Kern scowled at the crowd around him, but no one seemed to notice. Their eyes were fixed on Taylor.
Reverend Jim pulled out a knife and Taylor's eyes grew huge, but all the reverend did was cut the binds. "There you go, Mark. I hope you don't have any hard feelings towards me. I just knew once you were here, you'd be eager to speak to my flock. Or your flock. They are all ready to do your bidding."
The crowd cheered their agreement. Taylor rubbed his wrists and glared at Reverend Jim as he was pushed closer to the podium.
"Come on, Mark. Share your wisdom with us. We are eager to learn from you." The reverend turned to the crowd, making motions for them to shout their agreement. They complied, and Adrian tried to shut out the screech from the woman on his right. The dream, so vivid upon waking, had faded throughout the day and he tried to hang onto bits and pieces. He'd been so sure that he'd seen the future in the dream, but now it was out of focus.
With a final dark look aimed at the reverend, Taylor tilted the microphone and tapped it, testing the sound. "I, uh, I don't know why I was brought here, and I doubt I have any wise words, but I'll tell you all this. I'm not some kind of savior, but then, I don't think any of you need a savior. Your savior is the person you see when you look in the mirror every morning. Every day is a new start. A day when you can choose to help someone or do nothing. What kind of choice will you make? Ask yourself that as you comb your hair or put on your make-up."
Taylor orated from a makeshift stage, and a hush settled over the crowd. The guy was so goddamn believable. Adrian bit back a scowl at the 'amens' shouted when Taylor finished speaking. Reverend Jim led the chorus of 'amens, a grin stretched from ear to ear.
Adrian eyed the old man, disgusted at his unkempt appearance. Why did fanaticism go hand-in-hand with bad personal hygiene? Adrian smoothed his hand down the front of his suit. For today's event, he had carefully chosen his best suit. It went well with the glasses and dark hair with just a touch of gray at the temples. He looked like a lawyer, banker or commodities trader - benign, but distinguished.
Adrian moved from his place at the back of the warehouse. He picked Medea out of the crowd by her jet black dye job. The goth makeup completed her transformation. She glanced over her shoulder at him. Kern nodded. Nobody noticed him. Things were progressing exactly as they had planned, despite the fading dream. He'd done it. He'd attained the power to see the future. Taylor wasn't the only one now. Adrian felt a wave of anticipation. In just a few minutes, he, Adrian Kern, would be the sole person alive with the power to dream of the future.
Reverend Jim nodded to Kern, their prearranged signal for Adrian to take over the show. Taylor stood awkwardly on the stage as Reverend Jim moved forward and gave him a hug. Adrian raised an eyebrow at the slight stiffening of Taylor's posture. The man was uncomfortable with the hug, but the crowd loved it. They surged towards the stage, as if they wanted to hug Taylor too. This was too perfect. As though watching a pre-recorded movie, Adrian glanced over at Medea, knowing what he would see before he'd even picked her out of the mob.
Medea moved with the crowd. Adrian saw the gun in her hand. She was going to go through with it. He'd been worried she would flake out, but now that everything was preceding exactly as he'd seen it, he merely smiled.
* * *
Mark blinked against the bright lights. The faces in the audience appeared blurry, and he couldn't pick anyone out. His dream was hazy in his mind, and he felt a rush of panic. What would happen next? The photos of him on the floor only showed the end result, not exactly when it would occur. The dreams were supposed to fill in the blanks, only his dream had been watered down and faded with every passing second.
Within three feet of the stage, a woman lifted a pistol to her head and shouted, "Please, Mark, I need you to forgive me. After what I did to you, I don't deserve to live!"
He knew that voice and he squinted into the lights, finally picking her out of the crowd. She'd dyed her hair, but he recognized her. "Judy? Put the gun down. I don't have any powers to grant forgiveness. Besides, I have a feeling you were coerced. Please put the gun down, Judy." Mark glanced around, looking for Jim. What was he supposed to do now? If this had been in the dream, he had no recollection of it.
Medea shook her head. "I can't. I did an awful thing and I can't live with myself unless you forgive me."
Jim sidled closer to Mark. "Do as Mark says, and put the gun down, miss."
The agents who'd escorted Mark onstage closed ranks around him. The crowd had scattered, leaving empty chairs around Judy. Was that Jessie and Dan easing towards her?
Judy's gaze wavered, but Mark had the impression it was in reponse to something else, not him or the officers approaching from behind. The gun remained planted firmly against her temple. Where was Kern? Was he here? Jim must have had the same thought because he dipped his head and Mark caught Kern's name mentioned as Jim fired off orders into his hidden microphone.
Mark tried to recall if this had been part of his dream. There had been a photo with Judy in it. Lily had tentatively ID'd her, but with the dyed hair and not much left of her head, it had been hard to know for sure. Was he supposed to stop Judy from committing suicide?
He tried to push through the agents, but they didn't allow him through. Shoulder to shoulder, they pointed their guns at Medea, which made no sense to Mark. She already held a gun against her head. He was taller than they were, so he settled for looking between them, and re-establishing eye contact with Judy. Jim could deal with Kern if he was around.
"Judy, listen to me." Her eyes pulled from whatever she'd been focusing on and settled on Mark.
"That's it. You don't need to do this. Set the gun down. Just put it right there on the stage. Whatever role you played in my kidnapping, we can talk about later. I'm fine now. It's not too late for you to come forward and talk to the police. You have to understand—it's not up to me to forgive anyone. You go to the police and if you do, I bet you can work a deal. I'll do whatever I can to help, okay?"
Judy bit her lip and tears welled in her eyes. "Why?"
"Why what?" Mark pushed the agents from behind, urging them a little closer to Medea, but they held their ground and he couldn't blame them for not wanting to get too close to the gun.
"Why would you help me, after what I did?"
Mark wished he had time to think of a good answer, but he didn't. "I have no idea, Judy. I just know that none of this is worth dying for. Kern isn't worth dying for. We have to move on—both of us. Kern used us. Do you want to let him win this time too? Do you want the press to forever paint you as the girl who was Kern's puppet?" He sensed movement in his peripheral vision, but didn't tear his attention away from Judy.
Judy's eyes narrowed. "I'm nobody's puppet."
"That's right, you're not. That's why you have to cut the strings. Do what you want to do. What you feel is right."
She nodded and slowly eased the gun away from her head.
Mark took a deep breath, but before he could let it out in relief, Jim shouted, "Behind you!" He saw Jim rushing the stage, his gun in hand, but he bypassed Judy without a glance and Mark whirled.
There was no time to duck, and barely time to register Kern standing with a gun pointed before something slammed into Mark, as he staggered back, two more impacts sent him flying onto his back.
Pain ignited in his chest, and he couldn't breathe. Dimly, he heard another shot, but the edges of his vision closed in.
His awareness returned by degrees, but he didn't know if he'd been out seconds, minutes or even hours. He blinked, wanting to see what was happening, but the agony in his chest kept him motionless. At least he wasn't dead, and his breathing returned even if every inhalation felt like someone was stabbing him.
He turned his head. One of the agents lay several feet away, his face contorted as he clutched his right thigh. Blood oozed between his fingers. The other agent was nowhere to be seen. Where had Jim gone? Shouts, the clang of the chairs, and feet running across the s
tage penetrated his brain. He curled onto his side with a groan, but bit back the sound as he took in the scene before him.
Kern stood with his back to Mark, holding Jim in a headlock with a gun digging into his temple. Beyond Kern, Jessie and Dan stood at the edge of the stage, their guns aimed at Kern, but neither would be able to take the shot without the risk of hitting Jim.
"Reverend Jim is a fraud and a murderer! I saw him pull the trigger. He shot Mark Taylor. Then that young sweet girl ended her own life when hope of forgiveness died with Taylor."
Mark stifled a moan of pain as he rose to a sitting position, fighting the darkness that encroached on his vision as he sat and waited for his sight to clear. The lack of blood on his robe, and the fact that the pain was easing reassured him that the vest had done its job even if it did feel like he'd been kicked by a mule. As he put his hand down to move to a standing position, he felt something cold and metallic. The agent's gun. He picked it up, not quite sure what to do with it. Not only had he never fired one, he'd never had reason to point a gun at another human being.
Standing, he blinked, getting his bearings before he straightened as much as his aching ribs allowed. If he could distract Kern, Jessie or Dan might be able to take him out. He aimed the weapon at Kern's back. It crossed his mind to shoot the man, but he didn't trust his aim, and didn't know if the bullet would pass through Kern into Jim.
"Kern." He'd wanted to sound strong and forceful, but he hadn't been able to take a deep enough breath to add volume so Kern didn't hear him above the sound of his own shouting. His second effort was louder, and Kern pivoted sideways, yanking Jim along with him. A trail of blood welled from a groove along Jim's head. It explained the glassy look in Jim's eyes and how he'd been captured.
"Well look here. It's a bonafide miracle!" Kern eyed Mark, his mouth twisting into a sneer. "You're not dead."
Jessie took a tiny step to her left, indicating to Mark with a subtle gesture that she wanted him to keep talking. Mark shook his head at Kern. "Nope. As you can see, I'm very much alive, so you can release Reverend Jim. He didn't murder me."
"You think I can just let him go and everything will be fine?"
Before Mark could answer, Kern tightened his grip, and Jim's eyes went wide as he clutched at the arm across his throat, his fingers digging into Kern's flesh.
"What do you want, Kern?"
"I want you. More specifically, I want your power. Reveal it to me, and I'll let this old man go."
A couple of dozen audience members still huddled on the floor where they must have dropped when the shooting began. Several lifted their heads, curiosity replacing the fear in their eyes.
"I don't have any power. Don't you think I'd have given it to you the last time we met if I'd had anything to give?"
"At first, I didn't believe you had any powers. I was just using the media hype to inspire my followers."
Mark felt bile rise, and swallowed convulsively. His hands shook, his aim wavering. The whole ordeal had been just a ploy for Kern to look good in front of his pathetic group of followers?
Kern shrugged and continued, "But now, I'm a believer. How else do I explain the dream I had last night? I saw all of this, and I know how it ends. I heard your speech and everything. The only thing different, is you were wearing a blue shirt, instead of that robe. I haven't figured out why that's different, but the rest of it—it's exactly the same."
A chill swept Mark. So Kern had been present in the dream. He wished he could somehow cleanse his mind and wash out any lingering trace of of the evil man.
Jessie was almost behind Kern.
He had to keep him distracted just a moment longer. "You're delusional."
Kern hiked Jim higher as he moved a step closer to Mark. His face twisted in rage. "I'm delusional?" He chuckled. "I'm not delusional, Taylor. What I am is your fiercest believer. Who do you think will spread the word on you when you're dead?"
Mark ignored the fact that Kern seemed to think he was bestowing a great honor upon him. "I'm nothing to believe in, Kern. Save that for God."
Jim appeared to have regained his awareness of what was happening as his right hand inched behind him. Mark hoped it was for another gun, but he tried not to watch, not wanting to signal Kern with his eyes.
"Speaking of God. Are you ready to meet Him?" Kern pulled the gun from Jim's head and pointed it at Mark.
At the same time, Jim spun and ducked, escaping Kern's grip.
Almost simultaneously, four shots sounded. Mark flinched and closed his eyes, waiting for an impact that never came. He risked a look when something hit the stage with a loud thud.
Kern lay motionless on the stage, his eyes open and unseeing. Mark took a step back and glanced at the gun he held. Had he shot Kern? He bent, releasing the weapon to clatter to the floor. Had he killed a man?
Jim knelt, his weapon still pointing at Kern, but his other hand rubbed his throat. Jessie and Dan rushed the stage.
Dan said something into his shoulder mic, then went to Jim. "Lie down and let me get a look at you."
Jim shrugged him off. "I'm fine." He moved to a sitting position though, despite his protests.
Jessie checked Kern for a pulse, then turned to Mark. "How about you?"
Mark had a hard time tearing his gaze from Kern's body, sickened that it had come to this. "I don't know." He rubbed his chest, even though it did no good through the thick Kevlar. "I'm okay, I guess. I think I've used up my lifetime allotment of miracles though." He gave a strangled laugh.
She nodded and came to him, her arms opening. He pulled her into a hug. Jessie tilted her head, her eyes locked on his as she said, "When the shots came and you went down, I thought you were dead." Her voice shook.
"Me too." Mark gave her a gentle squeeze, then grunted when she returned the favor with a little too much feeling.
She stepped away. "Sorry." With a deep breath, she seemed to regain her composure, her bearing once more that of a detective. "Let's see the damage."
Mark tugged the robe over his head with a grimace. Three slugs remained embedded in the vest, flattened into a mushroom shape. He willed his hand to stop shaking.
"We'll need the vest for evidence."
"Here, you can have it." He ripped open the Velcro straps and shrugged out it.
"Just put it on top of the robe. Then sit down until the paramedics check you over."
"I'm fine." He lifted his t-shirt, examining the ugly bruises, two on the left side of his chest, and one on the lower right. "I think I was just stunned from the impact."
"It's standard protocol, Mark. You could be bleeding internally and not know it. Besides, you were out for several minutes."
The implication slammed into him. "So for several minutes, you thought I was dead?"
She shrugged, but avoided making eye contact. It hit him full force why she'd left him. The pain in his chest had nothing to do with the shots he'd taken. He nodded. "I understand."
He knew Jessie caught the meaning behind his words because her eyes flew to his and her lip trembled before she bit it and returned the nod.
Police and paramedics swarmed into the warehouse, some approaching them on the stage, but a few tending to people on the floor.
"What happened while I was out? I kind of remember another shot. What did he," Mark inclined his head towards Kern's body, "mean about some innocent taking her own life?"
Jessie darted a look at a group gathered around someone on the floor of the warehouse, just in front of the stage. "It's Medea, although we don't have a positive ID yet."
Like another mule had tattooed him, Mark staggered. "She killed herself?"
"I don't think so. I think Kern shot her on purpose after he shot you. It was pretty chaotic though, so I can't say for certain. We'll have to watch the tapes to know for certain."
He pushed past her to the edge of the stage. Judy Medea lay crumpled, a paramedic in the act of covering her with a yellow blanket, but he caught a glimpse of her before it sett
led over her face. His stomach flipped, and it was all he could do to hold onto its contents.
Mark backed away, pointing towards Medea. "Two people are dead, Jessie. And for what? I don't understand." The shaking that had been present since he'd come to, intensified. "It's so damn pointless!"
"You're in shock, Mark. You need to sit."
"I don't want to sit. I want to get the hell out of here."
She reached for his arm, but he shrugged her off, and made for the back of the stage. He ignored her calls to come back and heard Jim tell her to let him go. Back in the office, he ran both hands through his hair, bent at the waist as he tried to choke back the anger and sorrow. It didn't help. The pain intensified and he sagged to sit on the edge of the old desk. He was supposed to have stopped this. It was why he had the dreams, but it hadn't worked. Their attempt to manipulate the dream had failed.
Voices approached the office. Why wouldn't anyone just leave him alone? He straightened and grabbed his jacket before pushing out the door and into the alley. Instead of the solitude he sought, he found police cars, flashing lights and dozens of people. He turned to the front of the building, intending to find a cab or walk to the 'L', steeling himself to pass through the throngs of people and police.
"Mark Taylor!"
As soon as the crowd spotted him, he didn't have a chance to escape unnoticed. The crowd closed in. Police reacted quickly, corraling the people behind a cordon of yellow tape. News vans already parked along the street, their blinding lights focused on the warehouse. It was a madhouse.
"Mr. Taylor, could I speak with you for a minute?"
The voice was familiar and Mark turned, seeking it out. A woman waved him over. He recognized her from somewhere, and he started towards her. When he was close enough, she stuck out her hand. "Hello Mark. I'm Denise Jeffries. We spoke on the phone a few weeks ago."
Mark stopped dead. The reporter. His throat tightened. So many images flashed through his mind. His crucifixion, the crowds pawing at him and Medea lying dead in the warehouse, her brains splashed across the floor.
Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series) Page 65
