Mandy took a sip of coffee and watched her sister's eyes drift to the back door, like a person who has been placed in a deep trance. What in the world was going on inside of Jessica's mind? “Jack never tried to imply that he was in danger?” she finally asked, struggling to get Jessica to begin talking again.
“Jack never implied anything,” Jessica whispered, slowly looking back to Mandy, and sat very still. “Jack's computer...lap top...the CIA took those, along with all of his work. I was left with my husband's personal items.” Jessica carefully glanced around the kitchen. She wanted to tell Mandy that she knew Jack kept a secret journal that the CIA had not managed to steal. The only problem was, the journal was well hidden; so hidden, in fact, that Jessica could not even locate it. Speaking such words, of course, could bring the CIA running. But hadn't confessing the personal opinion that Jack had been killed been enough to prick the ears of anyone watching? Jessica wasn't certain. “Mandy, my husband never spoke about his work to me,” Jessica offered. “Jack spoke about the Bible quite often; the weather, the news, even Bible prophesy, but he never spoke about his work.”
Mandy wasn't sure how to proceed. The CIA was messy business; deadly business. Mandy had a friend who worked for the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. This friend, like Jack Mayes, never spoke of her work. One day, out of the blue, Mandy saw her friend’s face plastered all over the news as a missing person. Two weeks later a body was pulled out of Carters Lake in North Georgia. The body belonged to Mandy's missing friend. Of course, the death had been ruled a suicide, but Mandy knew better. So did a whole bunch of people on social media, who claimed the woman had been murdered. She knew the last President was deliberately planning to allow people from Africa, who were infected with Ebola, enter the country to cause a nationwide pandemic. The plan had been scrapped for whatever reason—perhaps because of all the social media action—but not before an innocent life had been taken. “And you're sure that the CIA is watching you?”
Jessica nodded her head. “I wasn't at first. After that awful man from Washington visited my home, insisted no one attend Jack's funeral but me, had three people search my home and steal all of Jack's work, I assumed that was the last of the matter. After Jack's funeral, after I returned home, I spotted a strange woman standing at the end of my driveway.” Jessica took a second sip of coffee. The coffee was strong, and flavored with a sweet peppermint creamer that would have normally tasted very pleasant; almost like home. “I spotted the same woman jogging down my street. I also spotted a black van parked in the driveway of a vacant home on my street. The van had a 'Plumbers Hand' logo on the side of it.”
Mandy's worried mind wanted to suggest the van her sister spotted could have been a simple plumbers van, and the strange woman she saw was a new neighbor in the neighborhood, or some nonsense along that line. The rational mind, however, would not deviate from the irrational; Jessica was being watched. But why? Mandy's gut knew why. “The CIA must believe you have something of Jack's that they want.”
“Yes,” Jessica nodded her head, “I agree. But what?” The journal? But how could the CIA know about Jack's secret journal? Jessica herself had only come across the journal on a late winter's night when she brought her exhausted husband a cup of coffee, and found him asleep at his desk. The journal was opened on the desk, there for Jessica to see, and reluctantly, as if the journal was a magnet and her eyes were a piece of steel, her curious mind read the current entry. The letters AIV screamed off the page and slithered into her mind. Before Jessica could finish reading the entire entry, Jack began to stir. “Mandy, the woman I saw scared me. She looked...soulless...like a black widow hiding in a deep hole.”
“I assume the people working for the CIA aren't saints,” Mandy pointed out, and decided to take a bite of stew. “One thing seems certain; if you were being watched in Pennsylvania, you're probably being watched now.”
Jessica looked toward the back door again. “It would seem that way,” she agreed, feeling anger build in her heart. “Jack was killed, Mandy. The more I think about it, the more my mind and heart seem to insist that...Jack was killed.”
“Honey, what did the autopsy report say?” Mandy asked.
“I wasn't allowed to see the autopsy report,” Jessica explained, as her mind was jerked into a cold room full of stainless steel tables. The steel tables lined up in neat rows, each assigned to a number. Behind the rows of steel tables stood little refrigerator doors that opened up into a dark world filled with dead bodies. Each dead body represented a life that once lived and breathed, ate and slept, laughed and talked, and brought good into the world, or vice versa; a body that harmed, killed and destroyed, created evil and darkness. Jessica focused her mind on one of the steel tables. The tables were empty except for table #9. A body was laying on table #9, covered with a white sheet. Jessica saw herself approaching the table, breathing white trails of frost from her mouth, wearing a black funeral dress. Jack...Jack honey, is that you under that sheet...Jack? The body resting under the sheet began to move. Jessica froze. Seconds later, a hideous hand grabbed Jessica. She screamed, spun around, and saw the cruel woman she had seen standing at the end of her driveway, grinning into her eyes. He's mine. I took him away from you. All that's left...the woman forced Jessica to look at the sheet. The body under the sheet was still moving, but in little jerks rather than full motion. All that's left is your stupid hope that this is all a nightmare, and your husband will come back to life. Jessica stared at the sheet and watched the body jerk and twitch. And then...she screamed.
“Jessie?” Mandy asked. “Jessie, are you okay?”
Jessica’s eyes exploded. A white light appeared, and then she was back in Mandy's warm and safe kitchen. “I...yes...” she stuttered as grief grabbed her heart.
Mandy stared into her sister's eyes. The poor woman was being tormented. “Jessie, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you either move to Georgia, or I'm moving to Pennsylvania. You're in no condition to be living alone.”
“I can't leave my husband's home,” Jessica told Mandy in a low whisper. “I refuse to leave Jack, Never.”
“Then I'm moving to Pennsylvania,” Mandy stated in a stern tone. “Prepare to have a roommate.”
“Mandy--”
“No arguments,” Mandy insisted. “Jessie, you're my one and only sister, and I love you. It's clear to me that you need someone to lean on. Please, let me be that person.” Mandy stared at Jessica with worried eyes that understood the delicate emotional state her sister was trapped in. The word Suicide kept punching her thoughts over and over again. Would Jessica actually attempt suicide? Mandy wanted to say no. Yet, looking at the torment in her sister's eyes, Mandy couldn't be sure? “You have a very nice guest room downstairs in your home. The guest room will work nicely.”
“But this is your home...your life, Mandy,” Jessica stated in a miserable voice.
“What life?” Mandy asked. “Sis, I live in a little cottage...alone. I work a crummy job that comes with numerous headaches. I spend a small fortune at Chick-Fil-A, because most of the time I hate eating alone, and being near people, even though I'm still eating alone, helps.” Mandy felt her voice break. “I was attending a Baptist church, but the preacher only preached on worldly matters; stuff that tickles my ears. So, I stopped going. And you know what happened?”
“What?”
“All the nice people that attend that church began treating me like I had become their enemy. Two women at work that still attend that church won't even give me the time of day,” Mandy explained, as a tear rolled down her cheek. “No one comes to my home...and love?” Mandy laughed, wiped at her tear, and then took a quick sip of coffee, “there's not a man in Dalton that has dared to ask me for a date. Men look at me like I'm a virus.”
“Mandy--”
Mandy held up her right hand. “Sis, I'm not sitting here feeling sorry for myself. All I'm pointing out is that it doesn't matter where I live. Dalton, Georgia; Bangor, Mai
ne; Boise, Idaho; Jackson, Mississippi; I'm still going to be single, eating alone, and working a crummy job. So why not be miserable in Pennsylvania?”
Jessica watched with sad eyes as her sister wiped away another tear. How could she resist, or deny with force, her sister's request? While the idea of having a live-in babysitter seemed painful, Jessica knew that love was the motive, and maybe a strong dose of love was the prescription her broken heart needed. Yet, the CIA...what if the CIA killed Mandy, like they had killed Jack? What if the CIA tried to kill her? Danger was streaking down from a stormy sky, and Jessica didn't want Mandy placed out in an open field. However, by traveling to Dalton, Jessica fully realized she had already placed her sister's life in jeopardy. That realization made her heart jump with panic. At least if Mandy came to live with her, she could attempt to protect her sister. “What will you do with your home?”
“Sell it, of course,” Mandy explained, relieved to see that Jessica had caved in. “I fought against four other people to buy this cottage. I'm sure this place will be bought before I can pack my first box.” Mandy took a sip of coffee. “The money I get will do me until I can secure a job in Pennsylvania.”
Jessica sat silent for a minute and listened to hard, cold, rain fall outside. In her mind, she saw Mandy rolling her wheelchair through the rain toward a gray unemployment office, holding a sign that read Will Work For Food. The idea of her sister struggling to find a new job, in a new town, hurt Jessica. Sure, Mandy wasn't living a Queen's life in Dalton, but she did have a home and a good paying job. She had security. “And because of me, she's losing her security,” Jessica whispered in a guilty voice.
“What?” Mandy asked.
Jessica raised her eyes. “Mandy, I live in a very small town. It may prove difficult for you to find work.”
“So, I'll commute to a large town,” Mandy promised. “When I first moved to Dalton, I worked in Chattanooga. The drive wasn't too horrible. Besides, I like commuting. I put on my old gospel tapes, relax, and start talking to the Lord.”
“You still pray a lot?” Jessica heard herself ask, before her mind could scream stop.
“Yes, I do,” Mandy nodded her head. “I can see that you've stopped praying. Why?”
Why? Why did I stop praying? Jessica asked herself. She picked up her coffee cup, took a careful sip, and then looked down at her tender hands. “There's so much pain in this world, it's difficult...”
“Pain is a part of life. Pain draws us to Jesus,” Mandy explained. “Without pain we would...could...never understand the true meaning of love.”
“Children with cancer, wars, starvation, murder...” Jessica whispered. “I once believed I could save the world. I can't save anyone.”
Mandy felt her heart break. What had happened to the enthusiastic young woman who had traveled to Israel with her, determined to change the world? “It's not up to us to save anyone,” she stated in a soft voice. “Jessie, it's our mission to lead people to Jesus. Jesus does the saving. Our core responsibility is to live as the Bible teaches us to live.”
“I understand that,” Jessica stated in a troubled voice, “but sometimes I... the darkness seems to be winning.” Jessica closed her eyes and saw Jack Mayes appear. “Jack was my joy. We were going to create a family together. I... secretly, my hope was beginning to flare up again. Now...”
Mandy watched Jessica grow silent. What words could she speak to pick her sister up and place her in a pool of hope and life? A dead husband, a destroyed life, the CIA… Mandy, although older than Jessica, suddenly felt very inexperienced as a sister. “Jessie...” she tried to speak but then stopped. It was better to gain a strong thought, rather than babble. Mandy sat for a minute and listened to the rain fall, allowing her mind to evaluate and process the conversation in a clear, intelligent, learning room. Finally, a rational thought appeared on a blackboard. “Jessie, I'm going to call a realtor first thing tomorrow and put my house on the market. As soon as the house sells, we're leaving for Pennsylvania, okay? I'm sure...in time...” Mandy stopped again. In time what? You'll heal, Mandy wondered? She looked down at her coffee and simply listened to the rain, allowing Jessica to become lost in her own thoughts.
Outside in the rain, sitting in a black van, Wendy Cratterson narrowed her dark eyes as she listened to the kitchen in Mandy's home grow silent. “One week may be too kind,” she said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps, Mrs. Mayes, it's time I pressed you a little harder to make you talk, since your sister has disturbed my watch time.” Wendy picked up her cell phone and made a call. “Yes, this is Cratterson,” she said.
“What is it?” the soulless voice asked.
“I need a body.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand up front, and two hundred and fifty thousand when the body appears,” the voice demanded.
“Done.” Wendy carefully tossed an address into the air. “Meet me at the address tomorrow at noon. We have work to do.”
Chapter 4
Murder
A man simply known by the name of 'Heath', walked into a Kroger grocery store located on Walnut Avenue in Dalton, carefully retrieved a few sanitizing cart wipes from a dispenser sitting next to a double line of grocery carts, and waited for an old Hispanic woman with two young grandchildren to clear the area before speaking. “Go inside.”
Wendy Cratterson, who had walked in behind Heath, grabbed a grocery cart, ignoring the possibility of germs, and entered the Kroger without question. She walked over to a wooden table holding seasonal fruit. Heath carefully wiped the handle of a grocery cart with the sanitizing cart wipes, with hands that had killed numerous people, tossed the wipes onto the floor, and moved into the Kroger, looking like a humble English teacher, wearing the expression of a gentle man who had reached his mid-sixties. The eyes that saw Heath enter the Kroger, shoppers and employees, paid him no mind. The Kroger was located in the 'Rich' part of Dalton, and most of the shoppers were used to seeing well-dressed men with gray hair. Heath, feeling pleased that his appearance was allowing him to blend into the store’s atmosphere, pushed his grocery cart over to the cabbage and began pretending he was exploring the green balls. Wendy watched with careful eyes, as she put a bag of oranges in her grocery cart and walked off toward the onions.
Heath slowly folded his arms over a 'Grandpa' style gray sweater that was extremely thick, studied the cabbage with careful eyes, and looked back on his childhood. Heath's mother had always cooked such delicious home-cooked meals. “Corn Beef and Cabbage was my favorite,” Heath whispered, under a thin gray mustache, seeing a small but humble wooden kitchen appear in his mind. Inside the kitchen, a short, plump woman hummed and sang as she prepared a warm dinner, on a freezing winter day in Michigan. Heath watched the woman sing—so happy—with bitter eyes. Seconds later, he saw a man stagger into the kitchen, stone drunk, and begin yelling hateful words into the air, shattering the peace. Heath gritted his teeth and, without realizing it, raised his left hand and touched his face. “How many beatings?” he hissed. He shook the vision of the kitchen out of his mind, and walked away from the cabbage.
Wendy watched Heath leave the cabbage and begin making his way toward the onions. “Oh, Lisa,” he exclaimed in a pleasant voice, “how nice to see you.”
Forcing a polite and fake smile on a face that could have been very beautiful, Wendy lifted her right hand and waved at Heath. “Mr. Jones, how are you?” she asked, in a voice that was sickeningly sweet.
Heath approached Wendy, a little upset that the woman had chosen to wear a black leather jacket and dress, instead of attempting to dress like a local. “I need to buy some fresh fish. Walk with me.”
Wendy tossed a bag of onions into her cart and slowly began walking beside Heath. “I need a body by tonight,” she said in a low voice, keeping clear of the other shoppers. The Kroger, because it was only noon, wasn't crowded with shoppers, allowing space to walk and talk without being heard, or even remembered by passing eyes. “Tomorrow I act.”
/> Heath turned his head, looked toward a very clean and organized deli, and spotted a short, chubby woman that reminded him of his mother cutting meat. “That will cost extra.”
“No, it won't,” Wendy growled under her breath. “Five hundred grand has always been our agreement. If you can't deal with it, then walk.”
Heath despised Wendy's audacity. He hungered to kill Wendy, but backed away from the idea. As much as he despised the woman, she was his best paying client. “I want an extra hundred grand or I will walk.”
“The CIA will pay its normal fee.”
Heath stopped walking, locked eyes with Wendy, and prepared to stare down the stupid woman. “One hundred grand added to my usual fee.”
Wendy locked eyes with Heath. She wasn't going to be intimidated, or stared down as if she were a mangy mutt. “No deal,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “Walk away.”
Heath studied Wendy's eyes. The woman meant business, leaving him with two options: Walk away or cave in. Heath was in desperate need of money, due to his gambling addiction. Walking away from five hundred thousand dollars meant losing a week in Reno. The plane ticket he had purchased to fly to Atlanta the day before, and the rental car price, had cost him far too much. Buying a plane ticket on a one day notice was costly. “You need a body.”
“There are others,” Wendy claimed and began walking away.
Heath narrowed his eyes, saw himself shooting Wendy down like a dog, and then simply said, “Where do you want your delivery?”
Wendy grinned without Heath seeing her. “Mr. Jones,” she said in a pleasant voice, as she turned and faced Heath, “there are several homeless people in this town that need your attention. Please bring me a visitor to see me tonight.” Wendy quickly spouted out an address, and then stepped closer to Heath. “I already have a fake identity set up for the John Doe,” she explained. “All I need is a body. Clear?”
The Accident Page 5
