Accusations Part Seven
Rated: PG

“He was most insistent about seeing you,” MacGyver’s attorney Bob Farr said, leading Pete Thornton through the narrow, winding corridors of the prison towards the visitor’s area. “Prison staff report that he is highly agitated, frightened, and confused and can’t seem to remember the reasons for his imprisonment.”

“Well, this isn’t a good development at all,” Pete said, concern furrowing his brow.

“True, but it could provide us with an adequate insanity defense that would hold up in court. I could arrange for another psychological evaluation of his current mental state to determine his competency to stand trial.”

Pete stopped, looking at the legal counsel he had hired to take on MacGyver’s case. He was very competent, businesslike and professional, one of the best defense lawyers in the state, immaculately groomed and wearing a perfectly tailored suit that he imagined must have been quite expensive, draping over his long body and accentuating its contours flatteringly.

“No one wants to maintain MacGyver’s innocence more than I do,” he said, “but I know him. He’s not insane. There must be some other explanation for his wild, irrational behavior.”

Bob shrugged. “Then if you can find one, by all means do so,” he said. “I am merely stating the facts as I see them.”

They continued walking until they reached the heavily guarded visitor’s area, surrounded by electronically locked reinforced doors, their tiny windows barred with wire mesh. The sour odor of rank, stale urine hung in the air, and the guards glared forbiddingly at him. An immense sadness filled him as he looked around the stark, hostile environment. MacGyver didn’t belong in there, and he was going to do everything in his power to fight for his release.

“Are you going to visit him too?” He asked.

“He asked to see you alone,” Bob said. “I was just acting as your escort.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll call you later to update you on the particulars of the case.”

“I appreciate that, Bob. Thank you.”

Bob nodded politely and left. Pete didn’t wait for him to leave completely before undergoing the security procedures to reach the visitor’s area, walking through metal detectors and being searched for any contraband or prohibited items. Once he was cleared, he sat down on a creaky, uncomfortable plastic chair that faced a pane of bulletproof glass, a phone on either side for communication. The wait for MacGyver to appear was unbearably long, and he grew anxious, wondering what had happened to his friend, wanting to see him, hoping he was all right and safe. A buzzer sounded, and at last MacGyver entered, wearing drab standard prison issue, his wrists and ankles shackled, connected by a chain that looped around his waist, restricting his movements and causing him to shuffle and hobble as he was led into the visitor’s area by another unfriendly, armed guard. A troubled, frightened expression was still in his dark eyes, and he looked pale and exhausted, his hair tousled, stubble growing on his unshaven face. Pete hated to see him that way, chained up as if he were a wild, dangerous criminal when he knew he was innocent.

“Stop here,” the guard said gruffly to him.

MacGyver complied, staring blankly. More guards entered, carefully removing the shackles, watching him closely to make sure he wouldn’t make any sudden, violent moves against them in attack, their hands positioned on their weapons, prepared to use them if necessary in self defense. Much to their relief he remained still and docile as they finished removing the shackles, and they left the room, locking it behind them. When MacGyver saw Pete, he wasted no time, rushing over to his chair and picking up the phone.

“God Pete, am I glad to see you,” he said, placing his hand on the glass, reaching out for Pete as far as the barrier would allow him. “Please…tell me what’s going on. Why am I in here?”

“You really don’t know? You don’t remember?” Pete asked him.

“No,” MacGyver said, shaking his head, a lost expression on his face.

Pete sighed, closing his eyes and breathing heavily into his end of the phone.

“What is it? Tell me…”

“MacGyver,” Pete said, reopening his tired, bloodshot eyes and staring at his friend, “you’ve been accused of a brutal rape and murder of a college coed.”

MacGyver’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No,” he said. “How can that be? Tell me you don’t believe the charges. Do you?”

“Of course I don’t, but the evidence against you is overwhelming, some would say indisputable,” Pete said. “Your DNA was found all over the crime scene.”

“You know I would never do something like that. You know me. It has to be a setup of some kind. It has to be a mistake.”

“A rather elaborate one, too,” Pete said, running through the rather lengthy list of enemies MacGyver had in his mind, trying to imagine who would have the capability to pull off something like that on such a sophisticated level, so that the evidence was conclusive and would be enough to indict him. “Whoever did this went to great lengths to implicate you, to place you at the scene. It’s going to be difficult to prove in court, but your attorney is working on it.”

MacGyver stared down at the stained tile floor. “I don’t…understand…how this could have happened…” he said.

“MacGyver,” Pete said, his eyes moistened with tears, his voice quavering with emotion. “If you’re convicted of this crime…well, the nature and details of it are so grisly…you could be sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole, but…they’re also considering the death penalty.”

MacGyver looked back up at Pete, sorrow in his dark eyes, on the verge of tears. “I just…I can’t believe it…” he said. “I can’t believe this is happening…one nightmare has just ended for me, and now I’ve awakened in another one, except this time it’s real…”

“I’m not following you. What are you talking about?”

MacGyver shook his head. “Forget it,” he said.

“No, come on, now. There’s nothing you can’t tell me. You know that. You can confide in me. I’m your friend. I will stand by you, no matter what you have to say. Now, tell me what it is. What’s bothering you?”

“I had a dream, or at least I think it was a dream,” MacGyver said. “The details of it seemed so real, as if I was really there. I dreamt I was…back in the time of the Puritans, during the witch trials. They accused me of being a sorcerer, and there was nothing I could do to defend myself against the allegations. No one believed in my innocence, except for a man named William, who looked a lot like you, and his daughter, Emily, but there was little they could do to help me. You see, I had saved her life, and they…” he paused when he saw a strange, shocked expression on Pete’s face. “What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked.

“That was the name of the victim,” Pete said. “Emily. It’s just such a strange and eerie coincidence, almost as if there is a connection somehow. You’re saying you don’t recall being arrested and charged, you don’t remember being imprisoned without possibility of bail, considered too dangerous for release back into society, to be held while awaiting trial?”

“No, I’m telling you…I was in this other time, also accused of a crime, also sent to my death…then I awoke here, in the present, in prison. That’s all I remember.”

Pete carefully considered his extraordinary account, knowing what a confusing and terrifying situation it must have been for him. “Maybe you were trying to save her life,” he said. “Maybe you witnessed what really happened or you found her afterward and tried to help. That would explain how some of your DNA ended up at the scene.”

“But…why can’t I remember? Why did it seem as if I ended up transported back to the time of the Puritans?”

“Perhaps that is how your mind chose to cope with the traumatic situation, operating in a dissociative state of some kind,” Pete said, having been delivered enough psychological terminology in the past few days from MacGyver’s lawyer in preparation for a possible insanity defense, feeling as if he were now a psychiatric professional himself. “I must admit that you did seem to be a little out of it when they brought you in, and it would make sense. What happened to that poor young woman…well, it’s just far too gruesome and awful to describe. I know you would never do something so horrific to another human being. You must have tried to help her and her condition was just too shocking for your mind to process normally, or someone did indeed try to frame you. Those are the only explanations I can think of for the events that occurred that night, and the two best possible defenses your attorney is working on to exonerate you. Either he will find enough evidence to the contrary to prove your innocence and show that someone else was involved, setting you up, or…he might try the insanity defense as a last resort.”

“But I’m not crazy, you know that.”

“Yes I do, but incarceration in a mental hospital would be preferable to you spending the rest of your life in prison, your life endangered by the rest of the population’s violent offenders. Even now, I worry about your safety. The longer you spend time in here, the greater your chances become that the other prisoners might retaliate, beating you in some vicious manner—or far worse.” He cringed, not wanting to mention sexual violation. “So far, your attorney has been successful in arguing for and arranging to keep you separate from the general prison population, but he might not be able to keep it that way for long. You don’t belong in here, not in such a brutal, hostile place. You don’t deserve this harsh brand of punishment. We both know that. I know an injustice has been committed against you. I know you’re innocent. But there’s just not much I can do at this point, unfortunately. Your fate is in your lawyer’s hands, and if he can reduce the severity of your sentence by having you remanded to a mental institution, then it’s better than having you here.”

“I would still be considered guilty, though,” MacGyver said sadly, thinking about the permanent brand of the devil that Thomas had seared into his skin back in that different time, forever marking him as an agent of evil, in league with the devil. “I would still be labeled a rapist and murderer—just insane, not in full possession of my faculties. My reputation would suffer and never recover. I could never to return to my work, to my life.” More tears filled his eyes. He looked pleadingly at Pete. “You have to clear my name completely of this charge, prove my innocence beyond a reasonable doubt. That is the only way I’m ever going to get out of this, the only way I’m going to survive.”

“I know, but it isn’t going to be easy,” Pete said. He sighed, tears of tremendous pity filling his eyes for his friend. He reached up and touched the glass, placing his hand right where MacGyver’s palm was pressing on the other side, the closest approximation to physical contact they were allowed, the glass cruelly dividing them.

MacGyver nodded tearfully. “We can do it, Pete,” he said. “I know it. Unlike the time of the Puritans, we have the law and justice on our side. I can’t be convicted without a fair and impartial trial by a jury of my peers. That’s our advantage.”

“If only you could remember what happened,” Pete said. “If you could, it would greatly help your case. Just…try, Mac—not for me, but for you. For your innocence. For your freedom and ultimate acquittal.”

“I will if I can, but everything seems so vague to me, still so unreal, the details sketchy at best.”

“You have to remember,” Pete said. “Do all that you can. Please. I can’t bear to see you in here when I know there has to be a reasonable, sane explanation for what happened.”

MacGyver sighed despondently. About the last thing he felt was sane or reasonable, especially after waking up in a modern prison cell after being transported back to the time of the Puritans with no recollection of what happened or how it happened. He didn’t want to admit it, but for about the first time in his life, he was truly scared, never feeling more vulnerable or isolated in his life. He broke down into sobs, no longer able to contain himself.

“Get me out of here, Pete, please…” he said.

Heartbroken over seeing his usually strong, confident friend that way, pleading and sobbing like a lost, frightened child, reduced to the role of prisoner, his freedom denied to him, Pete felt his own composure begin to crack, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“I will, Mac,” he said. “Just hang in there as best as you can, okay? We’ll figure this out together. Everything will work out, I promise.”

To be continued…

poor MacGyver, another wonderful read.

Oh man. And this chapter reminds me one more time why I love your stories so much, MacsChick! Never saw that one coming! Awesome! Poor Pete. He's gonna grow green hair thanks to MacGyver

Thanks for another intersting chapter, MacsChick! We wub you!