“They’ll kill them,” Martin said. “I would.”
“And there lies the problem. We aren’t fixing a problem by spreading them out, we’re creating it. It isn’t fair to the Packs to expect them to take people they don’t want to have.”
“We can’t just kill them, Dad. They haven’t broken laws that could sentence them to death. Some of them are only teenagers.” He leaned back against a tree. “Still, you’re right. I don’t want them either.”
“And if we don’t take them in the Packs…”
“They go rogue, and we create even bigger problems. Without strong leadership, and hating what the Packs did to them…”
“And now you see why I have a headache,” he said. “I’m heading back to my room and getting some sleep. If you’re staying up, you figure out a way to retrain these men who got so fucked up by Todd.”
Martin grabbed his arm, the idea was radical, but it could work. He held his dad in place while he started to piece it together. “Training,” he said. “That’s it. They need to be retrained, but NOT in the Packs. Let the Council do it.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked around. “This place has training facilities, rooms, kitchens, everything you would need for a boot camp and it isn’t on any Alpha’s territory anymore. Leave the men here, but have Council enforcers, aided by volunteers from the Packs, turn it into a camp to reform the Pack members who aren’t accepted. Give them warrior training, discipline, counseling and instruction. Let them prove themselves worthy, and THEN allow them to apply to a Pack for membership.”
“And if they can’t be reformed?”
“They stay here, the Council’s problem. Keep the prison here as well, that way no Pack has to hold men on their territory. It won’t be a Pack, it will be a camp. No one leaves until they can satisfy their new Alpha they are a changed person.” He was getting excited by the prospect, and Charles was seeing the wisdom in his proposal.
“It’s a hell of an idea,” Charles said, suddenly not as tired as he once was. “We should make a formal proposal in the morning to the Council and the Alphas.”
“I’ll need help, presentations aren’t my thing,” Martin said.
Charles just laughed. “You’ll get used to it. Come on, let’s grab a meeting room and some beers and work this out.” They walked off, grabbing a few others along the way, and entered the Pack House with a bit of hope.
—
Rea sat up in her hospital bed, thankful that she had been allowed some of her art supplies. Her shoulder and arm still hurt, her jaw was still wired shut and her head was still a little foggy from the drugs they were giving her, but she could still paint. The tubes of acrylic paint were in a box at her side, her brushes and water on the bedside table. She held the canvas on her knees, thankful they were no longer restraining her to the bed. She could hold her palette in her left hand, resting against the cast. The art gave her something to focus on between therapy sessions, and she needed that desperately. Visitors had been strictly limited, she had no phone or television, and none of the staff would tell her anything about what was happening.
She was nearly done, the scene from her dream was coming to life on the two-by-two-foot canvas. She was touching up the lines and shadows when the door opened. Looking up, she expected to see the orderly, but she didn’t expect to see who he was pushing in on a wheelchair. “CHIEF CLARKE!” She wanted to jump out of bed and hug him, but they’d misinterpret that and lock her down. She smiled widely and put her brush in the water, then set the palette aside.
“Hello, Rea. It’s good to see you again.” He was wheeled up closer to the bed, but not close enough. The orderly stood back to watch as Rea reached across with her paint-stained hand. He wheeled himself closer and took it gently in his own. “I pulled some strings to see you, I wanted to talk about what happened and I thought you might want to know some things too.”
She nodded as she tried to speak clearly, she’d had practice speaking without moving her jaw and it was not that bad. “I don’t remember anything after you were shot,” she said. “They are working on it with me, we even tried hypnosis, but it’s all a blank.”
“I don’t have good memories of it either,” he said. “My wife says I need to stop being a target.” His left thigh was still bandaged. “The good news is that it is over. The two men who tried to take you are dead, and everyone else is all right.” He didn’t mention the APB out on the driver, mainly because they had few leads. The SUV had been found burned out, they didn’t have a good photo and no witnesses. They knew he was no longer in town, though.
“You got shot,” Rea replied. “Jenny was nearly killed, and Mom was hurt.”
“Jenny is back home, she’ll be fine. She’s been calling your Mom every day, asking when she can visit you. Keep working hard on getting better, Rea. If you show enough improvement, you’ll get visiting hours again, and you can’t want to stay in this place.”
“I don’t want to black out either,” she said. “What happened after I blacked out? No one will tell me.”
“You were frightened and ran,” he said. “You did well in that situation. Dropping to your knees gave me a clear shot and I killed the man who was holding you. You never looked back, you ran out of the room before anyone else showed up. We all thought you had bolted, but you were just hiding in a bathroom.”
“I didn’t hurt anyone?”
“You weren’t all there, Rea, and it wasn’t your fault. The officers and the staff tried to calm you down, but when you made a run for it, they tackled you and the Doctor gave you a shot. Nobody got hurt, and no one blames you. You’re sick, Rea, and we all want you to get better.”
“Mom?”
“She took a blow to the face but was fine.”
“Thank God,” Rea said before she let her head fall back to the pillows. “Why wouldn’t they just tell me that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe they were hoping you would remember more, or afraid you would blame yourself. That’s why I came, to make sure you didn’t. Kidnapping victims aren’t at fault, these men set their sights on you, and thanks to Jenny spotting them, we were able to stop them. Case closed.” He looked over at the canvas. “So what are you working on?”
She picked up the canvas and showed it to him. A pair of wolves was standing on a rock outcropping at the edge of a pine forest; the larger one was grey, black and white in coloring, while the smaller was a striking rust color. In the distance, a herd of elk could be seen. Other wolves were spreading out along the treeline. “It’s not that good,” she said.
“Are you kidding me? I’d take that in my living room any day.” He looked at it carefully, she had real talent. “Getting ready for the hunt. I like wolves, you must too.”
She nodded, replying in short sentences she would show before erasing and writing again. “I started painting them years ago, I did a school project, watched some documentaries, then I started reading about them. I still dream about them, and this scene was in one of my dreams. It’s not like I have a lot of models in here to paint.”
He laughed. “Well, I’d buy it. You’re good, Rea. You’re a good person, kind and brave. The problems you have can’t change who you really are.”
She snorted a little before responding. “Maybe, but I can’t trust myself, so I can’t blame others for not trusting me either. Even when this is under control, nobody will trust me, and they shouldn’t. Do you know what I was most scared about when I woke up from the accident?” He shook his head no. “I was terrified that I had hurt my only friend. I bet you thought the same thing.”
He couldn’t deny it, they all had blamed her until the evidence finally pointed another direction. “You just get better, Rea. The doctors will find a way to control this, and you can have a life again. In the meantime, keep painting. I’d like to see more.”
“Thank you, Chief. I’m sorry you got shot.”
*************************