"You want me to do it?"
Mark shook his head. "No, I can manage." It took longer than normal, but he loaded the film and then headed towards the window. It was tricky holding the camera in one hand, but he lifted it and started snapping pictures of the crowd below. The photos would come out crappy, since he was taking them through dusty windows, but he wasn't worried about quality or composition of the photos. What did worry him was the lack of energy flowing from the camera.
Lily followed him, but stopped and leaned against the back of the couch. "Can you ever tell when it's working? Does it feel different when you press the shutter?"
He would have shrugged, but remembered in the nick of time not to. "Usually I can feel something even when I'm only holding it, and maybe it's because of the damage to my hands, but right now, it feels dead."
She made a noise that sounded sympathetic, but he concentrated on trying to get a few shots and didn't respond. He would have preferred to go outside and take photos randomly around town, like he normally did, but it was out of the question today.
When he finished off the roll, he let Lily take it downstairs to develop. There was no need for him to do that part. An hour later, she returned, her expression grim.
He knew the answer before she even told him. "It didn't work, did it?"
She shook her head and held up the photos. They appeared exactly as he'd photographed them. "Look at it this way, Mark. Whomever controls the camera and your dreams probably also realizes that you aren't able to correct anything at the moment."
“I can do stuff now, Lily.” Mark scrubbed a hand down his face, cursing softly when the corner of the dressing scratched his cheek a little. “Maybe not big saves, but I could do something.”
“I’m sure you probably can, but maybe the camera genie feels like you shouldn’t have to.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t know why he considered the camera's lack of future photo production as personally directed at him, but he did. How often did he complain about the camera? Daily. Instead of worrying, he should be whooping for joy. What if he was finally done with it? The thought was unsettling. Mark leaned his right elbow on the arm of the couch and rested his head against his hand.
Lily made her way to the door. “Mark, why don’t you at least try to sleep? I’m sure in a few days, things will get back to normal.” She paused with her hand on the knob. “Will you be okay up here?"
Mark lifted his head, feeling his face burn. He was grateful for her tact, knowing what she really meant was if he afraid to stay alone? He cleared his throat. "Yes. I’ll be fine. Thanks, Lily. For everything.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re home, Mark.”
Mark watched a movie the rest of the afternoon and as the sun began setting, he roused himself from the couch. This was normally his favorite time of day. Dusk dimmed the room while infusing it with a rosy glow from the setting sun as it reflected off the windows on the building opposite. Squares of light checkered the walls. He ate a bowl of cereal, not feeling like making anything big for dinner.
Afterwards, he washed up and came out of the bathroom to a loft that was almost completely dark. A chill raised the hair on his arms at the silence and darkness, and he hurried to turn on the light on the end table.
Later, in bed, he told himself that he just wasn’t used to sleeping in complete darkness after the hospital, but after tossing and turning for an hour, he sat up. Every fiber of his being cried out in weariness, but as soon he'd relax, he’d hear a squeak or rattle. He rationalized it was probably just the sounds of the old building as it settled, but it still set him on edge. The fact that the cult had entered the loft so quietly, and he hadn’t even known until they were pulling him from his bed, continued to haunt his memories.
If only he could know for sure that he would hear someone trying to get in the room. His mind flashed to the cans of soup in the cupboard. Feeling both stupid and relieved at the idea, he gathered the cans. It took a few tries, but he was finally able to balance one on the doorknob, and stacked a few more in front of the door. It wouldn’t stop anyone from entering, but at least he’d hear them if they tried.
He sank back on the bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mark awoke to the sound of pounding on the door followed by a thud as the soup can fell, knocking over the two beneath it. One can rolled noisily across the floor. His heart crashed against his ribs like a wild animal trying to escape its cage. He bolted up in bed.
“Mark?”
Jessie. He sagged back against the pillows and then flung the covers back and sat up again, slowly this time. He bit back a groan at a sharp twinge from his wound in his stomach. “Hold on.” His voice sounded scratchy and he cleared his throat. “I’m coming.” Standing, he raked his hand through his hair and tottered to the door. The first steps in the morning were always the hardest.
As soon as he opened the door, Jessie pushed past him, and looked around, her face alert. “What was that noise I heard? I thought you fell or something.”
Mark stole a guilty glance at the cans. He debated ignoring them or picking them up, but chose to ignore them as well as her question. “Did you need something?”
Jessie turned from her inspection of the loft, her stance relaxing. “I was just stopping by, like I said I would.”
Her gaze dropped, and Mark wanted to disappear into the floor when her eyes widened and focused on the soup cans. She took a step and grabbed one, her brow furrowing. Holding it, she looked at the other two and arched an eyebrow at him. “Is this your alarm system, or are the Boy Scouts coming by to collect for a food drive?”
Mark took the can from her, wanting to snatch it out of her hand, but refraining only because he didn’t trust his grip yet. “Something like that.” He motioned to the open door. “Well, now you’ve done your job. If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do."
Embarrassment made him more abrupt than he intended. He'd looked forward to Jessie stopping by, and now he'd ruined it with his stupid fears and soup cans.
Ignoring the hint, Jessie strolled to the couch and sat. “ Hmmm…soup cans. That was actually a pretty good idea, Mark. I like it.”
Sighing, Mark shut the door. “Listen, I know you probably think it’s crazy, but at least I knew I’d be able to hear if…if someone came back.”
The amusement melted off Jessie’s face and her eyes grew serious. “I know. I meant what I said. It is a good idea.” She bit her lip, her focus shifting away from him before coming back a moment later. “It’s hard learning to feel safe again. I know that.”
Mark felt his throat constrict and he swallowed, unable to respond. Jessie surprised him with her perceptiveness, but then she had been a cop a long time. He guessed she knew a thing or two about these kinds of things. He took a deep breath and inclined his head towards the bathroom. “Excuse me…I gotta…I’ll be back in a sec.”
Her amused expression returned. “Take your time. I have all day.”
He almost stopped and went back for a clarification, but decided he’d find out soon enough. Quickly, he grabbed his clean clothes from his dresser and went to shower.
Toweling off, he realized he’d need some help getting his sling back on. He'd tugged his jeans on, even managing to button and zip them. The shirt was easy as he had chosen a button down and after pulling it on, eased his arm into the sling. Mark couldn’t wait to be rid of the thing, but he still had awhile before the surgically repaired shoulder would be strong enough to support his arm.
He was becoming adept at doing most things one-handed, especially as his hand healed, but he couldn’t wrap the belt around his back and hook it onto the front of the sling. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but it eased the pressure on his neck. Opening the door, he stepped into the living area. “Uh, Jessie? Can you give me a hand-”