Agent Jack Knight: The Beginning

  ~ * * ~

  “Why are we here again?” Shun asked in irritation after receiving yet another glare from one of the librarians for flirting with every girl that happened to pass our table.

  “I need to do research for a paper,” I frowned at the old newspaper I was carefully perusing. “I told you, you don’t have to stay. Just don’t get me kicked out or I’ll never find something to write about.”

  “Fine,” Shun said picking up his books and preparing to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

  Shun was extremely intelligent, but hated schoolwork of any kind and always did just enough to earn the types of grades his parents thought were acceptable…barely acceptable. He was much more interested in the female population than learning anything academically.

  “Right,” I replied absently, the word “Knight” jumping out at me from one of the newspaper articles, catching my eye.

  “Right,” he repeated in disgust as he moved towards the exit.

  Idly glancing at the date in the corner of the paper I froze, August 13, 1968, the day after…

  My eyes involuntarily moved back to the article. The headline had me fighting for breath.

  Four Die in Head-On Collision

  I read the article over and over, trying to control the emotions I could feel threatening to engulf me, but almost morbidly eager to uncover the details of my parents’ death.

  Being only eight at the time, I had no access to a newspaper or any other form of information about the wreck, just what I had been told judiciously edited for a child plus the conversations I’d overheard while the rescue workers attempted to free us, but there it was in black and white, the names of all of the people involved and what had happened to them.

  Not expecting to do more than find a starting point for the assignment, I hadn’t brought anything to write with or write on, but I didn’t have to write anything down in order to remember that article word for word for the rest of my life. I didn’t need to read it more than once in order to do that, but it was as if I couldn’t stop myself.

  It was as if seeing it written there made it come alive for me again, reliving the horror of holding Nicky in the back of the station wagon while the tearing, metallic sounds of the Jaws of Life assaulted our ears as it tried to free us from the mangle wreckage in which we were trapped. Nicky crying, loud uncontrollable sobs that couldn’t be heard over the other deafening noises except by me, while I murmured soothing words in his ear and held him tightly trying to keep him still while the equipment ripped at our prison.

  Then the sight of our parents’, or what was left of our parents’ mangled bodies—I had forced Nicky to look away, not wanting that vision to haunt him for the rest of his life, not realizing just how short that life would be—had left me with scars that would never heal, memories that would stick with me forever.

  I sat at the table, my head in my hands, trying to control the overwhelming urge to cry, yell, destroy whatever I could get my hands on, and fall on the ground writhing with the unbearable agony of it, all at the same time.

  I didn’t know how to handle the overwhelming emotions running rampant through my body, couldn’t think…I needed to think…I had to function…I was in a public place…I couldn’t allow myself to fall apart.

  Breathe…breathe…I kept repeating over and over to myself…just breathe.

  After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, I cautiously let go of my head. My breathing had slowed, and my brain was clearing, allowing me to process information again.

  I carefully folded the newspaper, placing it on top of the stack I’d already read, along with all of the ones I hadn’t gotten to yet, knowing I was done for the day. Making my way to the desk, I handed them silently back to the librarian who smiled as she took them from me and began marking them off against the list to make sure I’d returned them all.

  Admittedly, I had thought about trying to keep the one with the article in it, but I knew that would have been considered stealing, something I’d sworn never to do again once Nicky and I managed to get away from the Shaws, so I stifled the urge.

  “They’re all here,” she smiled brightly. “Thank you for being so careful with them.”

  I nodded, unable to answer. Some of the oldest newspapers were on microfilm and microfiche, but I’d decided to try the ones that had been printed during my lifetime first, and then go further back if nothing interesting turned up. Something interesting had definitely turned up and it was life changing for at least one small part of the city, but I didn’t think that was what Ms. MacInnes had in mind.

  As I headed to the nearest bus stop, I wondered glumly how long I would have to wait.

  The sun was long gone and the only lights on the street were from the dim, sparsely populated streetlights. I didn’t own a watch and because I’d been so upset had failed to check the clock in the library so I settled down for what would in all probability be a long wait. Although I’d taken Driver’s Ed, passed the driving test, and received my license earlier that year, there was no way I could afford any type of car, so the bus was my only means of transportation.

  Sitting on the bench, head bowed with the weight of what I’d just read, waiting for the bus, faint noises began penetrating the fog that had settled around my brain. My ears pricked up in spite of my stupor, and rising to investigate I moved around the behind bench and into the bushes pausing ever so often in order to determine the direction.

  At first, I thought it might be a hurt animal since the area was mostly bushes and trees but, as I got closer, I could hear muted voices as well as muffled cries.

  Creeping closer, peering through the bushes—there wasn’t much light penetrating the dense brush—I could make out four figures…one lying on the ground, two kneeling beside the one on the ground, and a fourth figure standing over them all.

  The figure on the ground was writhing and kicking, making angry muffled noises while each of the two kneeling figures had a hold of an arm. The wildly kicking feet seemed to be causing them some distress.

  As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light I could see that, with the exception of the captive on the ground, they were all masked.

  “Hold her down you idiots,” a hissing voice carried to me in the bushes. “That’s the third time she’s kicked me.”

  “We’re trying, but she’s a wildcat,” one of them whined.

  “Yeah I’ve got scratches all over me,” the third complained.

  I didn’t wait to hear anymore.

  With the odds being three to one I wasn’t going to announce myself and wait for a fair fight and, even though the woman—from the ‘hold her down’ comment as well as the skirt and spiked heels the victim was wearing I assumed the figure on the ground to be a woman—seemed to be defending herself valiantly, I didn’t think she would be able to continue to fight them off long enough for me to find a phone and call the police.

  I hope they’re as incompetent as they look, I thought a split second before moving in.