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  The Accident

  Green File Series Book 1

  James Kipling

  The Accident, Green File Series Book 1 by James Kipling

  All rights reserved. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  © 2019 James Kipling

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Sample Story

  Thank You

  Chapter 1

  Jessica Mayes

  I won't cry. Those are the words Jessica Mayes spoke into her tormented mind, as she sorrowfully watched her husband's wooden casket being lowered down into a wet, cold earth that seemed to have no conscience. Instead, the dark hole in the ground appeared as a hideous, eternal, scream that would haunt Jessica's nightmares for years and years to come. I won’t cry. I'll be strong Jessica insisted. However, as hard as she tried not to cry, tears began falling out of her blue eyes, and streaming down soft cheeks stained with misery. The tears quickly began singing to a hard, icy, rain that was falling all around the green funeral home tent she was sitting under.

  “Mrs. Mayes,” a soft-spoken preacher said.

  Jessica raised her teary eyes and saw an old preacher man who had preached his share of funerals. The old man appeared kind, gentle and caring; but didn't all funeral preachers appear that way? After all, Jessica thought, feeling bitterness swell in her heart, the old preacher man didn't know Jack, did he? No. The old preacher man didn't know her husband at all. The old preacher man didn't even know her, for that matter. However, Jessica clearly understood that the old man was simply doing his job, and was finishing his last hour of work by offering a useless condolence. “Yes?”

  Preacher Tom Braston looked down at Jessica. He looked down at a lovely, very beautiful, thirty year-old woman who was now a widow, with sad eyes. “May I drive you home, Mrs. Mayes?” he asked in a worried voice. Out of all the years he had been a preacher, and all the funerals he had done services for, never once had Tom Braston preached a funeral where no one except the widow showed up. The absence of mourners worried him. What type of man had Jack Mayes been? What Tom Braston didn't understand—what had been kept secret—was that Jessica had ordered a private funeral. No, that wasn't right. The CIA had ordered a private funeral for Jack Mayes.

  “No, thank you. My car isn't parked far away,” Jessica answered, wiping at her tears, and then let her eyes fall down onto the black dress she was wearing. Yes, the CIA had ordered Jack's funeral. Why? Jessica wasn't told. All the woman really knew was that Jack worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. Not as some ridiculous spy, of course. Jack was a computer geek, and as far as Jessica was concerned, her dead husband was a technological genius. Even though Jack Mayes never spoke of his work, Jessica knew he was working with artificial intelligence. By mistake, soon after the wedding, she had accidentally seen a folder laying on Jack's desk that was sitting open. Her eyes managed to read a few words before Jack came rushing up behind her and closed the folder with urgent hands. “Not for your eyes my lovely,” he said in a worried voice that desperately attempted to sound playful. “Now, off to lunch!” Jessica saw Jack tickle her chin and chase her out of his home office with loving hands. “Oh, Jack,” Jessica whispered as fresh tears dropped from her eyes. “Why...why?”

  Tom eased down into a green chair resting beside Jessica, glanced down at the Bible he was holding, and then looked out at the icy rain. Funerals and rain...peanut butter and jelly...strawberry ice cream and lemon lime soda, his mind thought. “Mrs. Mayes, is there not any family?” he finally asked. “Is there not...anyone?”

  Jessica watched as her husband's wooden coffin vanished into the dark hole. Jack was now buried. “Yes, there is family,” she confirmed in a low whisper, as her heart ripped in two. Jack was now buried. His body was now sitting in a deep, cold, hole. Jack wouldn't be returning home to hold her in his loving arms ever again. Jack would never walk through the front door of their home, sit at the kitchen table, drink a cup of coffee, kiss her goodbye. Jack was...dead. Some guy at the Greenfield Funeral Home had stuck tubes into Jack and drained out the man's life, and replaced that life with embalming fluid; a lifeless, evil fluid that finalized the funeral experience. “Jack has family. So do I.”

  “Then...why?” Tom pleaded. “Mrs. Mayes, it isn't right for a woman to attend her husband's funeral alone.”

  “There are reasons,” Jessica answered in a strangled voice, unable to take her eyes off the dark hole that had just swallowed her husband's body. She was reminded of a scene from Star Wars where Luke Skywalker barely escaped some creature that was hidden under deep, desert sand. The creature swallowed its victims whole; or so it seemed to Jessica. “The earth has swallowed...Jack...” she said, and finally allowed her heart to scream. “Why!” she cried, throwing her hands over her face and screaming, as heavy, tormented, sobs left her trembling mouth. “Why!”

  Tom made a painful face, and then slowly put his right arm around Jessica's shaking shoulders. “I don't know, Mrs. Mayes. There's never a clear answer.”

  Jessica felt like ripping the world apart with her bare hands. “Why isn't there an answer?” she demanded, as anger surged into her heart. She lowered her hands and locked eyes with Tom. “Why isn't there an answer? Tell me. Tell me!” she screamed.

  Tom grabbed Jessica and pulled the woman into his arms. Jessica fought him at first and then simply caved in. She crashed down into Tom's arm, closed her eyes, and cried. “Years back...about ten years ago...my wife died of breast cancer,” he spoke in a soft voice. “I was fifty-eight years old when I stood over my wife's casket and said goodbye to her.” Tom allowed his mind to remember the rainy day he had buried his wife. He remembered the dark hole in the ground very clearly. “I didn't have an answer then, and I'm afraid I don't have an answer now.”

  Jessica listened to Tom speak, as the old man's heart slowly beat inside of his agonized chest. Somehow, the sound of Tom's voice, along with the sound of his beating heart, offered a strange comfort. “I'm...sorry.”

  Tom placed his hand over Jessica's blond hair. The young woman was too pretty to be scarred by misery. But that was the way of life, it seemed. Misery outweighed joy. That was why Tom depended on Jesus, and Jesus alone. Only Jesus offered the peace he needed and hungered for. “Mrs. Mayes, I'm an old man. I was asked to preach your husband's funeral by a friend I know at the funeral home, because I was told you were all alone and no preacher had been assigned. My friend has a gentle heart to him...” Tom paused, looked out into the icy rain, his eyes roaming around wet headstones; some old, some new. The cemetery Jack Mayes had been laid to rest in was a medium sized cemetery that sat out in the Pennsylvania country side quite a ways. Tom had visited the cemetery before, but didn't know anyone who was buried at the cemetery. His job as a preacher was to...to what, Tom wondered? Offer comfort? Show promises made in the Bible that the dead still live in Jesus? Yes, those things...those very beautiful pieces of love that help tend to the heart. As much as Tom wanted to believe he could do more for the grieving, offering comfort and speaking about the promise of Jesus was his ultimate mission. Yet, at times, he did feel somewhat helpless. Why? Human nature and nothing more. “I'm not sure what I'm trying to tell you,” he told Jessica. “I…I'm very sorry that
you lost your husband.”

  Jessica kept her head pressed against Tom's chest. She had never had a father. Her parents divorced when she was three. A very angry, bitter, woman, wearing the mask of a mother, had raised Jessica in a house filled with silence and venom. It wasn't until Jessica turned sixteen, and moved away to live with her sister in Chattanooga, that she finally learned that it was okay to actually smile and laugh. “Jack died in a car accident,” she spoke through her falling tears. “The coroner...Jack...” Jessica squeezed her eyes. “Jack never drank. It's impossible. Jack was a Christian. He never drank,” Jessica insisted.

  Tom tried to make sense of Jessica's troubled words. What he managed to gather was that Jack Mayes had died in a drunk driving automobile accident. “I--”

  “Jack didn't drink alcohol,” Jessica insisted as rage flared into her mouth. She yanked her head free of Tom and yelled at the dark hole that had swallowed her husband. “Jack didn't drink! My husband didn't drink! He prayed every night before bed. Every morning he read his Bible. My husband didn't drink alcohol!”

  Tom allowed Jessica to scream and rant. What else was there to do. From experience, he had learned that it was wise to never suggest a grieving family member hold in their pain or anger. It was always healthy to allow that family member to cleanse their emotions. When Jessica finished screaming, he looked into her tormented eyes. “Mrs. Mayes, will you tell me about your husband?” he asked.

  “Why?” Jessica asked. She wiped at her eyes with trembling hands. “What do you care? You didn't even know my husband.”

  “That's true,” Tom softly spoke, “I didn't know your husband, and I never will until Jesus calls me home, but I would like to know about him...please.”

  Was the old preacher man serious, Jessica wondered? Why would an old man want to know about Jack Mayes? Didn't he have a coffee shop to visit? Isn't that what preachers did after funerals; visit coffee shops and have donuts? Why, Jessica believed, was a question in itself. Jessica considered herself to be a Christian woman, but struggled with her faith. She had stopped going to church with Jack four months before he died. Why? Jessica wasn't sure when or why she had begun to struggle with her faith? It wasn't that she didn't believe in Jesus. Jessica loved Jesus with all her heart. It was just that...life was so miserable...evil was everywhere...people were suffering. On television, she had seen an evil terrorist group called ISIS behead Christians in Iraq (the news report didn't actually show the beheading; just the condemned Christians being marched to their death while wearing orange jump suits). The news of the murders of innocent Christian men received two to three minutes of attention on the main stream media and then...nothing. The following day the main news story focused on one of the New England states attempting to pass a law to allow unrestricted abortions...murder of innocent babies...and people were cheering for the law to be passed. How? How could people advocate the murder of unborn, innocent, babies? How had the world become so evil? Jessica didn't see what difference attending a Church service made. When the service ended, people were still going to be doing evil deeds. What could she do about it? “My husband was a decent man,” she finally spoke. “He believed that there was still good in people.”

  Something in Jessica's voice made Tom look into her eyes. “Do you still believe there is good in people, Mrs. Mayes?” he asked.

  Jessica shook her head. “No. I stopped believing there was any good in this world a while ago,” she confessed, as she studied the dark hole in the ground, and closed her eyes. “I have a friend who went back to college. I won't say what college, but the is in California.” Jessica felt more tears drop from her eyes. “My friend is a Christian. She advocates for the rights of unborn children. About eight months ago, when she was walking to class, four people attacked her. My friend was stabbed ten times and left for dead.” Jessica refused to open her eyes. “The worst part is, this happened right on the college campus, in broad daylight. Other people witnessed the attack and did nothing. As a matter of fact, on social media, people supported the attack...”

  Tom felt a heavy grief touch his heart. “The love of many will wax cold, Mrs. Mayes. Those promised words by our Savior are coming to pass.”

  “Exactly,” Jessica whispered. Her eyes slowly opened and focused on Tom's old face. “I'm not...I mean...” Jessica shook her head. “There's no good left in people.”

  “I don't think that's true,” Tom gently objected. “There are still wonderful people in this world, Mrs. Mayes. While it may be true that evil is growing more rampant, that truth is spoken of in the scriptures. We can't sit idly by and remain silent.”

  “My husband was a good man,” Jessica informed Tom. “He never hurt anyone. He donated much of his free time to the nursing home in our town. He...was wonderful. Now he's dead...and evil people still live.” Jessica wiped at her eyes. It was time to leave. There was no sense in sitting in the cold rain, staring at a dark hole in the ground. Jack's funeral was complete. Now it was time to go home to an empty house and...cry. “I think I will leave now.”

  Tom reached out and touched Jessica's hand. “Mrs. Mayes,” he said in a gentle tone, “I live alone. I don't have any family in Price Falls. I...I'm not sure if you do, either? If you need a friend, call me,” he finished. “I'm usually up very late...a bit of insomnia, you see.”

  Jessica looked into Tom's kind eyes. The old man was reaching out to her the way a worried father tries to reach his troubled daughter. She saw no harm in Tom's eyes. Instead, she saw a decent, honest man; a man who, like herself, had flaws, but a decent heart. “Why did my husband die?” she asked Tom, fighting back tears. “Why are you sitting here offering me comfort, instead of my husband? Why? Jack would be at work right now and I would be at home. Why are we here?”

  “I don't know, Mrs. Mayes. I don't have the answers you need.”

  Jessica stared into Tom's eyes. “Today my heart died. Today I became a gray shadow that will walk among humanity, invisible and dead. Today, I stop caring.” Jessica stood up and looked out into the icy rain. “The strange thing is I'm a children's author. I write books that are meant to encourage children.”

  Tom slowly rose to his feet. “Mrs. Mayes--”

  “My last book was about a lost cat who befriends a large dog. The purpose of the story was to show how to search what's inside the heart; not what shows on the outside. Jack loved that book.” With those words Jessica reached down, picked up a black umbrella, opened it, and walked out into the rain, resembling a lost shadow.

  Tom watched Jessica enter the rain. She walked past a row of headstones, and slowly climbed a wet hill, and then...simply vanished. He lowered his eyes, looked at his Bible, and let out a sad moan. “Well, Mr. Mayes,” he spoke to the dark hole, “it looks like you weren't the only one who died today.”

  ((((((((((*))))))))))

  The house sitting at 198 Autumn Leap Drive had been built in 1957, and left alone. Jessica adored the 1950's design and refused to change one single inch of the house. The house offered a warmth and safety that Jessica could cuddle in, like wrapping in a security blanket, that had just been taken from a hot dryer, around her heart. Of course, the house that once offered a beautiful whisper of security, now loomed at the end of the street like a dripping, bare, tree, screaming in agony. Jessica drove her 2017 Dodge Journey up a concrete driveway, driving over a tongue attached to the screaming mouth, like a broken antique doll preparing to be cast into a dusty chest chained down in a miserable old attic. “Home sweet home,” she spoke in a broken voice, drove into a green two car garage, and parked beside her husband's 2005 Dodge Ram truck. The truck sat empty and still, sad and upset.

  Outside the garage, the icy rain continued to fall, filling the gray day with a face that perfectly matched how Jessica was feeling inside of her heart. Join me in the cold rain Jessica...drown your tears in my icy rivers...turn gray...oh, so gray...it's the only way to escape the pain. Jessica heard the rain whispering her name, but refused to li
sten. She turned off the Dodge Journey and sat very still while tears fell from her eyes. The garage, filled with paint cans, tools, a wooden work bench and other items that Jack had accumulated, felt strange and cold. A square window in the back wall of the garage glared at Jessica, like a one-eyed monster trying to transform sweet memories into bitter thorns. Through the window, Jessica could feel, rather than see, her flower gardens that she had decorated a small but sufficient backyard with. The flowers were dead...and so was she. “Oh, Jack,” she cried in the stillness of the Dodge Journey, “you...were drinking...it's all a lie...a lie.”

  Turning her head, Jessica focused on the Dodge Ram truck. Jack had loved his truck. For the money the man earned, he could have driven any new truck he wanted, but for whatever reason, he was fond of his Dodge Ram truck. Even though Jack had been a techie, deep down, a part of him belonged out in the country. Jessica guessed that was because Jack had been raised in a rural Pennsylvania town, and had decided to relocate to a similar type town after he had stood before a preacher with his new wife. Now the truck sat like a grieving dog awaiting his owner. “What am I going to do, Jack?” Jessica asked, breaking the silence. “Do I let your truck sit in that spot forever...or...” Jessica didn't finish her sentence. Deep within her heart, she knew that her hands would never be able to donate a single item that belonged to her husband. Jacks possessions would remain with his grieving widow throughout her lifetime.

  Unable to stare at the truck any longer, Jessica decided to go inside and make a hot cup of peppermint tea. She grabbed her purse, struggled out of the Dodge Journey, like a gray shadow breaking into pieces. Before Jessica could take more than three steps, something caught her eye. She slowly turned and looked out into the icy rain. Someone was standing at the end of the driveway, holding a black umbrella. Jessica squinted her eyes and tried to make out who it was, standing at the end of the driveway staring at her. The person was dressed all in black, wearing a black hoodie. Jessica could only make out that the person was a woman. “Can I help you?” she called out in a shaky voice. The strange woman watching Jessica didn't answer. She simply turned and began walking up the wet street, like a venomous snake slithering away from the sound of a riding lawn mower. Jessica felt fear grip her heart. She eased to the edge of the garage on scared legs, and watched the strange woman walk away into the icy rain. “Who was that?” she asked, feeling goosebumps run down her spine.