What in the world? The front lawn of the building was full of furniture and other items. It looked like someone was getting evicted. She began driving past, feeling vaguely sorry for whoever it was, when it dawned on her Taylor could be in that situation soon. Slamming on the brake, she stopped, as a horrified thought hit her. What if those were Mark’s belongings? She ignored the glare of the driver who passed her on the right. If it was, all of his things would disappear within hours. She stomped on the gas and did a U-turn, pulling up in front of Mark’s building just as a group of teens began pawing through boxes.
Jessie jumped out of the car and flashed her badge. Judging by all the photography equipment tossed haphazardly into boxes, it had to belong to Mark. “Step away, please.” The youths looked at her and the badge. One protested, “Hey! We’re not breaking the law. We always get to take what we want from evictions.”
She strode up to him, stopping close enough to count his eyelashes. “I’m sure you do, but some of these items might be important in an ongoing government investigation. The landlord should have cleared it with the FBI first.” In all likelihood the landlord had been given permission, but the teens didn’t know that.
The kids gave a token protest and grumbled, but left. Jessie, hands on her hips, gazed around at all the boxes. She would take what she could. If nothing else, she could send it to Mark’s parents. Thirty minutes later, her car was packed with boxes. She had decided to try to get as much of the photography equipment as she could stuff into her car. When Mark came back, he would want that.
After unloading the car at her apartment that evening, she decided to swing by his place again to see if she could salvage anything more. What she saw made her jaw drop. A lamp lay broken, its shade missing, a box of papers that appeared to be the contents of a junk drawer, and some clothing, dirty and trampled, was all that remained. Sickened, she reached into the papers and pulled out a piece of junk mail. It was addressed to Mark Taylor. She let the mail flutter back into the box.
That evening, she sat at her kitchen table and examined the cameras. All of them hung open with the film compartments empty. She was sure any undeveloped film had been confiscated, but the equipment itself was of no use to the Feds.
She picked one up that had a cracked lens. She didn’t know much about cameras, but that couldn’t be good. Setting it aside, she reached in and pulled out an older camera. Its solid black body was textured, and the lens ring looked to be made of brass instead of plastic. Her grandfather had owned a camera that looked similar, but probably wasn’t nearly as old as this one. It was certainly an antique, and maybe an heirloom? Turning it in her hands, she marveled at its simplicity compared to all the gizmos on modern cameras. She wondered if it took regular thirty-five millimeter film. Unlike the others, this one held film. She thought it odd until she saw the counter was set at one, perhaps they hadn’t bothered because the film was still unused? Or maybe they had overlooked it since the camera was obviously old. Did it even work?
Jessie returned all the other equipment to the box and stashed it in her hall closet. She wanted to go over the antique camera a bit more, but it had been a long day and she was exhausted so she left it on the table. It could wait until tomorrow.
The next morning was a Saturday, and she dashed around town doing errands. Her car needed an oil change, her fridge was almost bare, and if she didn’t get her hair trimmed, she knew she would end up taking scissors to it herself, a situation that never ended well.
Later that afternoon, she collapsed on the sofa. The pantry was stocked, the car now good for another three thousand miles and, she ran a hand through her now neatly trimmed locks and smiled; her hair was safe from the kitchen shears. She started to doze, then remembered her niece’s dance recital and groaned. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go, she loved watching Maggie dance, but she couldn’t help wishing that it wasn’t this Saturday. Not that next Saturday would be any better. There never seemed to be enough time on the weekend to get everything done.
Glancing at her clock, she saw that if she was going to make it to the ballet recital, she’d have to hurry. Thirty minutes later, she had her hand on the doorknob when her phone rang.
“Hello?” She tucked the phone against her shoulder as she fished her keys out of her pocket.
“Hey, Jess.” It was her sister, Barb. In the background, Jessie heard a multitude of excited little girl voices. The recital was going to start in twenty minutes. She’d be cutting it close, and figured her sister was checking to see if she was coming or not.
“I’m on my way-save me a seat, okay?”
“Of course, but I’m glad I caught you. I forgot my camera. Can you bring yours?”
Jessie tried to remember where she had stashed hers. She hardly ever used it. Well, it had to be here somewhere. “Sure.” It took her ten minutes to find it, and when she did, she discovered she had no film. Damn. Already, she would be lucky to get there before the first class did their routine. Her gaze fell on the old camera still sitting on her table. It had film. She didn’t think Mark would mind, besides, he’d probably never know. She grabbed it and hurried out the door.
Sweat dripped into his eyes and Mark swiped it with his shoulder as he finished his last two push-ups. He sat on the floor, his back against the edge of his bed, and reached over to grab his shirt. He felt too sweaty to put it on right away, and held it loosely in his fist until he cooled down. Since returning from the hospital, he had renewed his exercise routine, but not with the same precision. Mostly, he did it out of boredom. There had been no more interrogations, which he was thankful for, but he hadn’t been out of his cell since returning from the hospital ward except for showers.
Once more he had lost the ability to track the passing of time. He tried counting meals, because for awhile, they came at regular intervals, but once he regained some of the weight, the meals became unpredictable again. His stomach rumbled even as he thought of food. He couldn’t be sure, but his trays had a tad more food on them since he had returned, but even so, he never felt full.
Time passed in mind-numbing boredom. Mark tried to envision photo shoots, but had difficulty focusing. The silence ate at him. Heavy and oppressive, it saturated the cell. Maybe his mind was trying to fill that silence, because he swore he heard people talking to him. Not all the time, but enough that it scared the hell out of him. Was he losing his mind? Were they screwing with him and playing voices over the speakers?
Except the voices belonged to people he knew. Once, he heard his mother calling him to dinner. Another time, Jessie’s voice came to him and said that she liked mustard on her hot dog. In fact, when he thought about it, the voices always spoke about something related to food, so he figured it was all in his head.
Mark stood and ran some water on his hand, then patted his face. When he had first started exercising again, he had, without thinking, splashed water on his face in his usual fashion. The simple act caused him to hyper-ventilate until he became so dizzy, he had so sit with his head between his knees. Now he made do with the least amount of water possible.
He had just finished swiping the remainder on his chest when the key turned in the lock. He held his breath until he saw it was the doctor. At last, another person to talk to, even if it was only for a few minutes. Mark ignored the guards who stood ready at the door.
“Hey, Doc.” Mark wanted to shake the man’s hand, but he’d learned that wasn’t acceptable, so he settled for nodding.
“Hello, Mark.” The man wasn’t chock full of warmth, but at least he wasn’t the one who attended Mark’s near drowning. “I see you’re keeping in shape. You could stand to gain a few pounds.”