Treasure

Charles walked out of the indoor training field, site of the floggings and executions. Ahead of him, Alpha Martin was walking with the families of the two women taken from their Pack, one eleven years ago, one five. Both were still back home and dealing with the effects of their enslavement. It would be a long time before things got back to normal.

The Council had not left; in fact, the European members had joined them. Alphas and senior leaders from every Pack in the world were in attendance now. The liquidation of the Pack was the main topic, but even that wasn’t easy. Generations of teaching had to be unlearned. There were young men here who thought such abuse was acceptable. Moving them into a new Pack would not be wise.

There would be enough problems absorbing the widows, the women, and the children into the fold. Of the two hundred and eighty-seven werewolves who made up the Pack just a week ago, about one hundred and ninety remained after the executions, imprisonments, freeing of the slaves, and the suicides of the widows. That meant each Pack had to take around a dozen people, and that created the problem.

The easy way to disperse them done first; the Pack members were allowed to meet with leaders of Packs they were interested in, and in turn, the Alphas could interview them. They would then sign up with a first and second choice of where they wanted to go. Most asked for placement in nearby Packs, which caused some problems as they had more people wanting in than their share.

No Alpha wanted the thirty-two younger men between ten and twenty-five. Training them to respect women would be difficult. What did you do with a young man who thought women who weren’t mates could and should be used to satisfy their needs and bear children? How could you bring a young man who had used sex slaves for release into a Pack where those same girls were now free?

“What are you thinking about, Dad?” Martin had sent the others ahead and pulled his father to the side. As a retired Alpha, he could not vote, but Martin depended on him for counsel.

“We can’t send the rapists to the same Packs as the victims,” he said as he looked at the crowd leaving the building.

“Those that deserve punishment are getting it.”

“Yes, but then what? Give them a year in prison or a flogging, but who takes them? Us? Would you expect our two to sit and eat dinner with men who used them like that?” Martin shook his head no. “And what happens if one of those girls finds a mate in our Pack? Should she have to look at reminders of her slavery? What will happen when her mate figures out those men fucked her against her will?”

“They’ll kill them,” Martin said. “I would.”

“And there lies the problem. We aren’t fixing a problem by spreading it 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 we can’t fix them?”

“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 training camp. No one leaves until they can satisfy their next Alpha that they are a changed person.” He was getting excited by the prospect. Charles saw 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, and her head was still a little foggy from the drugs they were giving her, but she had her art to pass the time. Tubes of acrylic paint were in a box at her side, her brushes in a cup of 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 were strictly limited, she had no phone or television, and none of the staff would tell her anything about what was happening in the outside world.

Rea was putting finishing touches on this one. The scene from her dream was coming to life on the two-by-two-foot canvas. She was fixing the lines and shadows when the door opened. Looking up, she expected to see the orderly. Instead, she saw a friend in 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 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 moved 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.”

“I don’t remember anything after he shot you,” she said, her speech had improved with practice. Her jaw would remain wired shut for another two weeks. “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 had a bandage on it. “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 men abandoned and burned the SUV, and they didn’t have a good photo or witnesses. They knew he was no longer in town, though.

“You got shot,” Rea replied. “Jenny almost died, 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. You can’t want to stay in this place.”

“I don’t want to blackout 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. The Doctor gave you a shot. Nobody got hurt, and no one blames you. You’re sick, Rea. 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 here; 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 foraged in a clearing. Other wolves were spreading out along the treeline. “It’s not that good,” she whispered.

“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. “I started painting them years ago. I did a school project, watched some documentaries, and 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 are.”

She snorted a little before responding. “Maybe, but I can’t trust myself. 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.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t shoot him faster,” he replied. “Take care.” The orderly wheeled him out of the room, and she sat there for a few minutes just thinking about what he said. He didn’t blame her, and that surprised her a little. Everyone always blamed her, and they were right. She couldn’t be trusted.

Finally, she picked up her brush and dried it off. The painting finished an hour later. On the back, she wrote a note. “With love and appreciation to Chief Clarke, my hero. Treasure Olson, 2016.”

She set it against the table to dry; she would give it to him if he stopped in again. Cleaning her supplies, she had everything put away before her late morning appointment. She threw herself into her therapy with renewed enthusiasm.