Chasing Anne

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Mark decided that being hospitalized and losing Anne wasn't the worst part of his week. While losing Anne made his head do flip-flops, and his stomach sick, going home from the hospital was far worse. His sister was nothing short of paranoid. After every bump in the road, she asked if he was okay. After every turn, she'd apologize and ask if he wanted a pillow. At every stoplight, she'd ask if his seatbelt was too tight, or if his seat wasn't reclined enough, or if he was hungry, or if his stomach hurt, or... The questions went on and on and while Mark knew that she meant well, he was downright irritated. As they finally pulled into the driveway of his home back in Minnesota, he hopped out of the car, grabbed his bag from the backseat and then waved her goodbye. His truck sat in the driveway beside and Mark instantly rummaged around his bag for the keys. He found them to his relief, and instantly got into his truck. But as soon as he was inside the cab, his heart began to ache. Anne wasn't with him. Her purse lay on the passenger seat, left behind from that one horrible night. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat. He'd had everything going his way. He had been so close! But Raymond Parr had stepped in his way. Anger bubbled in the bottom of Mark's stomach as he thought of the attacker on the cliff. The look that he'd given Anne was pure terror. It made his heart throb. He shoved his key into the ignition and the truck rumbled to life. Shifting to reverse, Mark backed out of driveway and turned onto his street, frustration pulsing through his veins. He was going to fix this. He didn't know how, but he was going to. He pressed on the gas and the truck responded instantaneously, speeding away from his house. He needed answers. He needed to talk with someone other than his sister. He needed Jackson or somebody to help him and with that in mind, he headed for the Taylor's.

As he pulled into the parking lot of Jackson's Motel, he parked the truck in an empty spot and then leaned back in his seat once more. He pulled the keys free of the truck and closed his eyes.

"Heavenly Father," he silently prayed. "Help me to find Anne. You know I love her. Please, give me a clue of some sort." He paused, not sure if her really believe the next part. "You know that I want her to be okay, but your will be done. Guide me, please."

Then he got out of the truck and headed for the entrance of the hotel. He walked up to the front desk, his hands deep in his pockets and rang the bell on top of the desk to get the attention of the young lady sitting behind it. The young woman smiled and looked up at him. Her eyes were bluer than Mark though possible. He smiled.

"I'm looking for Jackson Taylor?"

The woman nodded and hit a few keys on the keyboard before looking back at him. "He's on floor three in room 315. I'll let him know you're on your way up. Can I have your name?"

"Mark Normand."

The woman nodded and picked up the phone, dialing the room number.

Mark turned, heading for the elevator. He needed to get up to Jackson as quickly as possible. Who knew if one of Raymond's workers had followed him, or even if Raymond himself were here. He turned to the stairs. That was faster. Once he reached floor three, he left the stairwell and went back into the main building. It was a nice place for a motel. Red carpets and colored walls made it feel quite warm and friendly. The other motels he'd been to, he couldn't say the same of. He walked down the hall and came to a stop in front of the Taylor's room. 315. He knocked, hoping he wouldn't have to wait to long for an answer. Cindy opened the door and smiled, letting him into the room.

"Good afternoon, Mark. It's good to see you."

"Where's Jack?"

"Jackson's in the living room. He's expecting you. The lady at the front desk called us. Go on right ahead."