Kern jabbed the off button with his finger and shook his head in disgust. While he didn't outright forbid television viewing by the members, he didn't encourage it either. He preferred to distribute information in a way that meshed with his own thinking. That lessened the confusion and helped maintain the harmony of the group. Harmony was everything. The guild depended upon the members giving up their own identities to form a cohesive unit that functioned as one.
The wall clock chimed the hour and Kern was surprised at how much of the morning had already passed. There was a lot of work to do to mitigate last night's disaster.
He glanced around his office, relishing the sense of calm that washed over him. This was his refuge. The few outsiders who had been allowed inside were always surprised at the room's decor. He guessed they expected something dark and sinister, but here, he preferred light walls, wooden trim polished to shining amber and colorful abstract art adorning the walls.
The chair creaked under his weight, the rich leather scent enveloping him as he focused on the problem at hand. It was the smell of riches and power. He basked in it.
An idea began to form. What if he used this news of Taylor to his advantage? He tapped a pencil on the desk. There was still the need to complete the ceremony anyway, as it was a major one.
First there was the problem of Medea. She had been a promising member until she had questioned Kern's authority and defied him in front of the group. She'd been openly repulsed at the two animal rituals, not believing that the chickens represented the guild. She'd balked at the idea that their sacrifice had been necessary to open the pathway to salvation and to assure the guild's place of favor with Satan. Only blood would sate their master's demands. Kern sighed. He guessed he'd have to amp up his teachings. Somehow this important piece of information had eluded Medea.
In order for Kern to achieve his full divine power, he needed to make an offering to Lucifer. If he reached his full potential, then so would the guild. Why was that so difficult for people to understand?
Medea hadn't understood the concept that it was for the good of the group. Behavior like hers couldn't be tolerated, and so, her punishment had been planned. Adrian smiled. It had been easier than he had thought it would be to get the rest of the members to go along with the ritual. He had done a great job preparing them for the possibility of harsh punishment, and with a little encouragement on his part, the group had practically thought the ritual had been their idea and Kern was going along only to appease them. Yes, he'd agreed with them. A human sacrifice was an even greater tribute, but were they ready for something that serious? He'd pretended to seem worried and they had assured him that they were more than ready. That Lucifer would reward Kern and the guild with tremendous power afterward. It had worked out perfectly. Or would have until Taylor ruined everything. Now, the boy next door would have to pay the price.
Rifling through his desk drawer, he pulled out a notebook and began outlining a new ritual. He didn't think it would be too difficult to adjust last night's plan to include Taylor. A few adaptations needed to be made. Kern set his pencil down and stared out his office window.
They could probably use that warehouse they had used a month ago for one of the animal rituals. It was surrounded by industrial buildings and at night, the area would be almost deserted. They still had their cross, and Kern made a mental note to praise Joshua for his quick thinking last night by dismantling it and stashing the two parts in the back of a neighboring warehouse. It wouldn't take much to get it up at the other warehouse. They would need something, a stand of some sort, to hold it because Kern was pretty sure that the floor was cement, not wood. Well, they had plenty of tools and a couple of the members were really handy with them. He'd let them devise a way to make it work.
Kern leaned back and kicked his feet up on the corner of the desk, crossing his arms. As the details fell into place, he began thinking of what he wanted to incorporate into the ritual itself. It needed to be even bigger, harsher than what he'd planned for the girl. Suddenly, he became aware of the tall church spire a block away. It was an appropriate visual for his thoughts. Topping the spire was a cross.
Taylor was famous now. They had to honor him with something really great; something befitting the man that the press was calling a prophet. Kern lurched forward in his chair. He had an idea. It wouldn't even take much tweaking to put it into place. Kern felt a thrill of excitement. It was a win/win situation for him. If Mark Taylor really had some kind of...power...then it was possible that power would transfer to Kern upon Taylor's death. Or maybe he'd be able to absorb it with the right kind of ritual. If Taylor was a fake, then his death would only demonstrate Kern's power to the guild. Maybe last night's ritual was meant to be interrupted. Smiling, Kern nodded, maybe instead of punishing Medea, he should reward her.
CHAPTER FIVE
The doors slid open and Mark raced out of the 'L' car, dodging commuters as he bolted down the platform steps to the street. Hardly missing a step, he got his bearings and ran north towards
Foster Avenue
. He hadn't planned on cutting the timing so close but the late start due to the visit from Jessie and Dan had thrown him off schedule. The condo should be right on this block, and he just hoped he reached it in time. His lungs burned and little stabs of pain shot through his head in time with the pounding of his footsteps.
The neighborhood was a mix of new condos and older two-flats, but the child was going to fall from the second floor balcony of one of the condos. Pushing his legs to their limit, he skidded around a corner and into a parking lot behind the address that had been listed. Mark stopped and scanned the half-dozen balconies above the U-shaped lot. Motion on the third one caught his eye, and he started in that direction. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw the toddler, his blue shirt bright against the red brick as he balanced precariously on a stack of cardboard boxes. Mark wracked his memory for the boy's name. Timmy? No, but it was something with a T, then it came to him. "Thomas!'
Faintly, he could hear another voice echoing his own. "Get down, Thomas!'
There was a flash of blue as the boy lost his balance and tumbled over the railing. Mark's final burst of speed put him in the right spot at the right time, and the little boy fell into his arms. The impact against his chest knocked Mark onto his back, his head thumping against the asphalt as his breath whooshed out.
He had tried to soften the fall for the child and managed to cradle the boy's head in the crook of his arm, his other arm beneath his knees. Dazed and the breath knocked out of him, Mark lay still, vaguely aware of the sound of feet running towards him. Thomas rolled out of Mark's arms and stood, and a second later, the child's wail sliced through Mark's head.
He knew he shouldn't let the boy wander off but was powerless to prevent it. His lungs still refused to work, and for what seemed like an eternity, he fought to take a breath, feeling for all the world like a fish out of water.
"Thomas! Oh, thank God!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw a man with sandy brown hair sweep the boy up and bury his face against Thomas's neck. A woman, only a step behind, rushed up, her eyes wild with terror. He wanted to reassure her that her son wasn't hurt.
"Is he okay? Is he okay?" Frantically, she sought to hold Thomas. "Oh, my baby." Her arms went around the boy and the man wrapped one arm around her, encompassing them all in an embrace. Her shoulders shook with sobs as she clutched her son.
"He's fine. Shhh...it's okay, hon. He's fine."
Finally, Mark was able to take a shaky breath. He reached around to rub the back of his head. Drawing another deep breath, he moved to sit up.
"Wait! Don't move! You could be hurt." The man relinquished his son to the mother and knelt at Mark's side. Putting his hand on Mark's chest, he gently held him down. "Do you have any pain anywhere?"
"I'm okay. Just had the wind knocked out of me." Mark shrugged off the restraining hand and sat up, but he had to blink hard when everything tilted crazily.
He sagged back onto the ground and threw his arm across his eyes. Maybe he just needed another minute or so.
"Jen, call 911!"
Mark's eyes snapped open. "No!" This time, he sat up and ignored the spinning. The last thing he needed to do was go to the hospital. If the press got wind of that...well, it hurt his head to even contemplate what would happen then.
"I don't know, buddy. I saw you fall and it looked like you took a heck of a knock." The man cocked his head. "Do I know you?"
This was Mark's cue to leave. "Ah, no, I don't think so." He stood, trying his best to pretend his knees weren't wobbling. "I'm sure I'd remember if we'd met before."
He started edging towards the street. If he could have, he would have bolted, but he was afraid he'd fall flat on his face after two steps.
The man scratched behind his ear. "But I'm sure I've seen you before." He turned towards the woman. "Doesn't he look familiar, Jen?"
Jen stopped examining her son long enough to look at Mark and he knew the instant she recognized him from the way her eyes widened and her mouth rounded into an 'O'.
"You're the guy in the newspaper today! I read about you over breakfast! Scott, remember I showed you the article?" She hiked her son up on her hip and then swept a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. "You're Mark Taylor, right?"
Mark darted a look around to see if anyone had heard her and was thankful that no one else was nearby. "Yeah, but that article...it isn't true...I'm just..." He backed away, trying to come up with a graceful exit.
"Hold on, don't go yet. We didn't get a chance to thank you." Jen approached him, hugging her child close. Thomas's thumb was planted in his mouth, and he regarded Mark with large brown eyes.
"That's okay. No thanks are necessary. I'm just glad Thomas is okay." Mark smiled and began to turn away. He was almost home free.
The dad stepped close and tugged on Mark's arm. "Wait! How did you know my son's name is Thomas?"
Mark stilled then slowly turned back. "I guess I heard you calling him." His reply came out sounding more like a question.
Scott shook his head. "I heard you call him first. That's what got my attention."
At a loss, Mark ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. He was not up to this today. Usually he was good at making up stuff on the fly, but right now, his head felt about ready to explode and he'd give anything for a couple of aspirin. He sighed. "I just...knew."
Jen's eyes softened. "It's all true, isn't it? The stuff in the paper?"
Mark looked at her and tried to come up with a reply. She was watching him with a mixture of awe and compassion. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, he shifted his focus to the boy's father. The man gave him a speculative look, but his eyes too, held a hint of...what? Sorrow?
Mark couldn't figure it out, and dropped his gaze to the ground. He didn't know how or why, but somehow all of his normal defenses and walls had come crumbling down and he was left with no protection. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and swallowed hard, unable to speak.
The dad moved up beside him and threw an arm over Mark's shoulders. "You know what? I don't care how you knew any of this. I'm just so grateful that our son is still alive thanks to you." He gave a friendly squeeze. "My name is Scott Palmer and this is my wife, Jen. Have you had lunch yet?"
Mark shook his head, careful to keep it lowered, embarrassed at the sudden emotion that had welled up. What was wrong with him? He hoped it was just a side effect of the concussion.
Jen took up a position on his other side and put a hand on his arm. "We were about to eat lunch just before--" She broke off and shuddered. "Well, lunch is almost ready. Please join us?"
All he could do was nod.
* * *
"Please don't mind the mess. We're in the process of moving." Scott entered and motioned for Mark to come in. Jen followed and set Thomas down just inside the door, and then headed through the living room, the boy toddling behind her. A sliding glass door at the end of the dining room stood open to the balcony and, with a shake of her head, she closed and locked it.
The condo was narrow, but stairs led up to another level and down to another floor below. One wall was a deep earth-tone red that complemented the polished wooden trim. It gave the room a homey feel. Mark noted boxes stacked along one wall, and several opened boxes scattered around the living room. Piles of old newspapers sat beside the boxes, and items wrapped in the paper lay ready to be packed, or maybe they had just been removed from the boxes. "Moving in or out?"
"Out. In fact, the reason we're moving is because we want a home that's more kid-friendly." Scott nodded towards his son. "Ever since Thomas began walking last year, it's been a nightmare." He took Mark's jacket from him and hung it on a coat tree beside the door. "This place has four levels; do you know how fast a two year old can go from the ground floor to the fourth?"
Mark smiled and shook his head. "Not really, but pretty fast I imagine."
"In the blink of an eye!" Scott snapped his fingers to illustrate his point then walked through the living room into the kitchen, waving for Mark to follow him. "Do you have children?"
"No." It was too complicated to explain that about the time he was ready to settle down and have kids, he'd been locked away as an enemy combatant. His eyes fell on Thomas, now parked in a high chair and banging away with his hands on the tray.
The child turned to him and grinned. "Eat! Hunggy!"
Laughing, Mark reached out and tousled the boy's hair. "Me too, buddy."
"Why don't you have a seat, Mark, and lunch will be ready in just a couple of minutes. Scott, could you get out another plate, please?" Jen bustled around the stove and looked at Mark over her shoulder. "I hope you like macaroni and cheese."
"Sure, that's fine." His leg bounced under the table, and he tried to control it. Why had he accepted the invitation? They seemed like nice people but with everything going on, he knew they would start asking questions. At least he'd only had the one dream about Thomas's fall. Sometimes, the camera surprised him with more than one tragedy. Good thing today hadn't been like that. The way he felt, he wouldn't be good for much more, anyway. He rolled his shoulders and tilted his head to work out a kink.
Scott opened the fridge and bent to look inside. Bottles clinked and scraped before he pulled his head back out. "Would you like something to drink? We have milk, lemonade and apple juice."
"Milk is fine." Mark made a silly face at Thomas and was rewarded with a whoop of belly laughter. The kid was cute. Slowly, Mark walked his fingers across the child's tray, watching as the brown eyes became bigger and bigger as the hand approached, then suddenly, Mark swooped in and tickled Thomas's ribs much to the child's delight.
"You're good with kids," Scott said as he tugged out a chair and sat opposite him. He placed a tall glass of milk in front of Mark and handed a sippy cup to his son.
Feeling self-conscious, Mark pulled his hand back. "I like kids, but the only ones I see are in front of my lens usually.
Scott shrugged. "Still, you're good with 'em." He cleared his throat. "I hope you don't take this wrong, because I mean this in the most sincere way, but there is some truth to the article, isn't there?"
He knew this was coming and probably should have declined their invitation to lunch. Mark sighed and glanced at Jen, who was standing with the serving spoon frozen above the pot of mac and cheese, awaiting his answer. "It's not like the article says. I sometimes get a little...warning of some things that will happen, that's all. If I can, I try to change things to prevent the bad stuff."
"Like Thomas's...fall?" Scott and Jen exchanged a look and remnants of their recent terror still lingered in their expressions.
Mark nodded unable to meet their eyes when he knew that right now they were imagining what would have happened if he hadn't been there. Even though he had prevented the tragedy, he was sure they would be haunted by the sight of their son falling and being too far away to help.
Some of the dreams he h
ad haunted him even after he'd prevented the tragedies. If only he could have gotten here sooner, he could have just gone to the front door and let them know that the balcony door wasn't shut all the way. They could have shut it and never known what would have happened.
"I'm sorry. I should have been here sooner." A drop of milk traced a path down the side of his glass, and Mark wiped it up with his finger.
"Sooner? What would that have mattered?" Jen set plates piled with gooey pasta in front of each of them and a small plastic bowl of the same in front of Thomas before taking a seat at the other end of the table.
"I could have warned you and you'd have just locked the door. That would have prevented the...the fall." Mark shrugged, still feeling too guilty to look at the couple. He picked up his fork and ate a bite. It was good, but his appetite had dwindled as his guilt increased.
Scott regarded him for a long moment, his brown eyes thoughtful then he set his fork down and leaned towards Mark. "Maybe there was a reason you were late. Perhaps you were meant to catch our son not just prevent the accident."
Mark thought of the media circus back at the studio and smiled bitterly. "Yeah, there was a reason all right, but I don't think there was a purpose to it."
"Everything happens for a purpose, Mark." Scott said quietly. "I truly believe that."
Mark's head shot up, and he met Scott's eyes. "You sound just like my partner, Lily. She says that, too."
"You should believe her." Scott took a bite of his lunch, nodding. "She sounds like a wise woman."
"If you hadn't been late, we wouldn't all be eating lunch together. You would have warned us and then gone about your day, wouldn't you?" Jen smiled at Mark. "So, see? There was a purpose. You were meant to meet us." She winked at him to lighten the mood. "And eat this delicious meal."
March Into Hell Page 5
