Notes from the author: I came up with the idea for this story a long time ago, and posted it a while ago also. But, when I was going through and reading it, I realized that, "Hey... this kinda sucks." So I deleted the entire thing off of and went through and revised. Some of the chapters will be very similar to what they used to be, but in other places, I added things and took some parts out. I hope I'll be able to attract some new readers to this story and keep some of my old ones ... if I had any, that is, lol.
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with The OC, or anything else for that matter. So please don't sue, I don't have much to give except for six tattered Harry Potter books and a fat rabbit.
Pairings: Ryan/Marissa, maybe some Seth/Summer and Kirsten/Sandy – no fluff.
Rating: T for language and violence
Summary: The death of Ryan's brother, Trey, sparks a domino effect that will alter the Cohen's lives forever.
"I'm not the same as I used to be
All the things you've heard seem hard to believe
Haven't always been good, never really been bad
Most times I've been happy, yea sometimes I've been sad
Sure I've made mistakes, haven't we all
I've been loose as a cannon and dumb as a wall
Haven't always been sober in counting my ducks
And if I look back now I've had my share of luck"
– My Elusive Drug, Elton John
My Elusive Drug
The drive to the funeral home seemed to last only two minutes – though Ryan knew it was at least a good forty. He spent the whole time staring straight ahead at the leather back of the seat in front of him, hearing the soft background noise of the radio without really listening. If he was asked later what kind of music was playing, he wouldn't be able to answer.
His mother had agreed to have the funeral in La Habra, at a place whose name he couldn't remember. It was a bit further than they had wanted, but he had been told it was nice. Though it didn't really matter to him.
A ray of sunlight shined through the window, and he watched with mild interest at the tiny dust particles floating in the light. He felt the car pull to a stop, heard Sandy put the car into park and take the keys out before turning around, "We're here."
The building was small; the sign out front read Coleman Mortuary. As he opened the door and stepped out, he suddenly missed the cool air conditioning from inside the car. It had to be about ninety degrees out side, and it was stifling hot in the heavy black suit he wore. Sandy Cohen clapped a hand in his shoulder, "Ready kid?" He answered only with a nod, leading the way inside the building, met once again with a shot of cold air from the air conditioner.
He spotted his mother in the corner of the small room, wearing a simple black dress. As their eyes met, she offered a small, sad smile, which he didn't return, only took a deep breath before making his way over to her.
"Are you ready?" she whispered, and he nodded, finally speaking for the first time in an hour. "Yeah."
They had asked him if he wanted to speak at the funeral, and he agreed, now reaching a hand into his suit pocket and feeling the folded piece of paper where he had jotted down a few things to say. "To bad your dad can't be here…," his mother continued softly, taking a hand and rubbing it on his shoulder. He didn't resist, and nodded, remembering when he had to break the news to his father.
The guard led him over to an empty seat as his stomach fluttered nervously. He hadn't seen his father for four years, and wondered if he would recognize him. Sitting down awkwardly on the stool, he looked up through the glass separating them, into the face of his father and hesitated a moment before taking the telephone off the hook and holding it up to his ear. Neither of them said anything for a moment.
"Son …what brings you here?" the older man asked with a smug look on his face.
"It's nice to see you too dad."
He kept his face impassive; he was only there to deliver the news, nothing else.
"How long has it been now …two, three years?"
"Four."
"Really, that long? Huh …so why are you here? How's your mother, your brother? Did he do something stupid again? I be-,"
"He's dead, dad."
The seats in the small room were uncomfortable; the backs were at a straight ninety-degree angle, forcing him into an awkward position. He tried to stay focused, however the minister's words went in one ear and out the other. Soon his mother was nudging his arm, and he stood up, making his way up to the podium.
"Ready?" the minister whispered as he passed by, and Ryan nodded, starting to get annoyed at everyone asking him if he was ready. He looked out over the podium, at the faces of the people sitting in front of him. Most were kids that looked to be in their early twenties, and he recognized most of them from their old neighborhood in Chino. Theresa and Arturo where nowhere to be seen, he knew the latter was in jail, and Theresa had to work.
His eyes landed on the Cohens. Sandy and Kirsten were sitting politely, and Seth had a look of obvious discomfort on his face. He had told them that they didn't have to come - it would probably be easier if they had just stayed home, but they refused. They wanted to be there for him.
Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, he had never been one for public speaking, and he now wished that he had never agreed to deliver the eulogy.
He pulled the crumpled paper out of his pocket as he began to speak into the microphone.
A gentle tapping on the pool house door awoke Ryan, and he glanced at his clock. 10:36.
Tap tap tap.
He threw the covers off, slowly climbing to his feet and shuffling to the door, yanking it open and looking at Kirsten with his eyes half-shut, trying to block out the bright morning sun.
"'Morning," she grinned, holding the phone out towards him. "Phone call for you."
Ryan took the phone, looking at it quizzically. He looked back up at Kirsten, who smiled warmly before turning back towards the house. No one ever called him.
"Hello?" he asked hesitantly, holding the phone up to his ear and shutting the door behind him.
"Ryan?"
He paused.
"Trey?"
"Hey, Ryan! Haha, yeah, it's me!"
Pause. The last time his brother had called him from jail, he had wanted Ryan to get a stolen car for him. But now, Trey sounded ... happy.
"Uh ... Trey ... what's the matter?"
Trey laughed, almost maniacally. "Nothin' man! I'm out!"
He almost dropped the phone.
"What?"
"They put me on parole! I'm out!" his brother repeated.
No response.
"Ryan?"
"Uh, yeah Trey, I'm here. That's ... that's great."
He could hear his brother's voice get sharper.
"Aren't you happy for me Ryan?"
"Yeah, yeah Trey, I am. Really, that's great." He tried to sound cheerful, and even plastered a grin on his face, even though he knew Trey couldn't see him.
"Yeah, I know." A beat. "So, I was wondering. You think we could meet up or somethin'? I haven't seen you for, what is it now, a year and a half?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"So how 'bout it? Fred's Diner? Noon?"
Fred's Diner ... that had been the hang out spot back in Chino. So much had happened there. He'd smoked his first cigarette out back by the dumpster as Trey looked on proudly, and hit his back as he erupted into coughs.
"Yeah, sure, sounds great."
"Awesome, I'll see you there!"
"Kay ... bye." But his brother had already hung up.
The service passed in a blur. As he sat back down in his uncomfortable chair, Kirsten Cohen flashed him a small smile from two seats down as his mother squeezed his arm gently, the corners of her mouth turned up in a sad, but proud grin. As he stood outside the door, people stopped to shake his hand, pat his back, tell him they were sorry for his loss.
He slid back into the cool seat of the car, Seth next to him. The boy had come to be his best friend, his brother. Though he knew he could never replace Trey. The two had grown up together, had been there for each other, and though Trey had talked Ryan into doing some pretty stupid things – stealing a car for instance – he knew that he had cared for him. And it was Ryan's fault that he was dead.
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Alright, love it? Hate it? Remember - a reviewed author is a happy author.
Next chapter should be posted soon, just finishing up some last-minute revisions.
