Mark Taylor: Genesis (Prequel in the Mark Taylor Series) by M.P. McDonald

and screaming, “Gabby!”
     Another lifeguard, a woman, joined the first. A third must have signaled to the rest of the swimmers to leave the water, because soon the beach was full of children, but a hush had fallen. Sirens wailed in the distance. An eternity passed before the male lifeguard emerged from the water with the little girl limp in his arms. He was already giving mouth to mouth. The female lifeguard took the girl and set her on the sand as she checked for a pulse. Mark flinched when his gaze reached the little girl’s eyes. They were open, but flat and unmoving. Like a porcelain doll, she stared at the sky.
     The duo performed CPR until paramedics arrived. The paramedics took over CPR with a third paramedic trying to start an I.V. He shook his head and then reached into his box for something and a minute later, to Mark’s horror, pushed something into the little girl’s leg just below the knee. His stomach flipped and he broke out in a cold sweat.
     
    Mark jolted awake with a gasp. Levering up on his elbows, he cast a wild look around the room, blinking in surprise when he found he was in bed and not standing on the beach.  A dream! Thank god.   A whiff of fish and lake water followed him from his dream, but even as he recognized the scent, it slipped away. He flopped back and scrubbed his hands down his face. His heart hammering and wide awake now, he sat on the edge of the bed. His palms rested on his thighs, but they shook like a china plate in an earthquake. Unsettled, he stood and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. He gulped down a full glass, finally ridding his mouth of the gritty foul taste before he went into the living room area and turned on a light. The photos still sat on the coffee table. He ignored them and wished he had never seen the picture of the little girl. He guessed it must have been on his mind as he fell asleep and the image had entered his dream, turning from a still photo to a full featured film. 
    His imagination had even added details like the fishy smell and the little girl’s name. Where had he come up with that one? He didn’t know any Gabbys. He sank onto the sofa, his mind going over the dream until he finally became drowsy again, and turned to lie on the couch, pulling the blanket folded on the back down over him.
    He slept until his phone woke him up and he bolted out of bed again. He found his phone on the kitchen counter and recognized Mo’s number on the caller ID. “Hello?”
    “Hey, Mark. Did I wake you?”
    Mark glanced at the clock on the stove. Seven-thirty a.m. “Uh, no, not really. I needed to get out of bed anyway. So…what’s up?”
    “I got your film sorted out from the trip and you have some great shots. I’ll be going through them and matching them up to points I’ll be making in the book. I just wondered if you could go over some of them with me and give me the background on them. I didn’t realize you had taken so many photos.”
    Mark scratched his head and yawned. With his brain still foggy from sleep it took him a second to get his bearings. Today was Sunday and he had nothing booked. “Sure, no problem. I can be there about ten.”
    “Sounds good.”
    As soon as Mark hung up, he regretted his promise to go, which puzzled him. He stumbled back to the couch and grabbed the blanket, wrapping it over his shoulders as he curled on his side. Since they had returned from Afghanistan, he hadn’t heard from Mo. Something had been off about the last part of the trip—Mo had not only gone on a retreat, but had retreated into himself, barely speaking to him during the long return flight. Mark had tried to put it off to fatigue, but he couldn’t help wondering if he had offended Mo’s family somehow. Granted, he had taken photos of women, but after the one time he had been caught, he had been careful and had refrained from even glancing at a woman. Most of his photos had been taken with his telephoto lens to minimize the chance that