In Cold Blood

         John Wills blinked back fatigue, gazing out the windshield at the mountain road winding before him. He needed to stay alert to safely negotiate the icy turns. He silently cursed the civil suit that had made it necessary for him to drive the 50 miles home well after dark. John mused that while most lawyers would have spent the night in Denver; he could barely afford the gas to drive there, much less stay in a hotel.
         The last six months had been rough at his one-man law firm. Though he was the sharpest, brightest lawyer in Coaldust, Colorado, the town of 500 could only produce so much work for a man specializing in business law. The thought of packing up and moving to Denver had crossed his mind often, but John always came to the same conclusion: he could not leave the town or the people he had grown to love. If he had to, he reasoned he could always take a mail-order degree course to broaden his horizons.
         John’s brow furrowed as he realized that the snow had once again begun to fall. He shivered. The trip home from Denver which usually took forty minutes had already dragged out to over an hour. John had had to guide his Jeep Grand Cherokee slowly over the icy mountain roads. He figured that if the weather didn’t get much worse, he would be home in twenty minutes. He figured wrong.
         As he passed a little-used logging road on the left, a large four-wheel drive pickup truck pulled out behind him. John frowned when the driver of the truck turned on his brights. He tried to speed up to get away from the irritating glare, but the driver stayed right on his tail. John did not want to lose control, so he slowed down again soon. He then tried to slow down so much that the truck would pass him, but no such luck.
         John felt almost as though the truck’s driver was toying with him. He knew a dangerous cliff road was fast approaching and he did not want to have to negotiate the sharp turns with the brilliance of the large pickup’s headlights assailing his eyes. He slowed and eased over to the right shoulder, signaling the truck to pass. Thankfully, the truck eased ahead.
         John’s sigh of relief turned into a sharp intake of breath when he realized that the truck wasn’t pulling ahead of him, it was pulling up beside him. The pickup was so close, he could clearly read the manufacturer’s mark, “Ford F-350 Super Duty” on the side of the pickup. John’s startled eyes darted from the quickly approaching guard rail to the huge pickup, which began to inch closer and closer to the right. John gasped in astonishment. The truck was forcing him off the road!
         Desperately, he slammed on his brakes, trying to evade his aggressor. The Jeep’s wheels locked and he went into a skid. John frantically tried to regain control, spinning his now useless steering wheel in the direction of the skid. His SUV fishtailed to the left and its back end slammed into the truck. It rebounded with a sickening crunch as metal slammed into metal. Still the pickup edged closer.
         As the road took a sharp turn with the side of the mountain on the left and black nothingness beyond the guard rails on the right, the Jeep’s back wheels skidded sideways over a rut on the edge of the road. The Jeep wobbled and then tipped over on its side. It bounced over the guard rails and rolled like a child’s toy down the side of the mountain. As John went over, he could see the bearded face of the pickup driver, waving a gleeful farewell. He was jerked around in his seat like a rag doll, hitting his head on the steering wheel, the side window, the exploding air bag. The lights went out for him halfway through the descent of the battered Jeep.
         John regained consciousness smelling the pungent odor of gasoline. The pounding in his head made him want to just fall asleep and escape from it all, but something kept him awake, something on the edge of his consciousness that urged him to get away from the vehicle as fast as possible. Groaning, he struggled through the broken window into the frigid night air. The Jeep was lying on its passenger side and he groped his way out and down the underside of the vehicle, his eyes swollen half-shut.
         John rolled under the cover of some rocks and brush, shivering. He clasped his arms about him as he lay on the ground. He looked back just in time to see the Jeep explode in a ball of flame. The fire warmed him as darkness overtook him.

~*~

         At 4 AM in New York City, Jacob Wills and his wife Kathy were awakened by the ringing telephone. Jacob rolled over and picked up the phone from its cradle on the nightstand.
         “Hullo?” he mumbled groggily, wondering who could be calling at this hour. The sun had not even started its ascent into the sky yet.
         “Mr. Jacob Wills?” The voice on the other end of the line was that of an older man with a Western accent.
         “Speaking,” Jacob said curtly.
         “This is Howard Smith. I’m calling from Coaldust, Colorado.”
         “Coaldust…?” Jacob shot a quizzical glance at his wife, who was propped up on her elbow watching him.
         “Yessir. I’ve just received a call from the Strasbourg Medical Center. Er, Strasbourg’s about ten miles west of here, by the way. We don’t have a hospital here in Coaldust…” the man trailed off, as if reluctant to get to the point of the call, “Well, ahem, anyway I was told that your brother John had an accident tonight, er, last night, and doesn’t appear to be in too good shape. And, well, since you’re the only living relative that we know of…”
         Jacob sighed, “Look, I haven’t seen my brother in ten years. I didn’t even know he was in Colorado. Isn’t it a little obvious that I don’t really care what happens to him?”
         The caller seemed shocked and a little embarrassed, “Well, sir, it’s a little complicated. See, your brother is in a coma, in kinda a dangerous condition from what I heard. They need a family member to, er, make important decisions.”
         Jacob grimaced, “Okay, I understand. Though I loathe John, I couldn’t just let him die. Do I need to come down there or can I handle things from here?” A quick decision maker, he was already jotting down notes on the yellow legal pad he kept on the nightstand.
         Smith said, “From what I gather, the hospital would like you to be here. But I suppose we could maybe wait a little while and see if that’s really necessary…”
         Jacob dismissed this. “No, I’ll go ahead and catch a flight this afternoon. It’s close to the holidays, so I don’t really have anything very pressing going on at work. I’ll probably be in about, oh, 6:00 this evening. Can I have somebody pick me up at the Denver airport?”
         “I will. But how will I know you?” Smith asked.
         Jacob smiled sardonically, “Oh, you’ll recognize me. Don’t worry about that.”

~*~

         Jacob grinned at the startled look on the short, grey-haired man’s face, “What, didn’t John tell you he had an identical twin?”
         Howard Smith just shook his head and laughed, “You gave me quite a shock there. John mentioned he had a brother in New York, but he didn’t say much about you. I found your number in his address book.”
         “I don’t blame him for being a little reticent. The last time I saw John, he swore he’d never speak to me again,” Jacob said.
         Smith grew somber, “He just might keep his word, Mr. Wills. When I saw him in the hospital an hour ago, the doctors weren’t sure if he’d pull through.”
         Jacob stretched out his hand, “Please, call me Jacob.”
         Smith grasped the offered hand in a firm handshake, “And you can call me Howard. Come on, let’s go get you a rental car and then you can follow me to Strasbourg.”

~*~

         The Intensive Care Unit at Strasbourg Medical Center was a den of quiet activity. Doctors hurried by with intense faces and hushed voices. Jacob felt as though the air was charged with the threat of impending death for the patients.
         Jacob and Howard checked in with a nurse at a desk in the center of the activity. She told Jacob where to find his brother and warned him that he didn’t have long to visit.
         “Only one visitor at a time, please,” she commanded in as stern a voice as she could muster, then she informed Jacob that he needed to fill out some paperwork as the closest surviving relative. He firmly told her that the forms could wait until he’d seen John.
         When Jacob walked into the hospital room, he was shocked at how pale his brother looked and how fragile he seemed, hooked up to several machines. His head was swathed in bandages and his blue eyes stared sightlessly at a corner of the room. His lips twitched as though he was trying to form a word. Jacob was surprised to see him awake. He remembered Howard telling him that John was in a coma. Well, he’d sort that out later.
         “Hey, John, how ya doing?” he asked in a gentle voice. There was no reply. Besides a flicker of John’s eyelids, he gave no indication that he was aware of his presence. Jacob sat in a chair by the bed.
         “Hey guy, I know you were mad at me, but that was ten years ago. Come on, talk to me,” he tried again.
         A tall, blonde doctor glided silently into the room. “I’m afraid he can’t talk, Mr. Wills. John’s head was severely injured in the crash. Most of the time he’s in a coma, but when he awakes, he is in this catatonic state. He doesn’t move or speak, or hardly even blink. We have to do some more CAT scans to find out the full extent of the brain damage. I’m Dr. Swenson, by the way,” he said matter-of-factly and perfunctorily stuck out his hand.
         Jacob took the hand and said, “Please, call me Jacob. I’m John’s brother.” He didn’t sense any human warmth in this doctor, but he reasoned that the man didn’t need it in a unit where most of the patients were unconscious or in too much pain to care.

~John~

         Jacob! What’s he doing here? I must be in pretty serious condition if they called him. Maybe he can help. I’ve got to tell him…somehow…what happened. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I speak? If I could use my body, I’d be sweating from the exertion of trying to lift my finger, trying to move my lips. Jacob can figure out what happened. I’ve just got to let him know. Oh, here comes the blackness again. I’ve got…to climb…out…of this pit…

…

         “F-350.”
         Jacob jumped. “What?” He looked at the doctor, “Did you say something?”
         Dr. Swenson cocked an eyebrow, “I didn’t say anything.”
         Jacob frowned, “I thought I heard somebody say…F-350?” He glanced at John, who had fallen unconscious, then shook his head. “I must be hearing things.”
         Dr. Swenson nodded curtly, as though he had suspected all along that Jacob was a mental case. “If you’ll excuse me, the patient needs my attention,” he said, turning to the bed.
         Jacob walked out of the room, still frowning.

~*~

         Howard lived alone in a small white house in the center of Coaldust, Colorado. He invited Jacob to stay in his guest room. Jacob accepted, and that night, they sat in front of a fire blazing merrily in the stone fireplace. Jacob was starting to feel the effects of jet lag and his eyes grew heavy as they talked.
         Suddenly, he asked, “What’s an F-350? I feel like I should know, but I can’t remember…”
         Howard chuckled, “Ford F-350. You probably don’t see too many of those in New York City. It’s a pickup truck. Specifically, a work truck. Why do you ask?”
         “Well, you might find this a little hard to believe, but when I was in John’s hospital room, I thought for sure that he said ‘F-350’, just like that, before he dropped off into a coma,” John explained.
         Howard looked doubtful, “From what the doctors say, John is completely unable to speak, even when conscious.”
         “I know. Dr. Swenson was in the room and he said that he hadn’t heard anything. Maybe it’s just my wild imagination,” Jacob sighed, then he leaned towards Howard, “But I’ve been thinking about it. What if the crash wasn’t an accident? What if John is trying to get through and tell us what happened? Do you think an F-350 could force a Jeep Grand Cherokee off the road?”
         “Well, sure. An F-350 is a big truck. But Jacob, it was snowing and those mountain roads at night in the kind of weather conditions we’ve been having… It’s not a big surprise that someone went off the road,” Howard said.
         “But John has always been such a careful driver. As a matter of fact, he’s careful in everything he does. That’s one of the reasons we haven’t spoken in ten years. We used to have a small law firm together in NYC. I wanted to get into some of the bigger money, take a few risks, but he was too afraid to go for it,” Jacob said.
         Howard thought about this. He said, “That’s true. John’s a very cautious man. But those icy roads at that time of night…well, it’d be dangerous for anyone.” He was about to add more, but the phone rang. He went to the kitchen to answer it, leaving Jacob to stare sleepily into the fire. He returned quickly, however, and handed Jacob the phone.
         “Hello?” he spoke into the mouthpiece.
         “Mr. Jacob Wills? This is Marty Jenkins from the Coaldust Police Department. Can you come out to your brother’s law office tonight?” a twangy voice on the other end of the line asked.
         “Uh, sure, I guess. Is there a problem?” asked Jacob.
         “The office has been broken into. We need you to come down here so we can file a report,” the policeman said.
         Howard already had his jacket on, and the men were soon on their way.

~*~

         When they arrived at the law office, Jacob was shocked by what he saw. John had never been a fastidious person. In fact, Jacob was the neat twin, but the state of the office was unbelievable. It had been ransacked. Drawers were lying empty on the floor next to filing cabinets. Papers were lying all over the place. A shattered plate glass window showed how the burglar had gotten in. A lone policeman stood in the middle of the mess, taking notes on a pad.
         “Hey Marty,” Howard greeted him, “What in the world happened here?”
         The tall, thin policeman said, “Howdy. About twenty minutes ago, the burglar alarm went off. I came to check it out and I’m about finished up now. It doesn’t look like anyone is still on the premises. Mr. Wills, would you know if anything was missing?”
         Jacob stared at the mess, bewildered. “I wouldn’t know what belongs here,” he said.
         Howard piped up, “John didn’t leave any money around the place. Not that he had much to speak of. I don’t see anything gone that I know about.”
         Marty nodded, tucking his notebook into his shirt pocket. “Awright, then. I’ve already gone over everything for fingerprints, so I’ll leave you boys to deal with this,” he said, adding, “If I were you, I’d get that window boarded up pronto.”
         Jacob watched incredulously as the young policeman stepped around the piles of paper and walked out the door, whistling.
         “That’s it? He’s just gong to leave? What kind of a policeman is he?” he sputtered.
         “We do things a bit different around here, Jacob. Likely he’s the only policeman on duty right now, so he’s gotta get out and do his job,” Howard explained softly.
         “This is his job!” Jacob exclaimed.
         Howard sighed, “Look, let me run back to the house real quick and get some boards and nails. Will it be okay if I leave you here to watch the place?”
         Jacob nodded, resigned. “Yeah, fine. I’ll just start cleaning up,” he said.

~*~

         The young man hiding in the broom closet gasped as he stared through the tiny crack in the open door. His face went white underneath his sparse beard. John Wills, here! But how? He had seen the Jeep go over the cliff himself. The man’s hand went to the hunting knife in his belt. He felt his back pocket to be sure the papers were still there.
         When Jacob opened the door of the broom closet, a figure in dark clothing leapt out at him. Living in New York, Jacob had been mugged before. His instincts kicked in as he and his assailant rolled over the floor, knocking down anything that wasn’t already disturbed.
         When Jacob felt a sharp pain in his side, he realized that his attacker had a knife and had scraped him on the side of his chest. He gasped in pain and grabbed the man’s wrist as he lifted it to strike again. The assailant grunted in surprise and for a moment, his eyes met Jacob’s. The man was young, not more than eighteen years old, and his attempts to grow a full mountain-man beard had obviously not been very successful thus far. He, in turn, took in Jacob’s face: his regular, clean-cut features, his light brown hair, and then his gaze went back to his eyes.
         “You-you’re not John Wills,” he said in amazement. His voice was soft and high-pitched.
         “No, John’s in the hospital. Are you the one that put him there?” Jacob asked, even as he twisted the young man’s knife hand away.
         The kid’s eyes widened in pain, or was it surprise? Suddenly, the sound of wheels turning into the drive of the law firm was heard. Howard was returning. The young man dropped the knife and Jacob’s grip relaxed. He suddenly wrenched away and tried to run out the door.
         Still on the floor, Jacob grabbed the kid’s leg, but he danced free. He tried to grab hold of the kid’s jeans and nabbed his back pocket before his hand came away, full of paper. The young man beat a hasty retreat out the door. Jacob threw the papers down and sprinted after him.
         He collided with Howard, who was coming through the doorway. Howard let out an “oomph!” and dropped the armload of boards he was carrying. Jacob scrambled over him and ran out the doorway. He looked up and down the silent street, but saw no one.
         He turned and asked, “Howard, quick, did you see anyone run out of the office?”
         Howard, trying to recover his breath, said, “No one but you. I was busy gettin’ the wood out of the truck.”
         Cursing under his breath, Jacob helped the older man to his feet and then started picking up the load he had dropped.
         “What happened?” Howard asked.
         “Our burglar was still here, hiding in the broom closet. He attacked me with this,” Jacob bent down and picked up the knife, wincing as he did so.
         “You’re hurt!” exclaimed Howard.
         “Nah, just a scratch. He ruined one of my best shirts, though. That kid better hope he doesn’t meet up with my wife. Then there’s no chance he’ll get away!” Jacob grimaced.
         “Kid?” Howard asked, “Hey, let me see that knife.”
         He turned over the pearl-handled implement in his hands and pointed at an inscription in the curve of the blade.
         “See that?” Howard asked, excitement in his voice.
         “Little Mac,” read Jacob, “Do you know this kid?”
         “Jason MacIntyre, ‘Little Mac’. His father is Big Mac, Rudy MacIntyre. He owns the largest natural gas company in the state. I wonder what he’s up to?” mused Howard.
         Jacob was already across the room, putting in a call to the police station.

~*~

         “I’m sorry bub, we just can’t hold him without cause. All you have is circumstantial evidence. We had to let Little Mac go home this morning,” said the chief of police, Mark Strauss.
         Jacob and Howard had been met by the hulk of a man when they arrived at the police station the day after the break-in to press charges. He had led them into his office and then explained that Little Mac was no longer at the small jail. Big Mac had come for him that morning.
         Jacob was furious, “What kind of a circus is this? We have tangible proof that this kid is at the scene of a crime. We have his knife, the one that gave me this wound,” he pointed to his side, “and we have my testimony that he was there and he attacked me! What more do you need?”
         “Well now, Jacob,” Strauss equivocated, “you don’t really know the boy, now do you? He said his knife had been missing for a week. Now that could have been planted at the scene. For all you know, it could have been some other kid who attacked you.”
         “If you would have held him here, I could have identified him for you. Then we’d know for sure, wouldn’t we?” exploded Jacob.
         “I’m sorry, Jake, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We’ve done all that we can for you and I won’t have this ruckus going on in my station,” frowned the chief.
         “You can call me Mr. Wills, and let me tell you, you haven’t seen anything yet. When you mess with a lawyer, you’d better have your tracks covered. I’ll see you in court,” Jacob said with barely controlled rage.
         Out on the sidewalk, Howard said, “Welcome to Coaldust, Jacob. You’ve just met the Good Ol’ Boys Association. Chief Strauss and Big Mac are old hunting and drinking buddies. They’re thicker than thieves.”
         Jacob snorted, “An apt description. You know, all this makes me think. The fact that John’s office was broken into gives some credence to my theory that he was run off the road. When that kid saw me, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. He knew that John couldn’t be up and walking around, much less rolling on the ground fighting. How would he know something like that?”
         Howard shrugged, “Word gets around fast in a small town. The accident happened night before last. It was bound to be all over town by last night.”
         “But I would swear that Little Mac thought John was dead. You should have seen how surprised he was when I said John was in the hospital. Don’t you see it, Howard?” asked Jacob.
         “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” said Howard, “I’m just trying to see this from all sides of the issue.”
         “What kind of car does Little Mac drive?” Jacob asked suddenly.
         Howard answered quickly, “Company truck.” Then it dawned on him. “A blue Ford pickup…Ford F-350…” he said slowly.
         “See? John was trying to tell me what happened! It wasn’t an accident! Quick, let’s go back to Strasbourg and see if he can tell us anything else. We need a motive.”

~John~

         I’m so bored, lying here waiting for something to happen. I can’t get up and walk around, can’t move at all. Oh, here comes somebody. It’s a little relief from the monotony. Who is that? Why does he have a mask on? What’s that…a knife! He has a knife! I have to get away; I have to do something. He’s coming closer. He’s going to kill me! Move, arms, legs... Man, I can’t even yell or scream! Oh God, please…

…

         Jacob strode down the hallway to John’s room. He wasn’t sure how, but he was determined to communicate with his brother. He was convinced that John had spoken to him before, warning him that the crash was no accident. The burglary at John’s office and the attack on himself made Jacob positive that something fishy was happening. If only he could find a motive, something to tie everything together.
         Suddenly Jacob remembered the papers he had taken from the burglar as the young man ran out the door. He stopped in his tracks and almost turned back, convinced that the papers would give more reliable results than trying to coax John out of his catatonic state. Then he heard a gurgling, strangled noise coming from John’s room. All other thoughts left his mind as he burst through the door.
         Jacob saw a dark figure in a ski mask hunched over the prone form of his twin. The gurgling noises came from John’s throat and his eyes darted around wildly. The menacing figure suddenly leaped back when John found his voice and started screaming hoarsely. His body that had been paralyzed for almost two days started thrashing and flailing on the bed. The man in the ski mask whirled around and caught sight of Jacob coming through the door.
         He stood, paralyzed, for a moment until John’s violent movements caused him to fall off the side of the bed. Jacob lunged forward to catch his brother and the masked man used the chance to sprint out of the door. Jacob noticed that the stranger clutched a pearl-handled knife.
         Jacob was able to catch John’s arms and hoist him back on the bed. When John realized he wasn’t in danger anymore, he calmed down, panting hard. He looked up at his brother and two sets of blue eyes locked. A silent understanding passed between them and Jacob squeezed John’s hand as he stepped back and let frantic doctors surround the patient.

~*~

         Later, Jacob sat in a plastic chair next to John’s bed. John had been moved to a different part of the hospital when the doctors realized that he was no longer in critical condition. Something about the shock of the intruder’s violence and the peril of his life had brought his body out of the paralysis it had suffered. Though John was far from being completely well, the doctors looked at the recovery as nothing short of miraculous.
         In the hectic time that followed the attack, Jacob had been banished from the room. He had used the time to go back to John’s office in Coaldust and retrieve the papers that Little Mac had tried to steal. Jacob had gone back to Strasbourg and sat in the waiting room for two hours mulling over the case until he was allowed to see John.
         Jacob showed the documents to John. “The kid who broke into your law firm last night was trying to steal these. Luckily, we caught him and were able to identify him from his knife. Unfortunately, the police chief seems to be in Daddy’s pocket and so nothing came of it. Can you tell me why Little Mac or possibly Big Mac would want these papers so badly?” he asked.
         John studied the documents. “Yeah, I recognize these. Big Mac is involved in some shady dealings with his company. He came and asked me to work on them, help him find some loopholes, cover his tracks,” he explained. He looked up at Jacob. “Do you remember when you said I was soft and that I didn’t have the stomach to take on anything risky?”
         Jacob nodded slowly.
         John continued, “Well, I remembered that then and I decided to prove you wrong. I told Big Mac I would do the work, for a substantial fee of course. But after I studied his files, I realized what a skunk he really was. I returned his money and told him to forget it. Since then, the MacIntyre Natural Gas Company has withdrawn all of its business from my law firm and is discouraging others from working with me as well. I was pretty bitter at Big Mac and wanted to get back at him. I also realized that some of his crimes were really serious and so I started working on a brief against him in my spare time, detailing all that I know that he has done and all that I suspect. I knew I couldn’t trust the police with the information, so I planned on giving the information to the District Attorney. Word must have leaked out to Big Mac somehow and I suppose that’s when he came after me. This is the brief I was preparing. I guess Big Mac wanted all the evidence destroyed.” He paused, out of breath. Speech was still difficult for him.
         Jacob furrowed his brow in thought. He asked, “Is this evidence so dangerous that it would warrant Big Mac wanting you dead?”
         John grinned ruefully and said, “Not quite. It would only put him behind bars for a few years. But that’s the way of a small town: little men with big empires think they are entitled to anything they want. They believe they have a right to bulldoze anyone who stands in their way.”
         Jacob stood with the documents in hand. He said, “Well I’m not wasting any more time with this. I’m taking these papers straight to the DA’s office. I’ll be adding quite a bit about the attempt on your life as well.” He glanced back and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
         Seeing the look of chagrin on John’s face made Jacob pause. He bit his lip and then sat back down next to his brother. Jacob cleared his throat. He felt uncomfortable and embarrassed, but he knew what he had to say.
         “I’ve been really hard on you for a long time, brother,” he began, “But coming so close to losing you forever made me realize how foolish I’ve been. Besides Kathy, you’re the only family I have left. Will you forgive me for ten years of stubbornness?”
         John smiled, his eyes moist. “It wasn’t all your fault. Will you forgive me for ten years of bitterness?”
         Jacob said, “I already have.” He reached down and gripped John’s outstretched hand. He stared into his eyes and then bent over the bed and embraced him tightly. He murmured, “It’s good to have you back, brother.”