WRECKED: CHOSEN FEW MC - BOOK TWO: OUTLAW BIKER/ALPHA ROMANCE Read online

  “Well, I’m not a big fan of the government, of any government, but even I think Innes is way over the top in his fears that they are out to get him. According to his blogs and his comments on other people’s blogs, he doesn’t trust anything the government does, and rails against all of it. I think he considers freeways a sign of encroaching world government.” He tapped on the table. “I must say that he never even hints at taking action beyond voting the bastards out.”

  “So he sounds harmless enough.”

  “Agreed. Spouting rather unhinged bullshit is not inherently anything but annoying. The FBI’s concern is that he might take some of his own advice and hatred, and direct physical action against the authority figures he feels are persecuting him.”

  The meaningful look the man gave her didn’t leave any room for doubting that he saw her in that category. “So is he dangerous?”

  “He’s volatile, we know that much. All the files suggest is that they, the FBI, think that if he does go entirely off the rails he has the means to become a major problem. According to the government that hates him, he has been in and out of mental institutions, which is part of the way the government is persecuting him, trying to discredit him and his beliefs. All this makes him what they like to call a person of interest. They think he is potentially dangerous, although it isn’t clear who, other than politicians, would be at risk from him.”

  “It all comes down to him being officially a whacko, but not necessarily dangerous,” Luc said. “He’s a small fish. Not really big on their radar at all. It’s likely his file only pops up whenever they do, as Louis said: ‘Round up the usual suspects.’”

  “Casablanca,” Melanie said.

  “I like this girl. Anyway, whenever anything happens in his neighborhood, his file will pop up, they take a look, maybe run by his house and say, ‘not him’ and go home.”

  Melanie felt a sadness. “So we learned a lot, but can’t use any of it.”

  “And we did find a way to use any of it,” Greg said, “…if he was busted for shouting antigovernment propaganda, you’d gain nothing in helping Brian. He’d go off to foster care and be lost in the system. Trust me on this. Child Protective Services doesn’t serve the children well, nor does it protect them. It usually just changes the threat.”

  “You sound like you have something against them,” she said.

  “I do.” His face turned red. “I have personal experience that I hold against them. I was a child they were supposed to protect. Going from a mother who is a neglectful drunk to a foster home where I was beaten never struck me as an improvement.”

  “Greg, I didn’t know.”

  “The kids don’t get listened to, so people don’t know. Kids are imaginative and have crazy thoughts, don’t you know.”

  “That was years ago. And some children do exaggerate and even lie.”

  “Sure. And so do some adults.” Greg let a long breath. “I apologize. I don’t usually get into that black space. But let’s leave the authorities out of this unless we have some idea that Innes is really a danger to his son. If he goes nuts and all he does is knock off an elected official, I promise I’ll try to feel bad about that, but I’d have to fake my feelings.”

  She put her hand on his. “Okay.” She said it calmly, reassuringly, but she felt anything but calm. “But if you didn’t want me to do anything, why did you want me to know this?”

  “It always seems that we should know as much as possible about someone like that. Knowledge is power, some teacher told me years ago. I always thought that made sense.”

  “But only if you act on that knowledge.”

  “Acting before you should can be as dangerous as not acting when you should. There’s a balance.”

  She understood. She agreed. But part of her was screaming that she should act. The question was what to do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The troubling information that Greg and Luc had uncovered about Malcolm Innes, coupled with Brian’s obvious growing disconnect from the classroom and his diminished enthusiasm for almost everything, had Melanie on edge. The idea that a kid should suffer because the adults around him couldn’t get their act together seemed wrong. As his teacher she felt a responsibility to him that went beyond any legal requirement. She never minded going the extra mile to help a child, but it drove her crazy when she felt her hands were tied.

  Now she had a student who needed help, but the problem was with the parent. Any outside attempt to do anything really useful that she could think of would likely just reinforce his father’s paranoia—it would probably make the situation even worse.

  Her plan to monitor Brian’s mental state wasn’t doing well. Attempts at casual conversation with him didn’t get too far. She’d ask, “How are things at home?” But he’d shrug or say “fine,” without any amplification, without giving her any insights.

  Doing something, even thinking of something else to do, took her attention away from other, equally deserving students. She couldn’t slack off on her full-time teaching role to focus on helping one student. It pained her.

  After a few days she got an idea. She gave the class a writing assignment.

  “I want you each to write a short essay on the most interesting thing going on at home,” she told them. “Spend the next half hour writing a little bit about anything that’s going on at home. Write it like you were telling it to a friend. It has to be real, not something you make up, and it doesn’t have to be a big deal. It could be your mom baking cookies, or a visit from a cousin, or something your pet does that you think is funny or clever. Whatever interests you or you think is important.”

  The idea seemed perfect. She’d not only get something out of Brian, but reading the papers would give her insight into the lives of the rest of the class as well. Most would be as trivial as she suggested—she hoped most would be.

  Every time she gave the kids an assignment of that sort it fascinated her to see how some of them attacked it eagerly while others seemed at a loss to think of a thing to say. She circulated through the room, coaching the ones who seemed to be blocked. The end of the half hour coincided with the end of the period, when they would all go off to gym and when the bell rang, the students scrambled to gather up their books and bags.

  “Leave your papers on my desk,” she called out, and they flowed by her desk, dropping their papers on it as they went out the door, talking and laughing in that happy way of children.

  Except for Brian.

  He remained in his chair glaring at her. The paper in front of him had two words written on it: “My father…”

  “Are you finding this a tough assignment, Brian?”

  His face remained expressionless.

  “Is it tough because you can’t think of anything interesting to write, or because you don’t want to write about your father at all?”

  He dropped his eyes and stared at the paper. “You are trying to trick me.”

  “Trick you?”

  “You know I’m not allowed to share any home stuff.”

  “I know you can’t share his ideas. This wasn’t about those at all. Why can’t you write about what you did? Maybe even a television program you liked or hated.”

  “My dad said I can’t talk or write about us. Not about anything.”

  “Why not? Is there something bad going on? Is there something happening that I shouldn’t know about?”

  He shrugged, making her heart sink. The posture contained a universe of pathetic hopelessness. Kids weren’t supposed to feel that way, as if the world was weighing down on them. Finally he drew a spiral on the page. “It’s just that he doesn’t think you need to know anything at all and it’s none of your business. If I tell you one thing, then you just want to know more. When I tell him about this assignment, he’ll think you are just snooping.”

  “Will you let me help?”

  “With what?”

  “With your father… with whatever you need help with.”

  He looked up and
she saw a flicker of emotion disturb his sullen expression. “You can’t. It’s none of your business. Now I have to get to gym or I’ll be late. I’m not supposed to get into trouble because that calls attention to me.”

  “I’ll make it all right. This is important.”

  “But you are paying attention to me, and that’s bad.”

  She could see that her attempt to coax him into talking, and even making an offer to help, only increased his stress. To put him at ease, she needed to back off. She grabbed a piece of paper and jotted a note, then handed it to him. “Don’t worry about the assignment. You can go to gym class, but don’t run in the hall. You don’t have to rush. Give the teacher this note—it says that I kept you after class for a few minutes. You won’t be in trouble.”

  There was desperation in the way he grabbed the note and ran out of the room, leaving Melanie staring at his paper and the two troublesome words Brian had written above the doodled spiral.

  “My father…”

  In some ways that probably summed up everything going on in his life. Whatever demons haunted Malcolm Innes, he was inflicting them on his son. She had to find a way to help him. If he was being physically hurt, she could call protective services and they’d see he was protected. That made her think of Greg’s condemnation of that service. His experience was outdated, probably an anomaly, but he was a smart, compassionate man. If he was right…

  Damn it.

  * * *

  For the rest of the week Melanie continued monitoring Brian as best she could. He wasn’t cheerful or outgoing, but he seemed stable. Now that he went straight home after classes, apparently so that his father would know she wasn’t brainwashing him even more than normal, she had to create opportunities for them to be alone together, in case he decided to talk. Certain that pushing wouldn’t help and might make him retreat further, she forced herself to bide her time.

  On Friday afternoon Melanie went to the office to hand in grade reports. On the way back to her desk, she found him standing in the hall outside of the classroom he was supposed to be in. “Why are you out here?” she asked.

  He winced visibly. “Mr. Affir was talking about something my dad talks about all the time. I couldn’t help asking him a question. It was something I’ve been wondering about, but I think he thought I was just being a smart… well, Mr. Affir got angry and told me I should be out here by myself for the rest of the period.”

  “What did you ask?”

  Brian shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “We are studying the Patriot Act and the way it helps the police and Homeland Security collect information on potential criminals. Since patriotism is about loyalty to your country, I asked him how spying on people was patriotic. Why should I trust a government that doesn’t trust me?”

  “This came from your father?”

  Brian shook his head. “There are discussions about it in some of his books.” He looked up at her and she saw he was looking for support. “The question is mine though, and I really wanted to hear why Mr. Affir didn’t agree, but he didn’t want to discuss it. Just like my father, I guess.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “Brian, it could be that a lot of the things in those books are right and seem sensible. No one has all the answers. I expect that you are right and Mr. Affir thought you were challenging him and his authority in front of the class.”

  Brian frowned. “I just wanted to know. You teachers always say there is no such thing as a stupid question, but apparently some get you in trouble.”

  Her heart went out to him. “I do understand. It’s confusing to have a lot of ideas thrown at you, here and at home, and you are smart enough to see that a lot of them contradict each other. But remember that adults are people and make mistakes. I think if we talked about it with Mr. Affir, he’d see he made one in this case. Would you like me to talk with him?”

  “No. I’m worried what my dad is going to do.”

  The confession startled her. “Worried? Did he threaten you?”

  “No!” He seemed surprised at the suggestion. “All he wants to do is protect me. But after the things Mrs. Turnbull said about the police and child services, he’s afraid that the authorities will take me away from him.”

  “As far as I know, that isn’t the case.”

  “He was planning to take me out of school and home school me, but then he decided that they wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Home schooling is perfectly legal.”

  “I know, but he thinks that because of his political ideas, if he does it, they’ll make up some reason, an excuse to take me away from him. They could use force. Homeland Security has done that before—taken kids by force from their parents.”

  “I don’t think…”

  He stared up at her, challenging her to deny what he knew was true. “I read all about what Homeland Security did in Waco,” he said calmly. “I don’t think they’d do something like that, but if they think my dad wants to keep me out of school for political reasons they might stop him.” Suddenly the boy sounded mature and sure of himself. “Even if he did school me himself, he’d be forced to use all the approved books and that’s part of what he wants to protect me from.”

  “Maybe he’s right. I don’t know what the rules are about homeschooling.”

  Brian wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and looked away. “I think he feels trapped. He’s upset about what we are being taught and doesn’t know what to do about it. He read the civics book I picked from the reading list for my report. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. When he finished the book, he went online to check facts and do some research. I don’t know what he found but it just made him more angry. He said he has to act soon.”

  Those last words sounded ominous. “What sort of action? Any idea?”

  “Something to let the world know what’s going on.”

  Melanie felt the urge to hug Brian, to tell him everything would be all right. Neither of those things was appropriate. Hugging older children was frowned on. The boy was taller than she was already. He’d be a teenager next year and kids were developing earlier. A hug could be misinterpreted by someone watching or even the boy himself. And she couldn’t honestly reassure him. She had no idea if things would be all right at all unless something happened to change things. Paranoia didn’t usually go away. “Do you know if he’s angry at any particular person?”

  “All the people who are trying to poison our minds—that’s what he said. He said he’s going to stop them.”

  “Them?”

  He shrugged. “The government. Probably you and Mrs. Turnbull, and all the teachers. I don’t really know who he meant or what he’s thinking… when he’s mad, a lot of what he says doesn’t make sense. Partly that’s because he is just talking to himself. I hear pieces of his thoughts.”

  “But you don’t have any idea what he intends to do—to stop us?”

  Brian shrugged. “No. Just that he thinks he knows how to send a message that will let the world know what is going on. He thinks most people are asleep and need a wakeup call.”

  “I wish I had some idea of what that meant.”

  Brian sighed. “Me, too. He’s online a lot. Maybe he’ll get a web site.”

  That didn’t seem likely. According to Luc and Greg, he already had a serious online presence and forums for his ideas. Melanie considered her options—she didn’t have many. That his father was in some political funk didn’t necessarily mean that the boy or anyone else was in any danger. Jumping the gun, getting the authorities involved and then having his father turn out to be a harmless whacko would destroy her credibility. It would make her seem foolish and irresponsible to Brian. It also would turn his father’s rant into a self-fulfilling prophecy. She was talking to Brian, pumping him for information, and if she used it against him, things would have gone exactly as he said.

  She felt helpless.

  “Would you do me a favor? I’d appreciate it if you and I talk a bit every day. Not a discussion. Don’t te
ll me what your father is reading or doing, just talk with me so you can let me know that things are still okay. If he is just angry, that’s none of my business, but if things change, if you ever feel that you are in any danger at all, I’ll find a way to help you. If you aren’t, no matter what your father wants to think or say, I won’t interfere.”

  The boy grinned weakly, his relief evident. “That sounds fair. I don’t think he’d like it though.”

  “All I ask is for you to let me know that things are okay, and I promise I won’t let him find out we are even talking about that.”

  Brian sighed. “I wish I had a biker uncle that thinks I’m great, like Carly does. That is so neat.”

  It occurred to her that Brian might talk to Greg. “She likes him.”

  “And that bike is amazing.”

  She thought of Greg introducing himself to her through a bike ride. If Greg was willing to ask Brian to go for a ride, that might be a way to help him open up. The trick would be getting Brian away from his father when school was out. That wouldn’t be easy.

  “It is a nice bike, and he does protect her, doesn’t he?” The idea of Greg protecting her did seem pleasant. “I guess we all want someone to protect us. I think he’d do anything for her.”

  “As much as she’ll let him. Carly doesn’t need a lot of protecting.”

  “I think you’re right. You’re pretty strong too.”

  “If I did have an uncle like that, I’d ask him to take me for a ride. A really, really long ride.” He looked wistful, imagining it. “I would ride and ride and wouldn’t ever come back.”

  That he had a child’s version of her current fantasy was somehow reassuring. “Well, we have to work with what we’ve got, Brian. And you do have me. Keep me up to date and I’ll help.”

  He smiled. “Thanks.”

  When she headed back to her desk she could see he was standing straighter. The sight made her feel better for a time.

  * * *

  At the end of the day Brian headed right home. When he waved goodbye he looked better, more upbeat than he had in some time. She had no illusions about it lasting. Brian wasn’t as strong as she encouraged him to believe. Who was? Putting up with his father’s ranting whenever he wasn’t at school would be enough to wear anyone down. At home, where he was supposed to be safe, and putting up with a constant barrage of anger and vitriol, was a cruelty.