Crooks In Action - scam from Steven R (allegedly)

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ï؟½You’re right its not,” I went on to explain how both my parents were there to pick me up after school and how I related that to the day we left London. “. . .It was just like any other day, I went to school, but when the last bell rang both mum and dad were there to pick me up. . .forty five minutes later we were on a plane heading for the states. It never really bothered me before, it’s not like I had any close ties or anything, I think it was just the abruptness of the move. I never saw it coming,that's what was so alarming. Not to mention, I’m not exactly big on change . . . But today terrified me Cass, the thought of never seeing you again, never saying goodbye, never. . .” I had to pause, there was an odd unfamiliar lump forming in my throat, it was hard to breath, let alone talk. I looked away for a second and recollected myself. “In all my days I’d never been so scared, not even on ’That’ night.” She knew exactly what night I was referring to. The night I had gone to the woods and it all went horribly wrong. The night she met my family for the first time. The night that changed so many things, so many life’s, in so many ways. “But Nate we’re…” I started shaking my head feverishly like a spoiled child desperately trying to avoid hearing the unwanted words. “No Not tonight, please let’s not have this conversation tonight. . . Please?!” She regarded me warily. "Ok,its been an eventful day," “Taxing to say the least.” It had been a day full of emotional highs and lows. I spent the next several hours at Cass’ watching TV – I had the remote this time- and just hanging out. I recapped the conversation between Mark and I and the whole dropping of the bomb. “I should probably head home before mum has an eppy, I told her I’d be back in a bit,” “That was like six hours ago,” “Precisely,” I laughed. I kissed her goodnight, and as I turned to leave she grabbed my hand. “Nate, you’re still you. This doesn’t change who are, don’t let it get to you.” “yeah,” It was a dismissive tone. It’s easy for everyone else to say. I haven’t quite come to terms with it yet and in the end with any luck, I may see it the same way, that it really doesn’t make a difference, but for the moment it’s hard to see the bright side through the darkness. I can’t help but feel that in some way people will view me quite differently. I can’t blame them, Hell I view myself differently now. As much as we’d like to pretend that it’s no big deal the truth of the matter is when people hear the term bipolar there is a not so pleasant stigma attached to it. People automatically jump to images of all those celebrities on TV who have gone off the deep end, making headline news behaving so rash and erratically. Or perhaps their minds go to the more severe spectrum with images of those being hauled off to jail for committing unspeakable crimes. I’m not that person, and don’t want to be that person, but I wonder. . . is the propensity there? Am I already predispositioned to be such? That thought scares the living hell out of me. I remember the day when I was so angry for no logical reason, and Alex fueled the fire with just a cocky look that any normal person would have shaken off. I was too busy glaring at him as if I could somehow make his head explode with my contemptuous stare that I never saw Cassie’s hand as I slammed the car door. She was innocent victim of irrational rage. I felt like such a piece of shit that day. For some reason that night the walk back home seemed to take a lot longer than usual. Once I was home I went right up to my room on the third floor and closed the door to world and everyone in it. But being alone with my thoughts is not always the best thing. Several hours later I looked out the window across the woods - pitch black - not a single light was on in the house that sits just on the other side of our property. (The only other house near us.) My most effective distraction was fast asleep. *Cue ‘Awww’ sound bite* (I can practically hear the girl readers, lol) It was a great afternoon to hit the trails with the dirt bike so after school I did just that. There is nothing like that feeling when you open the throttle all the way, flying down the straight away, leaning into the turns, the rush of air against you as you hit the ramp and soar above the ground. I enjoyed my time on the trails but with the sun starting to set and the fuel running low I headed in. Coming up from the back of the house I revved the engine, just before hitting the powerband I eased off the throttle a fraction, leaned back and pulled the front wheel up. I used the throttle lightly to maintain the wheelie I was riding. The bike made the shift from the soft grassy turf to the hard concrete driveway without a problem, but a few moments later something went horribly wrong. I was approaching the front of the garage and preparing to set the front wheel back down in order to make the turn to ride the bike through the bay doors of the garage. I’m still not quite sure what happened. Next thing I knew I was lying flat on my back, staring up at the sky. The sound of the motor from the bike grew more distant, as it continued riderless on a forward path. I propped myself up on my elbows and everything seeped into slow-mo as I watched the bike slam right into the boat and trailer that were parked at the other end. Did you ever notice that time never seems to slow down for the good moments? . .it’s always during those moments when something really bad is, or is about to go down. Or is that just me? Alex hearing the crash came running out of the garage. He stopped right next to me, his expression was a mixture of horror and amusement. Whereas mine I’m quite sure was a typical ‘OH SHIT!’ jaw-on-floor expression . “Fuck. He’s gona kill me, what do I do?” Taking off my helmet, I voiced the question aloud though, I really didn't want an answer. “Might I suggest praying. . .Hand your heart to God, cus your ass is Dad’s,” He laughed while giving me a hand up. I cut him a contemptuous look. “It was meant to be a rhetorical question nimrod.” We walked over to inspect the damage. The image of dollar signs being sucked out of my bank account played heavily through my mind and I was struck with an sudden wave of nausea. “I’ll get the truck keys. . . help me turn it,” It was a demand not a question. “Oh yeah, like he’s not going to notice the boat being turned in the opposite direction . . .or even better next week when we go to put it in the lake, I’m sure he’ll not notice a huge GAPPING HOLE . . .what the hell happened anyway?” “Dunno! One minute I was riding a wheelie the next I was laid out.” Several hours later I was upstairs when dad arrived home and called for me. Walking across the driveway to where he stood inspecting the damage to the boat was like walking a mile. “You care to explain this?” He asked. His tone was level, he was not angry though there was a notable indication of annoyance. Inner thought: Not really, I think its self explanatory. “How do you know it was me?. . .It could just as easily been Alex, or even Angie.” I said. Dad tilted his head to the side slightly, his jaw set and he eyed me with that look that said ‘Really?’