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

with the photos, but you are dead wrong when you said the book meant nothing to me.”
    The anger had eased from Mo’s expression, but he remained silent.
    With a firm nod, Mark left, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click.
     

     
    “Dammit!”
    Mark banged his fist on the steering wheel after starting his Jeep. He glared at the apartment building, debating if he should go back in and finish detailing the photographs. His stomach rumbled and he realized he never had eaten a donut.  To hell with it . He would give it a week and call Mo. By then this would all blow over.
    He drove aimlessly, but before he knew it, he was at the same beach he had been at yesterday. He felt silly chasing after the nightmare and chided himself that it had been nothing, just a bad dream. Anxiety still churned in his gut, but he blamed it on hunger. Following that logic, he grabbed a burger at a drive through and headed back to the loft to watch a Cub’s game.
    As he dozed on the sofa, remnants of last night’s dream plagued his sleep. The details weren’t as clear as they had been during the night, but that fact didn’t ease his anxiety, and instead only fed it. As the images blurred, he awoke to a feeling of overwhelming despair.  He sat on edge of the sofa, head bent, massaging the back of his neck. This was crazy. He stood and paced to the window, bracing his hands against the side window.  He had never been plagued by nightmares before. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one. Maybe when he was six or seven? So why now?
    Brimming with questions but void of answers he could think of only one way to get rid of the image once and for all. He had to go to the beach and prove to whatever inner demon was harassing him that there was no little girl drowning on the beach.
     

     
    It was after three when he arrived. Parking had been almost impossible to obtain and now, hot and sweaty, he strode along the shore, photo in hand as he tried to match up the images in it to any of the beachgoers. With such a hot day and back to school just around the corner, the beach was packed.
    At first, Mark tried to match up the little girls running around and splashing in the surf with the image of the little girl in his photo, but the child in the picture was so lifeless, she didn’t seem to resemble any of the children he could see. As he stalked back and forth along the shore, he attempted to locate where on the lengthy beach the CPR scene had taken place. In the background of the photo, he saw pilings in the water, but that didn’t help pinpoint the site because they occurred at regular intervals a few hundred feet from shore. The back of his neck burned from the sun, but even worse, he felt the blistering stares of some of the parents. He couldn’t blame them for being suspicious. If he ever had a kid, he would be keeping a sharp eye on any guy who behaved as he was. 
    The crowd finally started to thin out as families packed up and parents took their tired children home. Mark felt stupid as he trudged through the sand on his third pass along the shore. Kids were starting to look familiar now, but he didn’t know if it was because of the photo or only because he had seen them on his first two passes. He scanned the water, but after an hour, the glare from the water sent a spike of pain through his forehead and he longed to go home. He would just go to the end one more time, turn around and walk back.
    Halfway to the end, he spotted a girl whose swimsuit resembled the one on the girl in the photo, but she was only knee deep and scooped water in a little cup, dumped it and repeated the process several times. She seemed fascinated with pouring the water through the fingers of her opposite hand. Mark smiled and continued to the far end of the beach, did an about face and headed back. When he was at the mid-point, he looked for the little girl again. A shard of fear cut into him. He couldn’t see her, but he brushed