“Have you spoken to anyone else about this…gift…of yours?” Scott tried to phrase the question as neutrally as he possibly could, but his skepticism must have slipped through anyway. Mark faced him, his eyes boring into Scott while anger, hurt and then resignation slid through their depths.
Mark’s voice was like cold, hard granite. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. I was imprisoned for over a year. Those guys…the interrogators…they know how to get a man to confess to anything if it'll make the questioning stop."
Scott tried to keep his expression neutral, but this was news he hadn't expected. "So, these interrogators-they believed you?"
Mark looked out the window briefly before dropping his gaze to the floor. “No. Not at first. I tried proving it one time, when I predicted the questions and outcome of an interrogation session, but…months went by. I don't know if it helped, but eventually, I was released due to lack of evidence."
Scott had to ask. "Evidence of what?"
"Terrorism."
The comment was so matter of fact, Scott had to replay it in his mind to make sure he'd heard correctly. "Terrorism?"
Mark's skin took on a pink tinge that Scott detected even with the pallor from the man's recent blood loss.
He looked Scott straight in the eye and said, "I didn't do anything, so you can stop worrying. Since my release, I have a few people who believe me…but I can't go into details. I…I shouldn't even be telling you. I've been told the camera is now classified information."
“Ah.” Scott couldn’t believe how disappointed he felt. “I see.” He was beginning to believe that this was a very unusual case because Mark didn’t display any of the normal symptoms of being delusional. He didn’t ramble, he made eye contact and he seemed perfectly sane, except for this one specific delusion. Classified information. The perfect excuse not to give information and paranoid schizophrenic people often claimed government conspiracies and connections.
“It's true. There was an incident at the Cubs game last summer that I helped the government prevent…but my part in it was kept under wraps.” Mark’s voice sounded defensive as he stood and hobbled a few steps to the window, leaning against the sill. He was quiet for a long moment while his eyes seemed to focus on something out in the park across the street. Scott noticed Mark’s throat working as if he was going to say something, but he didn't, and after a moment, his shoulders slumped as though in defeat.
Scott sighed. He wanted to help this man so badly, but he was at a loss. He decided to change the focus from the camera to Mark’s mood swings and possible depression. “I wonder if you could tell me about your outburst yesterday. What triggered it?”
Mark’s mouth twisted into a humorless smile and he shook his head ruefully as he turned from the window. “You’ll have to be more specific. Which outburst are you talking about?”
“Whichever one you want to talk about.”
Mark gave him a long look and sat down again. “You’re good at this psychiatric stuff, aren’t you?”
Scott smiled. At least Mark looked calmer now, but Scott still kept a watchful eye on him. He’d learned long ago that patients tended to have mercurial mood swings and were unpredictable.
“I was talking to Jessie and Jim-”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but who are they? Just so I can keep it all straight.”
“That’s okay. They’re friends, sort of. I found out yesterday that-” Mark stopped and his gaze dropped to the floor again, or maybe his feet, Scott wasn’t sure. “-they were the ones who found me. I guess I had a hard time with that.”
“Why did it bother you, Mark?” Scott observed his patient and noted how his skin flushed.
“It bothered me because I can imagine how I looked up there. I feel so stupid!” Mark swallowed and kept his head lowered. “Of all the people to find me, it had to be them."
"Why is that a problem?"
"Because they'll think less of me."
“Why do you care what they think of you?”
Mark raised his head and sighed. but kept his face averted. “I guess because I really respect them a lot. Jim…well, he’s a good guy." He paused and laughed. "If he heard me say that, he'd think for sure I'd gone off the deep end.”
"Why is that?"
"Because he was one of my interrogators."
Either Mark was one of the most forgiving guys in the world, or as an interrogator, this Jim fellow had created a kind of Stockholm-type bond with his prisoner. Interesting concept.
“And you think that he’ll think less of you now that he’s seen you at what you perceive to be your lowest point?”
Mark nodded. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and fingers for a few seconds and then cleared his throat. Scott thought he was going to say something more but he didn’t, he just took a deep breath and let it out slowly…shakily.
“And the other person…Jessie? Will he think the same thing?”
Mark shook his head. “She.”
“Excuse me?”
“Jessie…she’s a woman. Jessica.” Mark’s face turned a deep red and things became a little clearer to Scott.
“Do you have feelings for her?”
“We tried to have a relationship, but it didn't work.” Mark’s voice was low and Scott had to lean forward to hear him.
“How come?”
“How come? I’ll tell you how come.” Mark lurched out of the chair and turned to face Scott. “Because she thought I was a kook as it was, before I went to prison.” He waved his hand in front of himself to indicate the injuries, “And now there's all this. Life with me is a non-stop party. What's next? Burning at the stake? Beheading? I can't ask a woman I love to deal with all of this."
Scott held up a hand. "Hold on, let me ask you something. Why don't you just stop using this camera?" He spread his hands wide. "All your problems would be solved."
Mark shook his head. "I…I tried doing that several times, but I can't. It's like a drug." He tried to run a hand through his hair, but the tape got caught, and he glared at it before letting his hand drop to his side. "I can't sleep, I have crazy dreams, and it just won't let me alone. It's become worse since I started using it after I got out of prison. It's as though it's trying to make up for lost time. Almost every day, I have to use it, or I'd never get any sleep."
Despite his skepticism, Scott was intrigued with how detailed Mark’s story about the camera had become. In what he felt was a stroke of genius, Scott decided to change tact and use Mark’s delusion to actually try and help him get past this feeling of shame. “Hmmm…how do you view victims that you save? Do you feel like they should be embarrassed because of what has happened to them?”
Mark shot him a look. “I know what you’re getting at, but it’s not the same. I have all this baggage already.” He fell silent for a moment and appeared to be watching the crowd out front. Pointing vaguely towards the gathering, Mark spoke, his tone bitter, “Look at them, Doc. They think I’m some kind of…of savior…or something.” He shook his head. “And you think I’m a nut.”
Sighing, he turned to face Scott. “But I’m neither of those things. I’m just a guy. Just a regular guy.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Hey, Jessie, I got a possible lead on Kern’s whereabouts.” Dan strode into their office, tossing his overcoat onto the coat tree as he passed.
Jessie glanced up from a report she had been skimming. “Really?" She closed the folder and leaned back in her chair, following Dan with her eyes as he settled at his desk. “Where is he and how did you get the info?”
“It's actually a lead on Medea, but I'm hoping where she is, he can't be far away. A CTA bus driver called in a tip. He saw her on his bus this morning, and he noted where she got off. It was the 5000 block of West Jackson Boulevard."
"That corresponds to something I discovered."
Dan tilted his head. "You discovered?"
Jessie felt her face heat. "Okay, I get it, I'm off the case, but that doesn't mean I can't analyze the information that's here already." She waved a hand over the pile of files in her out box. "All I have to keep me busy is some scut work on old cases."