Chasing Anne

Supercharged

  When Anne awoke later that day, she almost instantly opened her eyes and rolled onto her left side. To her surprise and great delight, Mark sat slumped in a chair beside her, snoring softly. His hair was disheveled and his beard was longer than she ever remembered seeing before. But, frazzled as he was, Anne had never thought him more handsome. He stirred as she watched him and with a groan, he roused from his slumber. His right hand went to his face, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes and then he slowly raised his head. But the moment his eyes met Anne's, all the drowsiness drained out of his face. A smile crossed his face and he laughed softly.
"How long have you been watching me sleep, Anne?"
"Not long," Anne replied honestly.
"Good, because I don't know what I look like when I sleep."
Anne laughed. "You're adorable."
Mark flashed a smile and shook his head. "Well, I'll take your word for it. I do need to shower though."
Anne frowned. "Don't you dare leave me. Not until after breakfast at least."
"You mean dinner?" Mark asked, glancing at his watch. "My goodness, we've slept a good seven hours! It's nearly 6 o'clock! I guess we were tired." He paused. "How are you feeling?"
Anne shrugged. "Still tired. I need to ask Andrew how much rest I really need before I fully recover. Other than that, my stomach is kind of queasy, and my head hurts."
Mark's eyes narrowed with concern. "My goodness. You need a lot of rest!"
Anne shrugged. "I'll be okay. I'm just happy to be with you."
Mark smiled and reached out his hand to her. Anne took it, relishing the feeling of his strong, gentle touch. "Mark . . ." she whispered, her eyes closing. He gave her hand a squeeze, but just being able to hold his hand elated her. She heard Mark chuckle and opened her eyes, smiling.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing," Mark said softly. "I just think that you're prettier than I can remember you ever being before."
Anne laughed and shook her head, blushing. "Mark, I have never been one for looks. Especially after the catastrophe that I just survived, I can't imagine that I-."
"Anne, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen no matter what. That'll never change," he said softly.
Anne's mouth closed in astonishment. Mark had never said anything like that before. Not that she could remember anyway. She searched his eyes a moment, looking for some sign that he wasn't completely serious. But she could tell that he was. He released his grip on her hand and touched her cheek. "Annabelle, you're the only woman that will ever completely capture my heart. There is no one else that I will ever love as I love you. You are my only love."
Anne felt tears press at her eyes. "Mark," she tried, but her voice choked out. She paused a moment, collecting her voice and then began again, "Mark, I-I don't know what to say."
Mark smiled and bent closer to her. "You don't have to say anything, Anne. I just want you to know that you are my only girl."
Anne hesitated. "Who told you?"
Mark's green eyes filled with puzzlement. He drew back from her and sat back in his chair, befuddled. "Who told me what?"
"About Raymond telling me about Makenzie."
"Oh, that," Mark said softly. "Yeah, that scared me. I promise, I only went to dinner with her once and it was just to prove that I didn't like her." He huffed. "I can't stand her!"
"But who told you that I found out about her?"
"Bartholomew did," Mark said softly. "I have to say, Anne that I was worried that you would believe Raymond and doubt me. I couldn't lose you; not that easy."
Anne nodded, trying to keep back tears. "I didn't even know if you were alive when he told me about her. I was afraid that I had lost you and-." Her tears were evident now and broke past the wall she had tried to build to stop them from flowing down her cheeks. Mark bent closer and wrapped his arms around her as best he could. "I'm here, Anne," he whispered. "I'm with you."
Anne nodded and hugged him back, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't want to let go of him. She didn't want him to leave. If he did, she feared her heart would break. She felt his hand go back to her cheek and his thumb brushed away the tears that seemed to be never ending.
"Anne, sweetheart, look at me," Mark requested softly, pulling back from her.
Anne complied and forced her tears eyes to look into his. But it only caused another wave of tears to splash out of her eyes as she saw the tender love emanating from them. Mark smiled and bent closer to her. "I'm not going anywhere, Anne. Not without you. I love you too much to leave you now." And then his lips claimed hers. Anne thought she might faint. It had been so long since they'd been this close. But now the time that had passed since that one fateful night when they'd been torn apart melted from existence. Mark pulled back from her and smiled gently. "Anne," he said in a voice no louder than a whisper.
Anne smiled and wrapped her free arm around his neck, hugging him as best she could in her weak state. "I love you."
"Good morning!" Jackson's voice sang out as he entered the room.
Mark closed his eyes and sighed, clearly not too thrilled with the moment being broken between them. "Dinner is served," he muttered.
"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" Jackson asked as he carried over a tray of dinner to Anne's bedside.
Mark straightened, turned to him, and sighed deeply. "No, I guess not."
Jackson raised an eyebrow at him and then set the tray down on the nightstand beside Anne's bed. "With the help of Andrew and Brianna, I have made you what I hope to be delicious minestrone soup."
"You didn't have to do that, Jack," Mark said softly, catching a waft of the soup's luscious smell.
Jackson shrugged. "It was Cindy's idea. After we heard that you and Anne were finally back together, we thought it would be nice to make you dinner. Andrew says that Anne isn't quite ready to eat regular food anyway, so it helps Tracy out too."
"Tracy?" Anne asked.
"Ryan's cook. She's making lasagna for dinner and I didn't want to have to trouble her with soup on top of that."
"Well, it's more than appreciated," Mark replied. "And it smells delectable."
"I hope it tastes the same," Jackson muttered. "Cindy's always been the cook in our home and well . . . there's a reason why."
"I'm sure it's fine, Jackson," Anne said, as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "Thank you."
Jackson nodded. "How are you feeling, Anne?" he asked, his voice worried.
"I'm better than I was," Anne replied. "I guess I'll put it that way."
"We're praying for you. Both of you. I know how hard it can be to be apart from someone you love for a long time, but with your situation, I can't imagine just how much it hurt you. I'm glad you're back together."
"So am I," Mark said softly, emotion twinging at the edge of his tone.
"Well, I'll leave you alone then. Brianna and Andrew will probably stop in later to see you two, and Ryan has something he wants to show you, Mark. So, he could be stopping by soon too."
Mark nodded. "Thanks, Jack. I guess I'll see you later?"
Jackson nodded and pretended to tip his hat. "You can count on it." Then he turned, and strode to the door, opening it, and walking out into the hall. As soon as he was gone, Mark's eyes shot to the soup, and then to Anne.
"Would you like to eat?" he asked softly.
"Would I?" Anne asked, laughing. "I'm famished!"
Mark chuckled and walked over to the tray with the two steaming bowls of hot Italian soup sitting atop it. He reached to pick one up, but as his hand neared the ceramic surface of the bowl, he could feel the heat of the stew within the dish and withdrew his hands.
"We're going to need some ice," he muttered.
"There should be some in the fridge by the counter," Anne directed.
Mark turned his gaze in that direction and instantly located a small, silver fridge tucked away under the countertop near the door. He walked over to it and squatted down in front of it, grasping the handle of the door and pulling the cool machine open. A draft of frigid air brushed past him as he opened it, making him shiver. But as Anne had suggested, there was a light blue ice tray sitting on the top shelf of the fridge where the miniature freezer was. He reached out and took it off the shelf, his right hand trembling slightly at how cold the ice was. He closed the fridge door with his left hand and then turned back towards Anne, twisting the ice tray to loosen the frozen ice cubes nestled in the small pockets. Dropping four cubes into his hand, he dropped two of the cubes into each of the soup bowls. They fell into the stew with a loud plopping noise, splashing a little of the soup on the tray the two soup bowls were rested on. But once the cubes had been engulfed in the steaming hot liquid, they melted within a matter of a few minutes. Mark tested the liquid with his forefinger, but instantly his hand shot back out of the hot liquid and he shook it violently, trying to cool it.
"My goodness! Did they bring it to us boiling hot?"
Anne shrugged. "It probably just came out of the pot."
Mark shrugged. "I suppose. I guess it's going to need some more ice."
Anne shook her head. "We can just wait a minute for it to cool, Mark. Sit down, please."
Mark sighed and nodded, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "Are you sure your stomach is going to be okay eating that soup?"
Anne nodded. "I honestly think that it's bothering me because I'm hungry."
Mark shrugged. "I guess that could be possible," he said, twiddling his thumbs nervously.
Anne scrunched her eyebrows at him. "Why're you nervous?"
"I-I just . . ." he trailed off.
"Mark, are you okay?"
Mark nodded and flashed a smile. "I'm okay."
Anne touched his arm. "Are you sure?"
Mark nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."
But the look on his face told otherwise. It was the same look of nervousness she'd seen before he'd taken her to David's Farm. It scared her. She wanted to ask again what was wrong, but Ryan's entrance broke the silence.
"There's my boy!" he called, startling both Anne and Mark.
"Hey, Dad!" Mark said, smiling broadly. "Jackson said you might be coming."
"Yes, well I have something I need to show you," he said. "Andrew wants to check up on Anne anyway."
Mark glanced at Anne. She immediately took his hand and pleaded with her eyes for him not to leave. "Dad, can it wait?" he asked.
Ryan frowned. "It can, but I really would rather you see it sooner than later."
Anne gave his hand a squeeze. "Please, no. I need you here."
Mark glanced back at his father. "How long will it take?"
"Half hour. No longer than that."
Mark again looked at Anne. "I won't be long, Sweetheart," he said giving her hand a squeeze.
Anne felt tears coming to her eyes. "Mark, please, stay here."
Mark leaned over and gently kissed her, not wanting the separation just as much as she didn't. "I won't be long," he repeated. "Andrew will be here soon."
Anne sighed and nodded, biting her lip. "I love you," she whispered.
Mark smiled and nodded, kissing her hand before letting go. "I love you too, and I promise to return."
But then his hand left hers and he stood, running his hands through his messy hair. "All right, Dad. Where is it?"
Ryan smiled, but he could see the apprehension in his son's eyes. "I'll show you," he replied, knowing that he needed to get moving before Mark changed his mind and decided to stay.
Mark nodded and walked to the door to where his father stood.
"You okay?" Ryan asked as he came near.
Mark nodded, though the anxiety in his voice was hard to hide. "Let's talk about it on the way, okay?"
Ryan nodded and then smiled at Anne. "He'll be fine, I promise."
Anne nodded and closed her eyes, but she still hated the prospects of being alone. Ryan walked out of the doorway and walked down the hall waiting for Mark to follow him. But Mark hesitated, lingering at the door of his beloved.
"She'll be all right," Andrew said, walking up behind him with Dawn at his heels. "I brought her a good friend to keep her company."
Mark's eyes shot to Dawn and a half-happy, half-sad expression covered his face. "She's alive," he said softly, kneeling in front of the dog.
Andrew nodded, but said nothing.
Mark scratched behind Dawn's ears and then with a sigh he stood back to his feet, his eyes narrowing. "Protect her, Andrew," he said softly.
Andrew nodded. "I will."
Mark nodded in return, and after a last glance at Anne who now looked asleep, he went after his father down the hall. They walked in complete silence, Mark and Ryan's shoes tapping across the smooth hardwood floors of the hall. The walls around them were painted a gray-blue and hung upon them were countless paintings framed in white. Most of the pictures were of Mark, Brianna, and Ryan together, but as they neared the end of the hall, Mark noticed an image of Ryan and his wife, Andrea. He stopped and stared at it, surprised that his father would keep such a thing on his walls.
"Dad," he called. "When was this picture taken of you and Mom?"
Ryan froze and turned slowly to look at his son. His jaw clenched with grief, but he walked back over to his son and smiled taking the photo down from the wall. "This was taken two months before she was diagnosed with cancer. It was our 38th wedding anniversary. We took a walk down the Mississippi River and that was when we saw this mansion. It was for sale back then . . . and so when Andrea showed interest in it, I . . . well, I asked for it to be shown to us. Your mother fell in love with it, Mark. So I put in an offer for it and bought it for a fourth of the price it was listed at. But when your mother was diagnosed . . . I forgot about it. And then she died . . . and I was . . ." he trailed off, lovingly laying his hand over the face of his beloved wife. "It hurt badly. This is one of the only pictures I put up of her. The others I haven't had the courage to look through."
"So then this house was a gift for Mom?"
Ryan nodded solemnly. "An anniversary gift. The last I gave to her." He paused. "Mark, I loved your mother very much."
"I know, Dad. I could see it daily as I grew up."
"Mark, I see that same love in you for Anne. I also see it in her for you."
Mark smiled. "We've been through a lot."
"Jadon told me all he knew to try and bring me up to speed on all that had happened," Ryan replied, nodding. "A lot is an understatement."
Mark nodded. "I know."
"Is that why you were so nervous back there?"
Mark hesitated and bit his lip. "Dad, I want to marry her," he said, his voice filling with passion. "I'm just afraid that . . ."
"That what?" Ryan prodded.
"That I'm going to scare her if I ask so soon after this whole catastrophe!"
"Mark, I don't think you'd scare her. I'd think you'd more likely relieve her."
"That makes no sense!"
"Well, why not? She's afraid she's going to lose and you're afraid you're going to lose her! If you two married at least you would have each other!"
Mark looked at the ground. "I'm terrified, Dad," he admitted, his face flushing with embarrassment.
"So was I," Ryan said with a smile. "But I loved your mother, Mark. I knew that there was no other woman that I would ever want to marry."
"So I should just go through with it?" Mark asked, his voice trembling.
"Pray about it first, all right?"
Mark nodded. "I will."
Silence fell between them and again their footfalls became the only sound that encompassed the hall.
"Where are we going?" Mark finally asked.
Ryan smiled. "You're about to find out." He then stopped and made a quick left, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. Mark raised an eyebrow but followed him into a tiny hallway that wound off to the side. At the end of it sat a small elevator. Or at least what looked like an elevator. Ryan hit a button on the wall and two mechanical doors opened. Behind them, was another dark, and dreary hallway that looked like it hadn't been used in years. Ryan walked into the darkness and beckoned for Mark to follow him. Mark did so, but he couldn't' say that he wasn't the slightest bit nervous about going out into the dark. The doors behind them shut, and the hall became pitch black. Mark felt a chill run down his spine. Where were they? Was it some kind of secret passageway? If so, where was his father taking him?
"Aleron," Ryan said softly. Mark jumped at the noise and fell backward, landing on the ground with a thump. His dad muttered something in frustration but then he repeated, "Aleron, this is Colonel Ryan."
"Yes, Sir?" an automated male voice replied. "What is it that you want?"
"Lights in shaft four."
"Yes, Colonel."
Small LED lights illuminated at Mark's feet and then made their way forward, lighting a path down the dark corridor. Mark made out the shape of his father walking over to him and tried to push himself onto his feet. Ryan clasped his arm around him and helped him stand. Mark was more than grateful for the help and smiled though his father couldn't see it.
"Sorry for the dark," Ryan said softly. "It's for security purposes."
"Security?" Mark asked, as his father let go of him and let him walk forward. "What do you need security for?"
"Mark, this building isn't just a house," Ryan said softly. "This is an incredibly important Air Force Military research plant. If anyone against the United States were to get their hands on any of the information within these walls, havoc would come upon our country."
"Then why are you taking me here?"
"Because I have something for you, and you're going to need it sooner than you think."
"What do you have?"
"A replacement for your truck," Ryan said, swiping a pass card through a reader on the left side of the illuminated pathway. Another set of doors illuminated in the darkness and opened to reveal an elevator. Ryan stepped inside and then waited for Mark to follow him. Mark hesitated. "Dad, I don't get it. I can just pay for the repairs of my-."
"Raymond Parr will track you down faster than you can say F-150 if you drive that thing. You need something else. Something low profile, but with a lot of power. I've created that for you."
"When did you have the time to do that?"
Ryan sighed. "Just let me show you, Markus."
Mark nodded and sighed. "All right. All right. I'm coming," he surrendered, stepping into the elevator. The doors closed and as soon as they had, once again the room became pitch black. Mark decided to expect it from now on. He heard his father hit a button and then the odd male voice said, "Beginning descent."
Mark couldn't really tell if they were descending or not. The room stayed completely dark and completely still. He sighed and leaned back against the wall behind him. He was tired again despite having slept an extra seven hours earlier that day. He wondered if he ever would be able to completely regain his strength. It wasn't exactly very nice to not be able to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time.
"Are you okay?" Ryan asked again from somewhere in the dark.
Mark nodded. "I'm just tired."
"Well, this won't take long. As soon as I show this to you, you can go back to bed."
Mark sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish I weren't so tired all the time."
"It'll just take time to recover, Son. You've been through quite a bit and this is the first day that you've been up and about since the accident."
"I know. I guess I'm just not patient."
"I know how you feel, Mark," his father said, laughing. "I don't like being restrained either."
The elevator slowly came to a stop, and when it did, LED lights began to illuminate the small box's frame, lining the edges of each wall and s door. Ryan leaned forward off of the wall he'd been leaning against and smiled. "Well, we're here. Aleron, light the automotive sector by the name of 'Pontiac' please."
"Yes, Colonel."
And then the elevator door opened to another dark room. Ryan walked into it and as he did, lights began illuminating the walls on either side of him, bringing into view a long line of cars, trucks, and vans on either side of them. Mark thought he recognized a few of the sports cars and his heart lightened slightly at the prospect of being given one of those to drive, but then he remembered his father saying it had to be low profile and shook the thought away. There was no way that a sports car was low profile in any way shape or form. He followed his father down the hall, the lights illuminating as Ryan walked but then dimming behind them as soon as Mark passed. Finally, Ryan came to a stop beside what looked like a glass workroom and tapped a six digit passcode into a small electronic pad that appeared on the glass wall in front of them. A green light flashed overhead and then the door opened to reveal a small automotive workshop fully lit with a black car sitting in the center, its trunk facing them. Mark couldn't see what it was at first as his eyes adjusted to the light, but once his pupils had adjusted, he was able to make out just what kind of car his father had for him.
And it was a huge disappointment. A black Pontiac Grand Am GT was sitting in the center of the workshop. It gleamed in the light of the bulbs above it, but Mark couldn't help but feel like his father was trying to play some joke on him. He turned his eyes to his father and raised an eyebrow. "This is it?"
Ryan smiled. "Good, it doesn't look like what it can do. I'm successful."
"What do you mean by that?" Mark asked, walking up the car and running his hand over the freshly polished body.
"I mean, I created this car to be low profile, Mark. You obviously aren't impressed with it, so Raymond will think the same!"
"How is this supposed to beat Raymond in a road race?" Mark asked. He had to know what his father was thinking.
"Mark, I don't want you to be in another road situation like you were when the F-150 was demolished. So, I decided to give you this."
"And what is this exactly?"
"This is a Pontiac Grand Am GT from 2005. From the factory, this car would have a 3.4L V6 engine, 175 horsepower, and a four-speed automatic transmission. It probably would hit about 110 mph full speed. But with what I've done to it, this car now has the engine of a 2015 Mustang GT. That said, this car has a 3.7L V6 engine, 300 horsepower, and a six-speed transmission. This car can reach a 60 mph in only 5 seconds."
Mark's jaw dropped. "This thing has the engine of a mustang?" he asked.
Ryan nodded. "That's not all, Mark. I've also equipped this car with a turbocharger and nitrous oxide, giving you a significant amount of power on top of the engine and making your start boost to only 2 seconds."
Mark's eyes were wide with surprise. "When did you find the time to do all that?"
Ryan smiled. "I've been working on it since you wrecked the F-150. Also, this car's body is made up of titanium instead of steel making it lighter, but still bullet proof. The windows are made of ballistic glass and are close to impenetrable. Still be careful with them though if you get caught in a crossfire."
Mark said nothing and just closed his mouth in amazement.
Ryan kept going. "Everything that might be in the line of a bullet within the car is lined with Kevlar, giving you more protection on top of that. The suspension has been strengthened so that won't be a problem, the tires are the closest they can be to bullet proof, the seats are heated, which you're going to need in Minnesota, there's an automatic jack in the trunk so that if you blow a tire, which is unlikely, you-."
Mark held up a hand. "Can this thing fly too?"
Ryan tried to hide a smile and looked at the floor. "For distances shorter than five miles."
Mark couldn't help it. "Dad! What have you done to this thing! It looks like a completely inconspicuous car and you jacked it up to be a supercar!"
"That was the idea," Ryan said, smiling. "Do not use the flight systems unless you have to though. They what's most likely to malfunction. If they didn't, well, everybody would have them."
Mark sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "And I get to drive this?"
"Until the Parr threats over, yes. Then I'll give you back your truck."
"My truck is already repaired?" Mark asked, disbelief splashing onto his face.
Ryan shrugged. "Not exactly. I replaced it, and will give you the truck once Parr's over with."
Mark smiled. "I may not want to give this car up, Dad."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Pretty good for a Grand Am, huh?"
"Parr's never going to see this coming," Mark said, smiling. "Not in a million years!"