared at him. 'Why do you have to keep using that camera?'
Ignoring the pounding in his head, Mark straightened. 'Listen, I'm sorry they called you, but if I hadn't used 'that camera', a girl was going to end up dead. I didn't cause that scenario, Jess. I just did what I had to do.'
Her stare wavered and her eyes flicked down before her gaze darted around the room. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, and he wouldn't doubt it with the concussion, but he could swear that she was blushing! 'Is something wrong?' He glanced down, wondering if perhaps his fly was undone. Nope, all was in order.
Jessie ignored his question and shot one of her own at him. 'Do you realize you could have been a second victim?'
Mark looked away, remaining silent.
She sighed, the sound loud in the cubicle. 'Fine. I'll just go talk to the girl.' Jessie began to exit, but turned back, jabbing a finger in his direction. 'Don't leave until I return.'
Mark grunted in response and swung his legs back up onto the cart and lay down. Closing his eyes, he tried to blot out the memory of the scene he had witnessed at the warehouse. Something about it affected him in his very core. It was as if pure evil had enveloped him; swallowed him into its darkness and clung to him like a shroud. He wanted nothing more than to go home and shower. Unfortunately, he'd been instructed to keep his stitches dry.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Jessie stood beside the cart, shaking his shoulder and he awakened with a start. 'Huh? What?'
'Rise and shine, Mark. It's almost time to go. The nurse was here a second ago and said she'd be back in a minute to release you.' Her face loomed over him, her expression almost pleasant. 'I got your jacket back from the girl. They're going to keep her overnight.'
Mark rubbed his hand down his face. 'Thanks. How is she?' He pulled his shirt on, having less difficulty now that the local anesthetic had worn off on his hand. It throbbed in rhythm with his heart and head.
'She's pretty shaken up, but other than some bruises, she's okay. They're keeping her because she's dehydrated,' Jessie said, shaking her head in disgust. 'They had her there for a couple of days preparing for their 'ceremony'.'
Mark shuddered, trying to imagine being stuck in that place for a day with those crazy people. Just the thought of it gave him the willies. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't even know her name. 'Uh, did you happen to get her name?'
'Of course. I am a cop, after all. It's Judy.' She pulled out a small notepad. 'Judy Medea. She's a college student that somehow got mixed up with this group.'
The nurse entered before Mark could ask any more questions. He wondered if Judy's family had been called and how she would get home. Tomorrow, he'd call and find out how she was doing and see if she needed anything. He sat up, dangling his legs off the side of the gurney and tried to listen as the nurse droned on about signs of infection, complications and to follow up in a week with his personal physician. After taking one last set of vitals, she gave him a sheet of instructions and released him.
Jessie followed him out to the waiting room, and he remembered her admonishment not to leave before she came back. He figured now was the time she intended to interrogate him. Before she could corner him, he sought a means of escape. Off to the left of the waiting room was a pay phone, and Mark veered towards it as quickly as his battered body allowed. He dug into his pocket and swore when he came up with a ten-dollar bill and no change. Maybe the desk clerk would let him use their phone to call for a cab. He didn't really feel like taking the 'L' home. Before Jessie could catch up to him, he approached the registration desk. 'Excuse me? Ma'am?'
The woman looked up from her computer. 'Yes?'
Mark held up his arm, showing the ID bracelet still encircling his wrist. 'I was just released and wondered if I could use the phone to call a cab. I don't have any change on me.'
'Sure, as long as it's local. Just dial nine first.' The clerk turned the phone so he could see the numbers. She pointed to a faded piece of paper taped to the wall on Mark's right. 'There's some numbers up there, if you need them.'
'Thanks so much.' Mark picked up the phone and squinted at the list. The numbers wavered, and he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. Jessie, after detouring around a mom and three children, stopped beside him.
'Who are you calling?' Jessie craned her neck to see what Mark was looking at, her eyebrows knit in confusion.
Mark glanced at Jessie and pointed at the phone numbers. 'I'm calling a cab.'
'What for?'
'What for? So I can go home.' He began punching the buttons, realized he'd made a mistake and hung up to try again.
Jessie reached over and took the phone out of his hands and set it in the cradle. 'I can give you a lift home. I figured you knew that.'
'That's okay. I can just take a cab.' The prospect of being peppered with questions on the ride home didn't appeal to him in the least.
'Listen, you just got released from the hospital with a concussion. You can barely see straight. I can't let you take a cab home.' She gently took his arm and as though she could read his mind, she added, 'Come on. I promise not to grill you.'
Too tired to argue, Mark let her lead him out to her vehicle.
True to her word, Jessie remained fairly quiet on the ride home, just asking him about his injuries. 'So, what's the tally?'
Mark fingered the lump topped with stitches behind his right ear. 'Six in my head and four in my hand. The hand…that was just 'cause I caught it on a nail.' He smoothed down a piece of tape over the bandage circling his palm. The cut wasn't that long, just wide and deep.
'Sure. It could happen to anyone.' Jessie's dry tone as she pulled in front of the studio didn't pass unnoticed by Mark.
'What should I have done, Jessie? Just left her there?' He couldn't help the anger stamped onto his voice. He was so tired of the questioning and not just tonight's drilling, but every time something happened. He ground the
