Do Not Read This.

Chapter Three: Bonnie Meets Clyde

Chapter Three: Bonnie Meets Clyde

        Once again I was quickly herded into a police car after being rushed through a million officers who were protecting Laura and I from a million more reporters.

        I tried my best to ignore their antagonizing questions, but there are some things that just get to you.

        “Where’s your mother?”

        I ignored that

        “Where are you going to live now?”

        Easy to ignore a question you don’t know the answer to.

        “Are you two also terrorists?”

        We seemed to get that question a lot. It was easy to disregard.

        “Your father will probably be facing the death penalty. Any comments?”

        That was hardly a question. I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t even thinking of the death penalty as a possibility. It suddenly hit me that of course it was. Despite what everyone is saying and thinking, my father is not guilty and I know that. I don’t know how to prove it without causing other problems, but I know I can get him out of there. Wherever I end up, I have to find a way to help him. If I don’t, he’s going to die. No, he’s not going to die.

        They’re going to kill him.

        I was guided into my police car and Laura was guided to hers. When the doors closed, the reporter’s voices were almost perfectly muted. I was alone with the muffled voices congealing into one subdued scream.

        “So, is this one of the Richter kids or is she going to the group home?” The cop in the driver’s seat asked his partner.

        The officer in the passenger seat replied, but kept his face shoved in some news paper. “She’s going to the Richter.”

        The driver turned back and looked at me. “What the hell did you do?”

        “I didn’t do anything.” I said. I turned back to look at Laura’s car as we drove. They were a few cars behind and driving slowly, but she was basically right behind me.

        “You had to do something pretty bad.” The driving officer said. “They only take the dangerous kids to the Richter. Did you kill someone?”

        “No.” I said. “I don’t even know what the Richter is.”

        “It’s kind of like juvenile detention.” The passenger cop spoke still not looking at anyone or anything other than his paper. “They just aren’t allowed to call it that.”

        “Well, why are they sending me there?” I took an opportunity to turn back and look for Laura’s car. It was still right there behind us, but they continued driving very slowly.

        “Usually, they send you to the Richter if you did something and they’re sure you did it, but they can’t prove that you did it. They kind of just hold you there under some 'presumed dangerous' rule.” The driving cop said taking a sip of whatever drink he had beside him.

        “They can’t do that.” I said.

        "Yes, they can. It’s really only allowed because you’re provided with food and shelter and schooling. Also, if the cops think you’re dangerous, no one’s going to fight to get you back out into the world to kill again.”