The Accident

by James Kipling

  Jessica struggled to calm her mind. “Yes.”

  “Are you in trouble with the CIA?” Sheriff Butler asked in a low voice. “Are you...a target?”

  “I believe so,” Jessica honestly answered. “I was being watched in Pennsylvania, and now it seems that the CIA has upped their efforts to contain me before I can go back to Pennsylvania. At least, that's how it seems in my mind. Otherwise, why would the CIA try to keep me in Georgia?”

  “Why are you a target? What did you do?” Sheriff Butler asked in a careful voice.

  “It's not what my sister did,” Mandy cut in, clearly knowing her every word was being recorded. “It’s something her husband did...and was killed for.”

  “My sister is right,” Jessica spoke in a careful tone. “My husband worked for the CIA, and was murdered by the CIA. Now, the CIA must believe I have some form of secret information my husband owned. I don't know.” The Journal a voice screamed in Jessica's mind. Jessica closed her eyes. “I'm being framed for a murder I didn't commit,” she whispered.

  Sheriff Butler raised his worried eyes, searched Mandy's scared eyes, and then focused on Jessica. “Mrs. Mayes, for the time being, perhaps it is wise if you and your sister both came to my office, for your own protection,” he suggested. “As it stands, if this Agent Cratterson manages to present concrete evidence to the DA, you'll be placed under arrest, and there will be nothing I can do to help you. “However,” Sheriff Butler offered, “if you are right, and a man was killed simply to frame you, then maybe the CIA might want you dead, as well.”

  Mandy felt her heart begin to race. She checked the time. It was nearing eleven. “The man,” she whispered, suddenly remembering Jacob Green. Her eyes grew wide. “Jessie,” she spoke in an urgent voice, “Jessie, the strange man we met last night.”

  Jessica glanced over at Mandy. When she saw her sister's eyes staring at the clock, her mind suddenly grasped onto the face of Jacob Green. “Of course,” she whispered, and quickly turned to look at Sheriff Butler. “Sheriff, last night a strange man came to visit me. This man knew all about my husband,” she explained, feeling a strange sense of hope enter her heart. “This man ordered me and my sister to meet him at the Chick-Fil-A on Walnut Avenue at noon. He seemed to want to help me. He knew all about the CIA...” Jessica paused for a few seconds to slow down her racing mind. “Please, we have to meet him. I believe this man will be able to help.”

  Sheriff Butler raised his right hand and rubbed his left cheek, as if some insect had bitten him. “What was his name?”

  “The man didn't give a name,” Jessica honestly answered. “He identified himself as Agent McIntyre from the FBI, but assured us he only did so to confuse the CIA.” Jessica pointed to the front door. “The CIA is recording every word I speak, and watching every move I make. How could I escape them and kill a man without them knowing?”

  Sheriff Butler hadn't considered that fact, if indeed, Jessica had pointed out a vital fact. He continued to rub his chin, as his mind struggled through knee deep wet concrete. “Okay,” he finally said, and pointed at Mandy. “I have a deputy waiting outside,” he explained. “I want you, Mrs. Mayes, to go with them while I go with your sister to the Chick-Fil-A, to locate this stranger you're talking about.”

  “Deal,” Mandy happily agreed, and then tapped her wheelchair. “We'll have to take my van.”

  “Of course,” Sheriff Butler nodded his head, stood up, and studied the living room. “You know, ladies, I can't be certain, but it seems as if I've seen the man Agent Cratterson is claiming to be Walter Hicks somewhere.”

  Jessica stood up on worried legs. “Sheriff,” she spoke, struggling to sound calm, “my husband was killed for a reason. I don't know what reason, but I do know he was killed. The stranger who appeared here last night seemed fully aware of this fact, too. Please, you have to bring him to me, and protect him. Our words are being recorded...” Jessica felt her hope deflate. The CIA was listening to her every word. Hearing Jessica disclose her inner thoughts, the enemy was winning. “Please bring this man to see me.”

  Sheriff Butler checked the time. “Please, get your coat.”

  Jessica looked at Mandy with watery eyes, and then, reluctantly, retrieved her coat, slid it on, and then picked up her purse. “I'm ready,” she said. “Mandy, be careful, please,” she begged. She hugged Mandy's neck, kissed her cheek, and then followed Sheriff Butler out into an icy rain, without bothering with an umbrella. I'll walk out into funeral rain...funeral rain...and go to my own dark hole in the ground...Jack will be waiting to take me to a land of peace Jessica thought as freezing rain droplets began splattering down onto her lovely blond hair, that now seemed rag like.

  Sheriff Butler quickly opened a gray umbrella and placed it over Jessica's head. “Greg Marion,” he called out, and waved his left hand at a twenty-five year-old deputy who was built like a bull dog, “get over here.”

  Greg, who was leaning against a brown Dodge Charger, that been turned into a Sheriff's Deputy speed car, snapped to attention and then jogged over to Sheriff Butler. “Yes sir?” he asked, feeling like a stuffed potato wearing a brown rain poncho. At least his hat still appeared presentable, although the hat was wrapped in plastic to protect it from the rain.

  “Drive Mrs. Hayes to the jail, secure her in my office, and post yourself on guard outside my office door,” Sheriff Butler ordered. “No one enters or leaves my office until I arrive. Is that clear?”

  Greg stared at Sheriff Butler with eyes that seemed a little surprised. Usually the Sheriff was laid back and easy going, at least with his staff. Now, the man seemed tense and upset. “Yes, Sir,” he promised. “Ma’am, this way please.”

  Jessica looked up into Sheriff Butler's face. Her eyes saw a man her heart wanted to desperately trust and rely on. Yet, her eyes saw a man who would, in the end, back down from the CIA like a whipped dog in order to protect his bone. “Please, hurry,” she pleaded, walking out from under Sheriff Butler's protective umbrella, and reentering the funeral rain.

  Sheriff Butler watched Greg walk Jessica to the souped-up Dodge Charger with worried eyes. One man was dead, and he doubted the CIA would risk killing the woman while in custody. For the time being, at least until evening time, the woman was somewhat safe; the word somewhat being a worrisome rain cloud. “Be careful,” he whispered, watching Greg drive away into the icy rain, and then walked back inside. “Ms.--”

  “My coat is already on,” Mandy told Sheriff Butler, “let's hurry.”

  Sheriff Butler paused. “Ms. Andrews, is your sister really as innocent as she is claiming?”

  Mandy slowly folded her arms and locked eyes with Sheriff Butler. “You tell me?” she asked.

  Sheriff Butler drew in a deep breath, and then rubbed his left cheek again. “If the CIA manages to bring a murder charge against her, there will be nothing I can do to help an innocent woman,” he finally spoke in a miserable voice.

  “Then let's hurry,” Mandy begged. She rolled over to the coffee table, grabbed her purse and van keys, and then headed for the front door. “You follow me, okay?”

  Sheriff Butler nodded his head, walked over to Mandy, and took control of the wheel chair. “Let's move,” he said, and got his legs in action. Twenty-five minutes later he pulled into the Chick-Fil-A parking lot behind Mandy. It was now nearing lunch time, and the parking lot was crowded with hungry workers clambering for a delicious chicken sandwich. Mandy managed to squeeze into a vacant parking space tucked in between a flashy Dodge Ram truck and a Dodge Minivan that belonged to a woman who worked as a CPA. Sheriff Butler was forced to drive around to the backside of the Chick-Fil-A and park next to a white work truck with two men sitting inside eating and talking; one of the men was smoking a cigarette and deliberately took a deep draw when he saw Sheriff Butler parking. Sheriff Butler didn't have time to go toe to toe with some high school drop-out who managed to get a job with the city digging holes. He jumped out of his truck and jogged to Mandy's
van. “Ms. Andrews?” he called out, unable to see Mandy sitting in the driver’s seat.

  “Come around to the side door!” Mandy yelled from inside of the van.

  Sheriff Butler hurried around the van and opened the side door. Mandy appeared in her wheelchair. “Do you need any help?”

  “Nope,” Mandy said, and carefully utilized the metal lift. “I'm a big girl,” she said, sending the lift back up into the air and then closing the van door. “You can hold this umbrella over my head.” Mandy handed Sheriff Butler a gray umbrella. The man quickly snapped it open and began shielding Mandy from the rain. “Let's move.” Mandy grabbed the wheels on her wheel chair with urgent hands, and began rolling through the parking lot, unaware that Jacob was watching her every move.

  Jacob slowly lowered a powerade he was sipping on, and watched Mandy and Sheriff Butler work their way through the parking lot. Why was Mandy arriving with the local Sheriff? Where was Jessica Mayes? Wendy Cratterson had yet to return to her monitoring van. What was going on? Jacob wasn't certain. General Garcia had informed Jacob that there was a lot of buzz taking place at the CIA building in Washington, and that all employees had been ordered to go 'Black', which meant every single communication device had been placed under electronic lock down. Roger Alden was hiding something; at least attempting to hide something, but what? Sooner or later the hidden truth would be revealed, of course, but not in time. And to make matters worse, the ELE satellite had been hit again, making Jacob's eyes blind. The only information Jacob had managed to capture, with the help of his team, was a 9-1-1 call that had been made earlier in the morning. “This has to be about the body,” he whispered, regretting the fact that he had not driven out to the murder scene. If Wendy Cratterson wasn't a stupid woman, she would spot her enemy immediately. Jacob had no choice but to stand down; especially after playing his wild card, to jam the monitoring equipment the CIA was using to watch Jessica Mayes with. Too many moves at once would be very foolish. “Okay, Ms. Andrews, let's see why you brought the Sheriff to me,” Jacob whispered, picked up a delicious chicken sandwich, and took a bite, attempting to look cool and in control, even though his insides were shaky. Surely Roger Alden wouldn't have ordered a hit. And if Roger Alden hadn’t ordered a hit, what events were taking place in the storm clouds outside? Jacob simply didn't know.

  ((((((((((*))))))))))

  Mandy spotted Jacob sitting at a side table, one of the tall round tables that makes a person feel as if they are sitting up in the clouds, perched next to the west wall overlooking the parking lot, facing toward the interstate. “That's him,” she whispered, becoming blocked by a long line of hungry customers; mostly workers, along with a few college kids. The Chick-Fil-A was really jumping, as usual, and not a single table or booth appeared vacant. “Sitting beside the window.”

  Sheriff Butler spotted Jacob sitting alone. The man resembled 'Fonzie', from the television show 'Happy Days'. As matter of fact, Sheriff Butler wasn't sure if Henry Winkler was sitting at the table or some strange man. “Okay,” he said, watching Jacob study the icy rain, like a man trapped deep in thought. “Let's go talk to him.”

  Mandy bit down on her lower lip, studied Jacob's handsome face, and then began asking the hungry lunch crowd to make way. A couple of minutes later, she wheeled up to Jacob's table. “Hello,” she said in a careful voice.

  Jacob took his eyes away from the rainy parking lot, glanced at Mandy, and then said hello back. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Sheriff Butler.”

  “And who are you?” Sheriff Butler asked Jacob.

  “I'm a man enjoying a delicious lunch,” Jacob replied. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Sheriff Butler looked down at Mandy. “Are you sure this is the man who came to your home last night?”

  Mandy focused on Jacob. The man was wearing different clothing, but the face was identical. “Yes, this is him.”

  Sheriff Butler calmly placed his hands behind his back. He had no authority to question Jacob. While it was true that Mandy Andrews was insisting the stranger was the man who had paid her home a visit, she had no proof to back up her words. Everything came back to the stranger simply cooperating with the law. “May I ask your name?”

  “Am I under arrest?” Jacob asked in return, in a cool voice.

  “No.”

  “Then my name is John Doe,” Jacob replied, in a tone that told Sheriff Butler he was dealing with a professional. Jacob glanced down at Mandy. “Ugly games are not my style. Have a good day.”

  “Wait,” Mandy exclaimed, “you came to my home last night. You told me and my sister to meet you here at noon.”

  “Is it a crime to think a pretty-blond headed woman may like chicken sandwiches?” Jacob asked. “However, I do not see a woman who seems to match that description.”

  “So, you admit that you did visit Ms. Andrews’ home last night?” Sheriff Butler asked.

  Jacob focused his eyes back on the rain. “There seems to be a lot of strangers in town,” he responded. “Anyone could have paid a nightly visit.”

  “But you--” Mandy began.

  Sheriff Butler held up a firm hand. He didn't need Mandy causing a scene, and had to handle the stranger with delicate hands. “Do you work for the government?”

  Jacob kept his eyes peeled on the rain, searching for any abnormal activity. “I have a nice retirement plan, Sheriff,” he stated. “My health package could be better.”

  “Look,” Mandy demanded, “my sister is locked up at the jail because the CIA is trying to frame her for murder and--”

  “Mrs. Mayes is temporarily being watched,” Sheriff Butler quickly corrected Mandy, “while an Agent Cratterson speaks with the local DA.”

  Jacob sat very still. So, the CIA was trying to frame Jessica Mayes for murder? “Doesn't make sense,” Jacob whispered in his mind. “Why would Roger Alden frame Jessica Mayes for murder?”

  “You have to help my sister,” Mandy begged Jacob.

  “Do I?” Jacob asked in a cold voice, allowing his eyes to slip away from the rain, and catch Mandy's worried, desperate voice. If Wendy Cratterson had a 'Shadow' following Mandy Andrews, he had to play it real smart. “Ma’am, I don't know who you are and why your bothering me,” he told Mandy. “I'm on my way to Atlanta to see my ex-wife. I don't have time to be bothered, so take a hike, okay, and let me finish my lunch.”

  “But--” Mandy began to object

  Jacob quickly stood up, startling Sheriff Butler. “I've got to pee,” he said in a rude voice. “Sheriff, maybe you do, too?” Jacob brushed past Sheriff Butler and made a trail toward the public restrooms.

  “Stay here,” Sheriff Butler ordered Mandy, and quickly followed after Jacob.

  Jacob stepped in a small bathroom that was clear of occupants. He slowly positioned himself in front of a single sink and began washing his hands. “Jessica Mayes is in serious danger,” he told Sheriff Butler, as soon as the man burst into the bathroom. “I can't go into detail, but I don't think everything is as kosher as it appears.”

  “Who are you?” Sheriff Butler demanded.

  “I can't say,” Jacob replied, using the mirror plastered to the wall to see Sheriff Butler. “I'm not exactly sure what events are conspiring, Sheriff, but I don't believe the big rat set Jessica Mayes up for murder.”

  Sheriff Butler leaned his back against the bathroom door. “Who are you?” he demanded again.

  Jacob continued to wash his hands. “I could be wrong.” he admitted. “Maybe the big rat is behind this smoke screen. I can't say for certain.” Jacob slowly turned around, allowing his wet hands to drip on the bathroom floor, and locked eyes with Sheriff Butler. “Wendy Cratterson is a dangerous woman, Sheriff. Stand clear of her.”

  “I want answers.”

  “Answers mean the possibility of death,” Jacob explained, keeping his voice calm and low. “It's like I said, my health package could be better.”

  Sheriff Butler sta
red into Jacob's eyes, and saw a man who wasn't going to reveal direct answers to some local Sheriff who lived in a carpet town. No, the big boys never talked to the small guys. That was the way the game was played. “If the CIA presents evidence to the DA, there will be nothing I can do to protect Mrs. Mayes.”

  “I need to get the woman out of town. Now.”

  “A man is dead,” Sheriff Butler snapped. “Agent Cratterson is claiming the victim was a psychiatrist working with Mrs. Mayes. Agent Cratterson further claims that the victim had a platonic romance going on with the woman, a woman who is suffering from psychosis and anger issues.”

  Jacob folded his arms and leaned back against the bathroom sink. “Perfect set up,” he said aloud. “My guess is Wendy Cratterson...let's see...” Jacob began to think. “Yeah, she most likely altered an intelligence file to suit her purposes. My guess is, the dead man is probably some homeless guy who has been altered, at least electronically, to match a man that fits perfectly into Wendy Cratterson's story.” Jacob raised his head and looked at Sheriff Butler. “My people ran Jessica Mayes. The woman is clean as a whistle. No mental issues, no shrink, not even a sniff and a cough in the last ten years.”

  “So, it is a setup, then?” Sheriff Butler asked.

  “Yes.”

  Sheriff Butler felt anger rush into his chest. “I can't help the woman. I can't go against the CIA.”

  “I need to get Jessica Mayes into my custody ASAP,” Jacob insisted. “Sheriff, there is a dangerous tug of war that is currently taking place, and Jessica Mayes is the prize. If the bad guys win, then you can say goodbye to what is left of America; goodbye to the last few decent pieces that are still sticking to the flag.”

  “I'm aware that our country is under attack,” Sheriff Butler stated. “I'm also aware that all a man in my position can do is protect his county.” Sheriff Butler shook his head. “My county is barely managing to stay in the 'Red'. In the last election the 'Red' won a mere twenty-eight percent advantage. In the 1990's the 'Red' always won by a seventy percent margin. Our country is on a quick downhill slide.”