Wanted
1
1 month earlier
Hendrick Alinson, FBI Number One wanted person in the United States, the person who people feared, a name which brought upset, anger and utter terror to more people than had heard his name. The man was said to be pure evil. He had killed women and children for fun, he had hunted men like foxes, and he was practically invisible.
To those naive, the man was a legend, to those who were smart, he meant certain death. Reports had said only one person had lived an encounter with the man, and that Alinson had not been seen since. Speculations from the New York times said the man had killed him, and the police covered it up.
Stupid.
Ridley Chaucer was smarter than that. He knew that someone like Henrick Alinson, the town legend, would not have been so stupid as to let an amateur catch him. It would not happen.
Ridley, a twenty one year old college student, studied criminals in his spare time. For those who asked, thinking the habit was weird albeit interesting, he would say it was research, that he wanted to be a Psychological Profiler, but that he knew would be a lie. Though he enjoyed understanding the minds of such people, he did not want to work for the police. Since the age of about six, Chaucer’s father had taught him not to trust cops and now, fifteen years later, he had learnt one thing. Neither he nor the cops much liked each other’s company.
Reputation would say he would suggest that Ridley Chaucer was a major criminal, and as a victim of bullying, members of his high school had said he himself had killed people by the age of eight, though none of them truly believed it. Ridley’s father, Norman Chaucer was known for his part in the drugs trade, and that the man had rented out his wife to make an extra buck on the side. Yet his son, and only child knew this to be true, and hated his father for it.
Despite his fathers demands that he join the, wrongly named, family business, Ridley had decided to take a college route, get a MBE and move on from what his father had wanted. He was going to be a lawyer, and old man Chaucer had not been impressed.
What can you do?
Nothing. Ridley Chaucer had always been one who knew he would follow his dreams, one who did not care what people thought of him, one who did not care about his appearances. Unlike his father, Ridley had not tried to fit in with the people with whom he associated. Though his family had money, not entirely through inheritance, he did not seem fazed with the need to dress smartly, a tie would only annoy him when he was home.
He was of course well spoken, as any privately educated person would be, and a fair argument could be that anyone who was native tongue to the country they lived should be well spoken. It outraged him, every time he would meet a child from another country, not just immigrants, but vacationers, tourists from European countries, France, Italy and many more, they could often speak English, not their first language, to a standard which was better than most of the American children he talked to. That annoyed him.
He looked at his watch, sighing as the thought escaped. He continued reading the information in front of him, thinking about the man he was so interested in. Where had he come from? Who were his parents? None of this had come up yet. None of this would even be mentioned on this site, yet Ridley could not help but wonder why this man had gone from being a ‘well behaved middle class child’ whom all of his teachers said was ‘bound for great things’ to someone capable of so many crimes, so much hurt and cruelty. What had happened to the man to make him into who he was?
The thought returned him to his father, a man who, though he had never personally killed anyone, Ridley knew it did not take a genius to know his father was not innocent of any such thing, he had caused death and Ridley knew it. When he thought of it, he had no clue what made his father into the man he was today. When meeting his grandparents, in the days they were still alive, Ridley had not seen any form of tension between his father and grandparents, he had not seen an incline of cruelty, simply a loving caring family. So perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps some people could not cope with the love which their parents give them?
He scoffed at the thought, wishing for only a moment that his parents could have been more like his grandparents, normal people who loved and cared for their children, the people who wanted to spend time with their offspring, not just leave them with the first nanny they could find and hope for the best.
A knock on the door was the only warning, Ridley closed the browser page as his half brother, (same mother, different father) entered the room, never waiting for a reply, he was lucky if the man even knocked. Ridley turned to face him. “May I help you Cedar?”
Cedar, was unfortunately his real name. Something of a joke they often thought, his parents, lovely people, could not have honestly been so cruel as to call their child such a name without some humour behind the act, though neither Cedar nor Ridley had ever worked out what such humour could be.
Cedar Anderson was a small and what could only be described as almost feminine man. His light brown hair always shabby, yet it suited him. Anyone who knew him would suffer from cardio problem if they were to see even a glimpse of the young man’s hair which had seen a comb in the last six months. It simply was not him, and though his fashion sense amused people, and his music taste scared them, it was unlikely people would expect any different from Cedar, like his name, his personality was, utterly weird. Yet he grew on you.
“Yes, see, I have a problem.”
“You usually seem to”
“Right, well. My girlfriend.” Ridley’s mind, at this point, closed down. Though his younger brother was indeed a handsome young man, he had no luck with anyone of the female kind. Though he tried, Ridley thought a little too hard, the girls would giggle and eventually say they didn’t really like him, a pity act. What would usually be enough girls to turn most boys gay seemed not to faze Cedar, instead he continued trying. “Are you listening?”
“Yes.” Though the answer was no.
“Then what should I do?”
“Cedar, does it look like I have a girlfriend?”
“Well, no but, have you seen you, I mean. Ew”
“Thank you for the compliment, well. My advice? Give it time, I don’t see how she could not attracted to a man like you.” The answer was quiet simple, though Cedar was turning seventeen in less than a week, he was still no more than a boy, he was immature, playful and not exactly what you would call, manly. He smiled happily at the comment and left the room, a small skip in his step. Ridley returned to reading his page. The article continued. One bit interesting him. The words jumped out at him, almost hitting him in the face.
‘Hendricks high school was Manhattans famous Riverbank Prepetory High School. He attended from 1986 till 1991, since then his last known job was indeed teaching psychology at the same school until he quit in early 2009 since then he has had no recorded
occupation.’
Ridley shut off the screen and left his room walking quietly down the hall way into Cedars room, no knocking, which for a child of his age, could have easily been a big mistake, had Cedar been any other sixteen year old boy. Instead he was reading a book, quietly. “Cedar, I know you don’t like to be disturbed, what are you reading?”
His eyes glanced up for only a moment, “Charles Dickens. What do you want?”
“You took psychology?”
“Well yeh.”
“You remember Mr Alinson?” Ridley regretted asking instantly, the book fell from the boys hand, his face drained of colour.
“You mean.. Why?”
“I was just wondering, clearly you do I have my answer. You can go back to reading now.” Ridley was about to leave the room when a hand fell on his shoulder.
“Please tell me you’re not looking into him.”
“Don’t be so paranoid.”
“Paranoid? That guy gave me the creeps before we knew he was... well ya’know?”
“Killing people, you don’t need to cover up, it’s hardly a secret.”
“Just don’t look into him.” He returned to his bed and sat down picking up the book. “Oh and Ridley?”
“Yes?”
“Get out of my room.”
He did, quickly, and returned to his room. Switching the screen back on he flipped up the email page and clicked compose.
To: enquiries_main,office@riverbank.sch.edu.us
CC:
Subject: H.Alinson – psychology
Principal Johnson
I am writing on behalf of Mr and Mrs John Anderson, concerned parents of Cedar Anderson. Cedar took classes in psychology from when he joined the school in 2008, up until this point. Mrs Anderson read in a news article that Mr Hendrick Alinson once worked at your school in the psychology department. This would have meant a likely strong possibility that he taught Master Anderson. When Cedar was asked, in casual conversation about him, he refused to talk. I was wondering whether there are any records of incidents which happened during any classes between Master Anderson joining the school and Mr Alinson leaving.
We do not wish to harm your school’s reputation simply be aware of any issues which may have happened during this time.
Thank you for your cooperation,
R. Chaucer.
Junior Attorney.
He closed the page and saved the site, turning off the computer and heading downstairs. He picked up the phone and dialled his mother number hoping that it was she, and not John who answered. He was in luck, the female voice almost soothed him. Though when his parents had separated when he had been only a small child, he had lived with his father, not by choice, his mother had still played a rather important part in his life. On the occasions when Ridley had run away from his fathers pressure, and the constant passing from Nanny to the next, his mother had provided something of a safe house where his father was not allowed to go when Ridley needed time off. Even when he was an adult, his mother still held that maternal bond over him, and he had been surprised when it was Cedar, a boy whose parents gave him both stability and love, wanted to move away and live with his brother in Brooklyn of all places.
“Hello?”
“Mom?”
“Ridley! Oh what a pleasant surprise, how are you?”
“I’m fine mother.” Always trying to make small talk conversation, he mother always acted
pleased when she heard Ridleys voice, but in the recent months since her youngest son had moved in with him, she always knew these conversations would be about him, and with Ridley’s father in the mix, she was simply waiting for the one which she least wanted to hear. “Riverbank.”
“You mean your brothers school?”
“The very same.”
“And what about it? Is he in trouble? Oh please tell me he hasn’t been suspended, or that I
have to go to one of those parent teacher council meetings.”
“Nothing like that, he’s doing well, well behaved as far as I know.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“You heard of Hendrick Alinson?”
Silence for a moment. “You mean the man whose been in the news? FBI something.”
“Most wanted.”
“Yes. Why do you want to know about him?”
“Did Cedar mention him when he first started there.” He heard a cough and turned around, returning to the conversation for only a minute, with eyes on your back its hard to continue a conversation. “Mom, you know forget it. It doesn’t matter. Sorry for calling you. I love you. Talk soon, bye.”
“I said to leave it.” Ridley had not even hung up the phone before the argument began, it ended a half hour later on rather much the same note. That Ridley had been in the wrong, several door slams later they had come to no different conclusion.
Hendrick Alinson, FBI Number One wanted person in the United States, the person who people feared, a name which brought upset, anger and utter terror to more people than had heard his name. The man was said to be pure evil. He had killed women and children for fun, he had hunted men like foxes, and he was practically invisible.
To those naive, the man was a legend, to those who were smart, he meant certain death. Reports had said only one person had lived an encounter with the man, and that Alinson had not been seen since. Speculations from the New York times said the man had killed him, and the police covered it up.
Stupid.
Ridley Chaucer was smarter than that. He knew that someone like Henrick Alinson, the town legend, would not have been so stupid as to let an amateur catch him. It would not happen.
Ridley, a twenty one year old college student, studied criminals in his spare time. For those who asked, thinking the habit was weird albeit interesting, he would say it was research, that he wanted to be a Psychological Profiler, but that he knew would be a lie. Though he enjoyed understanding the minds of such people, he did not want to work for the police. Since the age of about six, Chaucer’s father had taught him not to trust cops and now, fifteen years later, he had learnt one thing. Neither he nor the cops much liked each other’s company.
Reputation would say he would suggest that Ridley Chaucer was a major criminal, and as a victim of bullying, members of his high school had said he himself had killed people by the age of eight, though none of them truly believed it. Ridley’s father, Norman Chaucer was known for his part in the drugs trade, and that the man had rented out his wife to make an extra buck on the side. Yet his son, and only child knew this to be true, and hated his father for it.
Despite his fathers demands that he join the, wrongly named, family business, Ridley had decided to take a college route, get a MBE and move on from what his father had wanted. He was going to be a lawyer, and old man Chaucer had not been impressed.
What can you do?
Nothing. Ridley Chaucer had always been one who knew he would follow his dreams, one who did not care what people thought of him, one who did not care about his appearances. Unlike his father, Ridley had not tried to fit in with the people with whom he associated. Though his family had money, not entirely through inheritance, he did not seem fazed with the need to dress smartly, a tie would only annoy him when he was home.
He was of course well spoken, as any privately educated person would be, and a fair argument could be that anyone who was native tongue to the country they lived should be well spoken. It outraged him, every time he would meet a child from another country, not just immigrants, but vacationers, tourists from European countries, France, Italy and many more, they could often speak English, not their first language, to a standard which was better than most of the American children he talked to. That annoyed him.
He looked at his watch, sighing as the thought escaped. He continued reading the information in front of him, thinking about the man he was so interested in. Where had he come from? Who were his parents? None of this had come up yet. None of this would even be mentioned on this site, yet Ridley could not help but wonder why this man had gone from being a ‘well behaved middle class child’ whom all of his teachers said was ‘bound for great things’ to someone capable of so many crimes, so much hurt and cruelty. What had happened to the man to make him into who he was?
The thought returned him to his father, a man who, though he had never personally killed anyone, Ridley knew it did not take a genius to know his father was not innocent of any such thing, he had caused death and Ridley knew it. When he thought of it, he had no clue what made his father into the man he was today. When meeting his grandparents, in the days they were still alive, Ridley had not seen any form of tension between his father and grandparents, he had not seen an incline of cruelty, simply a loving caring family. So perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps some people could not cope with the love which their parents give them?
He scoffed at the thought, wishing for only a moment that his parents could have been more like his grandparents, normal people who loved and cared for their children, the people who wanted to spend time with their offspring, not just leave them with the first nanny they could find and hope for the best.
A knock on the door was the only warning, Ridley closed the browser page as his half brother, (same mother, different father) entered the room, never waiting for a reply, he was lucky if the man even knocked. Ridley turned to face him. “May I help you Cedar?”
Cedar, was unfortunately his real name. Something of a joke they often thought, his parents, lovely people, could not have honestly been so cruel as to call their child such a name without some humour behind the act, though neither Cedar nor Ridley had ever worked out what such humour could be.
Cedar Anderson was a small and what could only be described as almost feminine man. His light brown hair always shabby, yet it suited him. Anyone who knew him would suffer from cardio problem if they were to see even a glimpse of the young man’s hair which had seen a comb in the last six months. It simply was not him, and though his fashion sense amused people, and his music taste scared them, it was unlikely people would expect any different from Cedar, like his name, his personality was, utterly weird. Yet he grew on you.
“Yes, see, I have a problem.”
“You usually seem to”
“Right, well. My girlfriend.” Ridley’s mind, at this point, closed down. Though his younger brother was indeed a handsome young man, he had no luck with anyone of the female kind. Though he tried, Ridley thought a little too hard, the girls would giggle and eventually say they didn’t really like him, a pity act. What would usually be enough girls to turn most boys gay seemed not to faze Cedar, instead he continued trying. “Are you listening?”
“Yes.” Though the answer was no.
“Then what should I do?”
“Cedar, does it look like I have a girlfriend?”
“Well, no but, have you seen you, I mean. Ew”
“Thank you for the compliment, well. My advice? Give it time, I don’t see how she could not attracted to a man like you.” The answer was quiet simple, though Cedar was turning seventeen in less than a week, he was still no more than a boy, he was immature, playful and not exactly what you would call, manly. He smiled happily at the comment and left the room, a small skip in his step. Ridley returned to reading his page. The article continued. One bit interesting him. The words jumped out at him, almost hitting him in the face.
‘Hendricks high school was Manhattans famous Riverbank Prepetory High School. He attended from 1986 till 1991, since then his last known job was indeed teaching psychology at the same school until he quit in early 2009 since then he has had no recorded
occupation.’
Ridley shut off the screen and left his room walking quietly down the hall way into Cedars room, no knocking, which for a child of his age, could have easily been a big mistake, had Cedar been any other sixteen year old boy. Instead he was reading a book, quietly. “Cedar, I know you don’t like to be disturbed, what are you reading?”
His eyes glanced up for only a moment, “Charles Dickens. What do you want?”
“You took psychology?”
“Well yeh.”
“You remember Mr Alinson?” Ridley regretted asking instantly, the book fell from the boys hand, his face drained of colour.
“You mean.. Why?”
“I was just wondering, clearly you do I have my answer. You can go back to reading now.” Ridley was about to leave the room when a hand fell on his shoulder.
“Please tell me you’re not looking into him.”
“Don’t be so paranoid.”
“Paranoid? That guy gave me the creeps before we knew he was... well ya’know?”
“Killing people, you don’t need to cover up, it’s hardly a secret.”
“Just don’t look into him.” He returned to his bed and sat down picking up the book. “Oh and Ridley?”
“Yes?”
“Get out of my room.”
He did, quickly, and returned to his room. Switching the screen back on he flipped up the email page and clicked compose.
To: enquiries_main,office@riverbank.sch.edu.us
CC:
Subject: H.Alinson – psychology
Principal Johnson
I am writing on behalf of Mr and Mrs John Anderson, concerned parents of Cedar Anderson. Cedar took classes in psychology from when he joined the school in 2008, up until this point. Mrs Anderson read in a news article that Mr Hendrick Alinson once worked at your school in the psychology department. This would have meant a likely strong possibility that he taught Master Anderson. When Cedar was asked, in casual conversation about him, he refused to talk. I was wondering whether there are any records of incidents which happened during any classes between Master Anderson joining the school and Mr Alinson leaving.
We do not wish to harm your school’s reputation simply be aware of any issues which may have happened during this time.
Thank you for your cooperation,
R. Chaucer.
Junior Attorney.
He closed the page and saved the site, turning off the computer and heading downstairs. He picked up the phone and dialled his mother number hoping that it was she, and not John who answered. He was in luck, the female voice almost soothed him. Though when his parents had separated when he had been only a small child, he had lived with his father, not by choice, his mother had still played a rather important part in his life. On the occasions when Ridley had run away from his fathers pressure, and the constant passing from Nanny to the next, his mother had provided something of a safe house where his father was not allowed to go when Ridley needed time off. Even when he was an adult, his mother still held that maternal bond over him, and he had been surprised when it was Cedar, a boy whose parents gave him both stability and love, wanted to move away and live with his brother in Brooklyn of all places.
“Hello?”
“Mom?”
“Ridley! Oh what a pleasant surprise, how are you?”
“I’m fine mother.” Always trying to make small talk conversation, he mother always acted
pleased when she heard Ridleys voice, but in the recent months since her youngest son had moved in with him, she always knew these conversations would be about him, and with Ridley’s father in the mix, she was simply waiting for the one which she least wanted to hear. “Riverbank.”
“You mean your brothers school?”
“The very same.”
“And what about it? Is he in trouble? Oh please tell me he hasn’t been suspended, or that I
have to go to one of those parent teacher council meetings.”
“Nothing like that, he’s doing well, well behaved as far as I know.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“You heard of Hendrick Alinson?”
Silence for a moment. “You mean the man whose been in the news? FBI something.”
“Most wanted.”
“Yes. Why do you want to know about him?”
“Did Cedar mention him when he first started there.” He heard a cough and turned around, returning to the conversation for only a minute, with eyes on your back its hard to continue a conversation. “Mom, you know forget it. It doesn’t matter. Sorry for calling you. I love you. Talk soon, bye.”
“I said to leave it.” Ridley had not even hung up the phone before the argument began, it ended a half hour later on rather much the same note. That Ridley had been in the wrong, several door slams later they had come to no different conclusion.