So, to make a long story short, my parents' were called, and the police attempted to call Scott's dad (remember, I was told that his mother was dead, apparently what he told the police as well), and were unable to reach him, so my parent's agreed to have Scott released into their custody until Scott's dad could be contacted.
That was the last day I ever played with Scott. My dad drove us home, and I played a game of chess with him (which we never finished) and when his dad came to pick him up, that was the end of our friendship.
During that time that Scott was over at our house; I would say a couple of hours, Scott went on and on to my dad about his dad was going to beat him severely over this.
Personally, at this time, I think it was all a bunch of B.S. but it made quite an impression on my dad. The detail that Scott went into and the apparent fear he had of being beaten by his father when he went home, seemed to have deeply effected my own father.
After that day, my own dad never used corporeal punishment on either me or my little brother ever again. My dad's reasoning was, is that it didn't work, if the outcome was something like Scott.
Personally, I don't believe that Scott was beaten by his dad at all. Scott acted more like a spoiled child than a child who was being raised by a strict disciplinarian.
When school started, Scott was suspended first, for three days, and I happened to see Scott standing on the sidewalk next to the outside perimeter fence, and so I walked up to the fence and talked to him.
To the best of my memory this was the last time I ever talked to Scott, until 2007, and he seemed happy, and fine. He did not seem at all to exhibit any signs of having been beaten severely. Even at the time I remember thinking to myself, 'you weren't beaten by your dad, that was a total lie."
I wasn't beaten either.
One thing that I did think was odd, was that when Scott's father came to our house to pick up Scott, my dad went outside to talk with him in private. I do not know to this day what they talked about or why my dad felt the need to close the front door and go out and talk to him alone, without myself or even his wife present.
I was told afterwards that I wasn't allowed to play with Scott anymore, and my dad told me this was a decision that he made, that he thought this kind of activity that I participated in, he thought, was not the kind of behavior that I would have done on my own and that Scott was a bad influence.
Never-the-less, I was crushed. I really liked Scott.
I was put on restriction for like six months, but nothing ever was really discussed about what happened.
I had expected that my parent's might have more specific questions as to exactly what happened.
I think that I can make a reasonable assumption that whatever the police told me, they also told my parent's, but in spite of this, my parents' never showed any curiosity to know more about what happened.
For example, my parents' never showed any curiosity as to how it was exactly that Scott and I were able to "break in" to the office. Like I said earlier, I can only reasonably assume that the police told them about the hole that had been cut into the bullet-proof glass, and that was how we had gained access to the office. This seemed of little concern to my parents.
It was of greater concern to the police, apparently, as well as the principal of the school, Peter Butler.
But I get ahead of myself.
...
On Monday, when the school week started again, Scott was immediately suspended for three days. No suspension notice was given to me however, which I thought a little strange. I would have expected that we both would have received suspension notices at the same time.
During the afternoon, my teacher was handed a slip of paper and informed me that I was requested to the principal's office.
I, of course, thought, that the principal would personally hand me the suspension notice, and that is what I fully expected to happen, however, that is NOT what happened, and what happened caught me off guard.
What happened, is that I was interrogated.
When I got to the office, I told the receptionist that I had been requested to the principal's office, and she told me to go on in.
I knocked on the door, and Mr. Butler, a distinguished looking, tall, black-American, whom I had not the chance to meet until now, opened the door, and motioned me to come in and sit down.
Mr. Butler then sat down behind his desk, and the conversation went something like this.
"Hi Darron," Mr. Butler said.
"Hello," I said sheepishly. I was wondering to myself if he was going to just hand me the damn slip of paper or was he going to try and embarrass me as much as he could, maybe even give me some kind of lecture. I knew he wasn't going to spank me since that had been made illegal about four years earlier.
"Who were you working with?" Mr. Butler asked.
I raised my eyebrows, quite surprised. "I don't understand," I said.
"Who were you working with?" he asked again.
I shook my head, "nobody, just Scott and I"
"You're lying," he said.
"Listen, I really don't know what you're talking about. We weren't "working" with anybody." I said.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Mr. Butler asked.
"No," I said shaking my head.
"Do you think the police are stupid?" he asked.
"No sir," I said.
"We know that an adult was involved," Mr. Butler said and pausing apparently to see what my reaction was.
I just sat there and looked at him waiting for him to say more.
After a few moments when I guess he didn't get any kind of a reaction he was looking for, he went on, "This case has been assigned to a detective that is working very close with me, and that detective believes that the two of you were being aided by at least one adult. I happen to agree with him."
I nodded.
Mr. Butler continued, "The police know for a fact, as well as I, that neither you or Scott cut that hole in the office window."
I sat and listened but the principal remained silent as though he were expecting me to say something.
"Who cut the hole in the office window Darron?" Mr. Butler asked point blank.
"I don't know," I said.
"You're lying," he said.
"No I'm not," I said. "That hole was already there. That's the same thing I told the police."
Mr. Butler responded angrily, "That hole was NOT already there! "
"I don't know what to tell you." I said.
"After the first vandalism attack when the threatening message had been written on the classroom wall, the school involved the police in this matter, and on the Friday before you broke into the office, the day before you broke in, not only did the school staff check the entire school, but the police checked the entire school as well." Mr. butler said.
"OK," I said.
"And there was NO HOLE in the office window." he said, apparently trying to control his anger.
I believed him, but at the same time, I didn't know what to tell him so I said, "Well, I have no idea who cut that hole in the window, have you asked Scott maybe knows?"
"Never mind Scott, he's like you, he's protecting the person."
"I'm not protecting anybody," I said. "If someone cut that hole in the window I certainly do not know who it was." I said.
Mr. Butler looked at me inquisitively for several moments as though he were trying to ascertain if I was telling the truth or not. After a few moments his demeanor changed, as though he thought I probably was.
I was somewhat relieved.
"You told the police, " Mr. Butler started again, "that the message on the special education wall written in paint, was NOT written by your friend Scott, is that true?"
"Yes. " I said.
"Yes, the police and I agree we don't think that a child wrote that message,"
"I nodded,"
"Who wrote it?" he asked me.
'Oh know, here we go again' I thought to myself. "I have no idea," I said.
"You wouldn't lie to me would you?" Mr. Butler asked, "because if I found out you were lying, I would have the police file charges against you."
I think he meant to intimidate me, but I was telling the truth, so I only nodded.
"Well, I guess this conversation is over, " Mr. Butler said.
"Wait," I said suddenly having a question to ask.
"What?" Mr. Butler said.
"What did the message say?" I asked.
Peter Butler, The School Principal stood up and looked at me more acquisitively than ever, as though I were a real enigma. Finally he said, "You really don't know do you?"
I shook my head. "The police said it was some non-sense words, I can't remember"
"Helter Skelter," he said.
"Yea, I think so. What does that mean?"
"Its a reference to Charley Manson," he said.
"Whose that?" I asked.
"Never mind, " he said.
"That's all that was written was Helty Sketly?" I asked.
"Helter Skelter and no, there was much more written."
"What was it?" I asked.
"The message said that the N#$$ER who runs this school will die."
"Oh," I said. "Genuinely surprised."
"And you're sure that neither you or Scott wrote that message,"
"I think I would remember something like that," I said.
"You're dismissed." The principal said.
A couple of days later, when Scott returned to school, I received a suspension slip from the office. I guess I was getting suspended after all.
The school decided not to press charges, so long as the damage was paid for. Our fathers split the cost that the school had amortized. Most of the expense was to pay for a new 16mm projector.
As far as I know, the case was dropped by the police, and my parent's never seemed a bit curious as to who wrote the message on the wall or who cut the hole in the window.
-- Edited by The Phantom on Tuesday 6th of July 2010 02:38:52 PM
__________________
"Sometimes when you open your mind to the impossible, you discover the truth." Walter from Fringe.
