A half-eaten granola bar dangled from her fingers as she perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. A glass of orange juice sat beside her. She looked at him and nodded, setting the bar down. “Sure.” She hopped off the stool and strode towards him.
Brushing her hands together, ignoring the few crumbs that fell from them, she said, "I noticed the camera on the counter. Don't you think you should take a little break from it?"
Mark felt a surge of anger. It was mis-directed, and he knew it even as he snapped, "What is it with everyone wanting me to give up the camera?"
She held her hands up as though warding him off. "Hey, it was just a suggestion."
Mark forgot about the camera as she moved closer and reached around him to retrieve the dangling belt. The familiar light floral scent of her hair wafted up to him, and he wanted to bury his nose in the shiny strands.
"I just thought you might do more harm than good with the camera right now. I never intended to make it sound like you should give it up completely." She stepped back and hooked the clip onto the ring and tightened the strap. "I should warn you that the news is still overrun with Mark Taylor stories. One camp thinks you're the second coming, the other thinks you're a total fraud."
Mark grunted as his shoulder pulled back with her tugging. The pain drew him from his thoughts of her hair and made him wonder if she was right. A rock settled in his stomach. He had an inkling what could be the problem with the camera. It had tested him and found him wanting.
Finished, Jessie looked up at him. “Are you okay? You look a little green around the gills.”
Trying to walk lightly, he made his way to the bed and sat on the edge. “Yeah. I’m fine," he answered, his voice flat.
Finding his shoes, he eased his feet into them; not that he was going anywhere, but it was easier on his feet to walk with the support of the sneakers.
Jessie followed him and sat on the bed too. “You don’t sound fine.” Her eyes tried to lock with his, but he averted his gaze.
“I just thought of something, but it’s not a big deal.” He took a deep breath and stared at the soup can across the room. It had bumped into the wall and lay as evidence of his flawed character.
“Care to share?” Jessie asked quietly, her voice laden with concern.
Swallowing, he closed his eyes for a second. "I think the news is partly right about me."
She crossed her arms. “What part would that be? Do I need to start going to the Church of Taylor?”
He laughed and shook his head. “No, nothing like that…but…but what if it was some kind of…test?” Mark glanced at her quickly then shifted his focus to the floor, finding a fascinating scratch on the wooden surface.
“You think God was testing you?”
Nodding, he risked raising his head. “Maybe.”
“What makes you think God had anything to do with it? It was just a sicko cult leader who was trying to make a name for himself with his members.”
“But why did he pick me? Other than that brief encounter, he didn’t know me from Adam.” Mark cringed at his poor choice of words. “And he got away with that, so why come back and risk getting caught? I mean, he knew that I could identify him.”
Jessie shrugged. “Your name was in the news and it would have a bigger impact than just anyone off the street.”
“Exactly. But why was I in the news to begin with?”
“Because of all that crap that the reporter said about you. Kern bought her story.”
Mark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah. She's the one who mentioned the second coming. We both know it's a crazy notion, but I can't get around the fact that the photos and dreams are true. Which begs the question of how does it work, and why am I the one who gets the dreams?"
"You're not starting to believe your own press, are you?" she asked, punctuating the question with a chuckle.
"No, that's not what I'm getting at. I don't believe that I'm special, but I am beginning to wonder if I'm just an instrument, a puppet. A way for God-or whoever-to fix mistakes or hand out second chances."
"Kind of like a mob hit man in reverse." Jessie smirked.
Mark rolled his eyes. "You know what? Just forget it." He stood and crossed the room and slumped onto the sofa.
Jessie closed her eyes and shook her head, cursing her smart-ass mouth. It had been her armor from her teen years, her defense mechanism against classmates who'd teased her for being too skinny, with big eyes, buck teeth and scraggly blond hair. Her only defense had been her sharp tongue. After she filled out and had her braces off, boys stopped teasing her, but she'd found that in times of stress, the old habit of striking out with sarcasm kicked into high gear.
Hesitantly, she approached Mark and sank onto the chair beside the couch. He sat on the edge of the cushion, his head resting on his hand and elbow propped on his knee. His hair, still wet, stood on end from when he'd run a hand through it. The strands slowly settled into place, except for two stubborn spikes. She reached out of habit, intending to pat them into place, but he blocked her hand and leaned away from her. Her throat tightened, the feeling working its way down to settle in her chest. It hurt more than she expected, but no more than she deserved.
"I'm sorry, Mark. This is why I left. I'm no good for you. You need someone like Lily who never dives into the sarcasm pool head first."
"Lily? What the hell are you talking about?"
"You guys would be perfect for each other. She's cute. She believes in you with all her heart and you're both photographers-"
"So does that mean Jim would be perfect for you? Or your partner, Dan?" He looked away and stabbed his hand through his hair.
Jessie sighed. "No, that's not what I mean. I meant that I think you are special, even if I try to pretend that you aren't."
Mark turned, his eyes questioning.
She nodded. "I know. I don't act like it, but that's because it scares the crap out of me, Mark. I don't measure up. I'm not good enough for you."
Confusion crossed his face, and then he laughed. "Now you're the one falling for the stories." He shook his head, chuckling.
Taking a deep breath, Jessie stood and paced behind the couch. She stopped at the brick support beam, remembering entering the loft the night when Mark had been taken. The sight of blood on the bricks had sent terror shooting through her heart. Since then, she had tried repairing the cracks in her armor.
She trailed her fingers over the rough brick. Someone had cleaned it, but she could still spot a dark stain about six feet off the ground. Behind her, she heard Mark stand and limp towards her. His gait was better than it had been the day before, but she knew his feet still caused him pain. She turned and found him beside her. Lately, she had seen him sitting or lying down, but now, he towered over her and her eyes were level with his chin. He was looking over her head at the bricks and a muscle tightened in his jaw.
“They held me there first, and I thought they were going to kill me right then.”
Jessie looked back at the pillar. “There was blood on it when I came up here that night.” Mark glanced at her, but she wasn’t sure if what she said registered because his eyes were distant.
“Kern told me that what they were doing was a test-to see if I was like Jesus…because I had saved a lot of people.” His voice cracked and he cleared it before continuing, “and Jesus saved people too.”
Jessie hadn’t heard this part. Mark had told what had happened physically, but hadn’t offered many details. Dread curled her toes. What else had they said to him?
“He told me he could do a different ritual instead. An…an Aztec one where they would rip my heart out and show it to me before I died.” He made a motion with his hand in front of his chest. His eyes were wide and focused somewhere beyond the pillar.