He dropped his keys and cellphone on the counter and slammed his door shut, just like he did every night when he got home from work. He went right to the fridge and pulled out two beers, then sat down on his couch and began to drink from one. He didn't even like the taste of beer, but he was out of whiskey, bourbon and vodka… and he didn't feel like going to get more tonight.

He finished the first beer in five swallows, then began on the second. When it was half gone he set it down on his coffee table and went into his room. He undressed, went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and got in.

Showers just weren't the same anymore. He didn't feel dirty, sweaty, or like he needed one at all. But he got them anyway.

After his shower he changed into a plain white t-shirt and dark green boxers. He went back out into the living room, sat down on the couch, picked the remote up off of the coffee table and turned on his TV. He flipped the channels until he hit TVLand where they were playing a Cagney and Lacey marathon. Something about seeing that made him smile… which was something he didn't do very much anymore.

He picked up his beer and finished it off. He wanted more, but he didn't feel like getting up. Now, if he had vodka, then he'd get up. But not beer. It wasn't worth it.

He yawned and looked at his watch. It was a little past nine. He knew he should go to bed, but he didn't want to get up. His couch was comfortable enough so he'd just fall asleep there eventually.

He watched TV for a while, then he started to drift off. Just as he was about asleep, his cellphone rang. He remembered dropping it on the counter along with the keys as he came in, so he slowly got up and walked over to it.

He picked it up, looked at the caller ID, then pressed ignore. He let out a deep breath then decided, since he was already up, to get another beer.

As he walked back to his couch with his beer in hand, his phone began to ring again.

He groaned, set his beer down, and walked back to his phone.

He shook his head as he looked at the caller ID. He pressed the 'ignore' button again, then decided to just turn his phone off.

He, once again, went to his couch and laid down… this time, he fell asleep.

"Who is this?" A mid-thirties, blond haired woman with a British accent asked as she stared at a photo of a young man.

"That's Timothy McGee, Debby. He was put on trial for the rape and murder of a nineteen year old girl, Al-"

"Alli Fisher. Yes, I remember. Why him?"

"He was proven innocent… another man, Jeremy, admitted to doing it."

"Again I ask, why him? You think Tomithy did do it? That he framed this other man?"

He shook his head. "No, he didn't do it. Jeremy framed McGee. The man behind bars is the rapist and murderer of that young girl."

"Mr. Smith, I don't know why you're here, and I don't think you do either, so-"

"I know exactly why I'm here."

"Then spit it out. I came in very late for this meeting. My time is precious… and very expensive."

"I've got one million dollars in my car. It's yours… if you kill Timothy McGee."

Debby's eyes widened. "You idiot! You left one million dollars in your car? What are you thinking?"

"No one knows it's there, plus the car is a crappy piece of junk. No one would want to take that thing… Thieves would rather steal a bike than that car."

"That doesn't matter. If you are important enough to have one million dollars, then you are important enough to be followed. Go get it. Now!"

"Alright, alright!"

Mr. Smith went out to his car, then returned to the office a couple of minutes later with a briefcase.

"Now, back on the subject. Why on earth would I kill this McGee man. He did nothing wrong."

"Listen, all I know is that a million dollars was delivered to me after talking to Jeremy the other day. He called again and said that there's more where that came from. The next day, four million dollars had been put into my bank account… I can't kill a man, I told him that. He told me to come to you."

"How did he know about me?"

"I don't know, probably from some other guys in prison."

Debby leaned forward, resting her arms on her desk. "One million dollars?"

"It's all yours, if you kill McGee."

She thought for a moment. "I've never killed a completely innocent man before. I'm not sure."

"Well, when you think about it," Mr. Smith replied, "None of us are completely innocent."

Debby looked at him, and her lips slowly curled up into a smile. "You are right about that, Mr. Smith… Okay, I will accept this offer, under two conditions."


"I get paid one million now, and one million once the job is done."

"O- Okay, I can do that."

"And, we keep this local. I just got back from a long, eventful trip and I don't intend to fly for a while."

"Timothy McGee no longer lives in Washington DC."

"Then we get him here."

Mr. Smith wiped the sweat from his forehead. "How?"

"You tell me."

"W- Well, he does have some former co-workers here. I heard they were all pretty close."

Debby smiled. "There we go. You get me the names of the people he worked with, and I'll take it from there. Understand?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Now, you don't get off easy with this. Just because I'm doing the killing doesn't mean that you don't have to do any work."

"Wh- What do I do?"

"You will do whatever I ask, whenever I ask it. And you won't question it. If you do question it, I kill you… cause, as you say, none of us are completely innocent."

"Whatever y- you say, I'll- I'll do it," He replied. He knew it was wrong, but the chance of having three million dollars was too good to pass up.

Debby stood up and held out her hand for Mr. Smith to shake. "We have a deal."

He woke up to a horrible, stale taste in his mouth. 'Should have remembered to brush my teeth,' He thought as he got up.

He stretched his tired and achy muscles, then he made his way to his kitchen. He stopped before getting there, picked up his phone, and turned it on.

He sighed when he saw four new voicemails on there. He punched in his password then turned the phone on speaker so he wouldn't have to carry it around.

"It's me, Timmy. I just wanted to see how you're doing. Call me back when you can."

"It's me again. I don't know why you're not answering your phone… Well, I don't know why you would either. You haven't answered me in the last five months, why would you start now? Just… please call me."

"Timmy, it's Abby, for the third time. I don't know why I keep calling you. No, I haven't been drinking… nothing besides Caf-Pow anyway. I had five of those today. It was a long day at work. I just… I miss you, Tim. Please, please, please call me. Bye, Timmy."

"This is Jonathan McDonald calling from You Win Big. You have won twelve million dollars!… Just kidding, McGoo. It's Tony. I just got a call from Abby. You know how she gets after she calls you and you don't answer. She made me promise I'd call you, and you know she's gonna check my phone tomorrow to make sure I did, so…" There was a sigh, "Could you just call her, Tim? Or text her? Anything! She really misses you… We all do… but you didn't hear that from me. Later, McVoicemail. That's a new one I just came up with… I probably won't hear from you later. Whatever. Bye."

Tim let out a deep breath as he pulled another beer out of his fridge. He opened it and took one sip, then cringed at the taste. "Definitely getting vodka today."

Someone really needs to give me a name/number for a Writers Anonymous club thing. I've seriously got problems. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter of the sequel to Accused. I got about 40 replies from the last chapter of Accused for me to write a sequel, so your wish is my command...

Updates will be more irregular than usual, just until I finish one of my other stories, then it should become more, well, regular.

Review and let me know what you think :) Thanks!