The Whisper Box Read Free

smoke, he could see it too -- he must have been leaning against the other side of the tree. Shaking hysterically now, he was more scared than ever before.
    The conversation continued. “Yes sir, you just go make your speech. Give the people what they want. I'll take care of everything else. I'll call you in the morning when it's all taken care of.”
    Another momentary pause heightened the suspense until the voice started again, “If you need me just beep me from the outside line. I gotta' go, it fuckin' smells in these woods.”
    Jason’s mind raced now, unsure of which fear belonged in the forefront. It was only when he heard the footsteps again, moving further in the distance that he felt safe. How long had it been since he had left Jake to cover the speech? Both logical and rational thoughts; the third one scared the hell out of him. Too far-fetched to believe, but the man on the phone told the person “to go make his speech.” Surely, there the man wasn’t speaking to Howard Farnsworth. Or was he? Staring at the ground considering his next move, Jason breathed in and out slowly to gather himself.
    Scanning the earth for a large leaf, he knew one would have to do for today. Try as he might to calm his nerves, the young reporter's heart still pounded with fear. If the man on the phone was still in the area and saw Jason walk out of the woods there was no telling what would happen.
    Finishing his business with the leaf, he slowly fastened his pants, turned cautiously with tilted head from behind the tree to examine the area. No one in sight, he leaned his head back towards the right side of the tree when he saw him. Standing on the side of the dirt road next to an unmarked black Lincoln, Jason could only see him from shoulders up - again on the cell phone, but too far to hear anything. Taking the phone from his ear, he flicked the cigarette to the ground before sliding into the driver’s seat. The door slammed shut and he sped off.
    Jason let out a sigh of relief. Again he thought about the conversation he had just overheard. His thoughts immediately dissipated when he remembered Jake, standing in a field waiting for his reporter. Jason was a writer for The Alabama Sun for some time now. He had been begging the local television station, which also owned the newspaper, for a spot on the local news for years. Today was his first opportunity because Stan Chesterfield was attending a family member's funeral in Arkansas -- he was blowing it.
    Jason was to do a simple introduction as the future President walked to the podium; then the rest would be Jake filming clips of the presumed next President speaking to his constituents. Jason broke into a sprint towards the crowd thinking he could find Jake within minutes. Crossing the dirt road, he hit the wave of people again. As he entered the crowd a voice rang above the rest introducing the senator. If Jason did not find Jake in less than a minute, the shot would be ruined and his first television-reporting job would be a failure. What excuse would he use? How would he explain it to his peers? Not to mention, he was letting Jake down. This was as big a job for Jake as it was for Jason.
    As Jason was picturing vivid thoughts, he failed to see the man with the camera in his direct path. The camera struck Jason above the eye and opened a gash. Blood spit out across his face and onto his white shirt and blue tie. Yelling now, the slightly stunned stranger stood flailing arms to onlookers. The verbal abuse went unheard as Jason tried to gather thoughts and feel for the gash in his forehead. There was no way Jason could go “on the air” now. Even though a number of people gathered to stare, no one offered help. The cameraman continued to yell. Jason wanted to punch him so badly he could barely restrain himself, but he knew the anger was warranted.
    Though embarrassed, he could not stop thinking about the conversation in the woods. The man on the phone could only have been speaking