Whoop - new story! This is a little more Riley-ish than After the Charlotte, and like it, it's already written and ready for posting.
Just a bit of a warning - some extemist views in this story. It's not excessive, but adds to the plot... really, if you're sensitive about religion and what's proper and not, please don't read this. Just thought I'd say it now, rather than halfway throught the story you find out 'ugh, what the hell' and it just ruins everything you've read so far. I hate it when that happens...
"Please try not to trash the place," Ben said.
Riley sniffed, leaned against the doorway, gave Ben a long, sarcastic look.
"When have I ever trashed the place while you weren't here?"
Ben considered this.
"You broke the microwave once."
"You were here that day, so it doesn't count." Riley scowled. "And besides, when will you ever get over that? I've apologized a million times, and bought you a new one."
"I liked the old one better," Abigail said, passing Riley in the doorway and carrying two suitcases.
Riley sighed, swallowed a cough.
"Thanks for inviting me to your big opening in Tokyo," he deadpanned.
Ben took the bags from Abigail and loaded them into the back of his car, glanced over at Riley.
"We've been over this. You've got the flu, and your doctor said you're not supposed to travel."
"And to make it up to you," Abigail added. "We're letting you stay at our place until we get back."
Riley scoffed.
"Your place sucks," he said quietly.
"What was that?" Abigail called, her tone menacing.
"Nothing," Riley answered cheerily.
"I thought so," Abigail said. "There's soup in the freezer and don't eat too much junk."
"Yes Mom," Riley teased. Ben opened the car door for Abigail and she slid in, opening her window to give Riley a warning look.
"Be good," Ben called to Riley and got into the car.
"Bye," Riley called and shut the door.
"You think he's going to be okay?" Abigail asked, amusement and concern mixing.
"He's got unlimited resources and enough money to last him the rest of his lifetime," Ben grinned. "He'll be fine."
-
Riley felt crap. He watched Ben and Abigail drive away from an upstairs window, then went to make himself comfortable in their TV room. He didn't mind staying at their place. It was nice. It was like visiting relatives who didn't want to kiss you and take photos all the time.
But not alone. He hated being lonely.
He'd had enough loneliness when he was a teenager. His parents always away, his brother wanting nothing to do with him… he'd spent his days reading manuals and teaching himself the computer inside and out. And when he'd mastered that, he started on other electronics. Anything that was charged or needed batteries. He figured it out. Sure, he'd gotten into trouble a few times for permanently damaging his father's TV and completely destroying his brother's stereo, but he'd survived the aftermath.
But he didn't like it. Up to the age of eleven he was able to entice other kids to be his friends with his vivid imagination and intriguing games, but after that… all he had was his mind. He hated high school. He was one of those kids who stayed under the radar, not popular enough to be part if the in-crowd, not geeky enough to be picked on. His grades were average. He'd learned from a young age not to draw attention to himself. But he could have been better… if he tried.
The day he graduated was the best day of his life. He wasted no time moving out and spent three long years working in a complaints office for, working his way up from copy-boy to assistant technical advisor. And then, his life turned into a plateau. Without qualifications, he was stuck. His boss, the technical advisor, was a year older than him, college educated. Even though Riley had more experience, knew more than the guy, he'd never get promoted.
Then he met Ben. It had been an accident. A chance meeting. Riley often wondered whether he'd still be in that dead-end job if he'd called in sick that day like he'd been planning to.
Greg, the TA, would have been pissed. And Riley couldn't afford for anyone else to hate him. He already had a list as long as his arm of the people he knew disliked him in the office, including the office manager. So he didn't take the day off. He dragged his hungover body to the office, took one look at the list of things to fix and decided he should have stayed at home.
No one except Cindy the busty telephone girl had seen him, so he thought if he could sneak out and home, he'd call in later and say he had the flu. If he'd known Cindy-big-boobs was a tattletale, he wouldn't even had tried.
But he didn't know, so he tried. He snuck around the back corridor where he knew no one would see him and tried the emergency stairwell. He'd gone barely three steps when he heard footsteps and the voices of two accountants from upstairs coming up. He panicked, slid back into the corridor, only to be accosted by Greg.
"There you are," he said. "Cindy said you were back here. You should be fixing Mr. Booth's computer. Why are you coming up the emergency stairs? Is the elevator broken?"
"No," Riley said, trying to still his racing heart. "I just needed some… exercise."
"Don't go stinking up the place," Greg teased, gave Riley a playful punch and turned to go. "Mr. Booth is getting pretty mad. You'd better go check it out."
Riley made a face at Greg's retreating back, sulkily followed him back into the telephone office. The other four telephone girls had shown up and all gave Greg the come-hither eye. As usual, Riley was invisible.
He'd fixed Mr. Booth's computer (just some loose screws) and was about to go throw up. He stumbled into the hallway, into a tall, dark-haired man. The man had a cell phone stuck to his ear and it crashed to the floor.
"Oh, my God," Riley'd said, dropped to his knees to pick it up. He could feel there was something broken inside. "I'm so sorry. I should've looked- I can fix it. And I'll pay for the damages." Riley started to dig out a pen but he paused, swallowed back a wave of nausea.
"Hey," the man said. "You don't look so good."
"I'm okay," Riley said, found a pen. "It's just a…" he dropped his voice an octave, "a really bad hangover. Please don't tell my boss."
"Okay," the man said, amusement in his eyes.
"Oh my God." Riley winced at the voice at the end of the hallway. Greg came trotting up in that pompous way of his. "Please God, Riley, tell me you didn't break that."
"I…" Riley paused, looked down at the cell phone in his hand. "Uh…"
"It's my fault," the man said. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
"Oh, no, sir," Greg said. "You don't have to protect little Riley here from anything. He's the assistant technical advisor. He gets blamed for everything that goes wrong around here."
Riley blushed a deep red, kept staring at the phone in his hand.
"I'm really sorry, sir-"
"No," the man said. "I'm sorry. It was my fault."
"I can fix it," Riley started again. "If you'd-"
"Don't worry about it," the man said, started down the passage. Greg didn't even wait for him to get out of earshot before he started ripping in to Riley.
"You broke his phone? How could you have been so stupid?"
"It was an accident-"
"I don't want to hear excuses," Greg continued, his back to the man who'd paused to listen. Riley saw him turn back, and averted his eyes. "You're always screwing up. Can't you ever just do as you're told? Can't you think for yourself? That man is a friend of the most influential investor in this company. Do you have any idea what he could do to this office? To this department?"
"Hey," the tall stranger said, butting in. "He said it was an accident. He's right. Just let it go."
"Thank you, sir," Greg said, smiling blandly. "I will."
Riley kept his eyes on the floor as the stranger gave Greg a suspicious look. Greg watched him walk down the passage and disappear around the corner.
"I'm writing you up," Greg said, pulled a notebook out of his pocket. "That's the second warning this month. One more and you're going on probation."
"Greg," Riley said, his eyes fearful. "Come on, it really was an accident."
"Well, Riley, you have way too many accidents."
Riley stared in desolation as Greg plucked the pen from his hand and started writing. Something behind Greg blurred, and Riley should have warned him, but he was too fascinated to say anything.
Ben Gate's fist collided with Greg's jaw so hard that Greg went flying into the wall. Riley should have called security or something, but he was too shocked. He just stared at the random stranger who'd just knocked his superior out right in front of him.
"Sorry about that," Ben said. "I'm having a bad day. My computer expert just quit on me, Ian Howe is cutting down on his checks and this guy…" he stared down at Greg with distaste, who was just coming around. "He just annoyed me. I don't like being lied to. I'm feeling better. How about you?"
Riley surrendered his hands. There was a crazy maniac attacking random strangers talking to him.
"I'm probably getting fired and I'll never find a job again, but I think my hangover's gone."
Ben chuckled, dug in his pocket.
"If you have trouble finding a job, you can call this guy. Tell him Ben Gates said to give you a job."
Riley stared at the card. Ian Howe. Oh my God. That's the big investor guy.
"Hold on," Riley said as Ben turned to go. "Your computer expert quit?"
"Yes," Ben said. "Why? You know someone?"
"Yeah," Riley scoffed. "Me."
And so he became part of the team.
-
A shrill, insistent noise broke through Riley's sleep. He woke up slowly, wondering if he was dreaming.
Another noise, the roar of an expensive engine, made Riley sit bolt upright.
"My car," he mumbled, still groggy. "They're stealing my car."
He fumbled for his jacket, stumbled towards the front door. The lights in the entrance hall were still on. Ballsy thiefs, Riley thought as he tripped up the steps.
"Hey," he shouted as he flung open the door. And felt stupid.
His red Ferrari stood glinting in the moonlight. The alarm was still whickering, but other than that, nothing seemed out of sorts.
Riley frowned, jerked his head as if to see if there was a lose bolt somewhere. He must have imagined the engine.
From the doorway, he pressed the disarm button in his keys, hoping to still the alarm. But his batteries must have been flat or something, because nothing happened.
Riley sighed, stepped to the car, tried again. Still nothing. He groaned, stepped closer.
"Come on," he encouraged softly.
From the shadows, a dark figure emerged behind Riley. Riley didn't notice as he desperately tried to soothe his car.
Something whistled past Riley's head as he leaned forward. He turned his head to the side, frowning. And put himself in lethal danger.
Riley Poole slumped to the ground.
"Shit," a low voice said. A large man crouched next to the still figure on the ground. Carefully, he rolled the younger man over onto his back, felt with callused fingers around the side of the head. He encountered something warm and sticky, swore again and patted his pockets, pulled out a cell phone.
"Yes."
"Jim, we've got a problem."
"What is it?"
"He turned, I hit the side of his head. Not the back. He's bleeding."
"Goddamnit is he alive?
The man felt for a pulse. It was weak.
"Yeah."
"You idiot. Is he breathing? His vitals, Danny. Check his vitals.
"He's alive, Jim."
"You idiot. If that boy dies, I'll hold you responsible." The voice on the other side sighed. "He could still go into respiratory arrest. You check him every two minutes. And keep the pressure on."
The man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. It was embroidered with an elaborate A. He pressed it onto the wound, held it there.
"I can't leave here," the voice on the other end of the line continued. "You're going to have to deal with it yourself. Don't let him lose too much blood. We can't afford a hospitalization. Does he need stitches?"
"I can't tell, too dark. Maybe."
"Keep the pressure on. Take the car, leave the van. Is there blood on the ground?"
"Yes. He's bleeding a lot."
"Damn it, Danny. We'll send in a cleanup crew tomorrow. Get him here as fast as you can so we can check out the wound."
The large man agreed, hung up. He easily lifted the limp body into the Ferrari's passenger seat, slid behind the wheel. This wasn't part of the plan. He didn't even know if he knew how to drive one of these.
But was definitely faster than the van.
-
Ben Gates didn't want to listen to the words the priest said. He didn't want to think about what was going on, where he was.
Behind him, a woman sobbed. He'd been surprised that so many people had showed up. It wasn't meant to be a big thing. They'd only organized with the funeral home to set out twenty chairs, but when they arrived, they were setting out five times as much. Riley would have been impressed.
Ben lifted dry eyes to the front. He caught Riley's eyes. Cheeky bastard. The photograph Emily and Abigail had picked out stood proudly at the front of the church. He hadn't had close family. His parents had excommunicated him a long time ago. He had a brother who lived somewhere in Asia. Except for Ben and his family, Riley had been alone in the world. It was just natural that they'd be the ones to organize the memorial service.
Ben hadn't wanted to give up the search. Sadusky had promised to never stop trying, but had advised Ben not to put his faith on it. But it had been two months since Riley had vanished. The FBI had found his apartment cleaned out, as if he'd never lived there. His car was gone, still not found, his bank accounts empty. Even Abigail, who'd stood by through everything, believed Riley had made the decision to disappear.
But Ben couldn't give up hope. He knew Riley would never have done anything like this voluntarily. Something had happened. And he intended to find out.
Okay. I'm saying this once. I don't own National Treasure or any ideas or characters originating from it. Disney does. I only own the Treasure Hunter's Special Edition double box set and a few OC's.
About this fic: since you've come so far and read the first chapter, I'll humor you and say that none of the scary dark stuff was intentional. I have a very violent and angsty imagination, probably due to the fact that I've been isolated from normal society for seven months. It tricks me, my imagination does, into thinking, why don't I write a nice, cute little Riley sick-fic. And then in an instant, it whirls on me and suddenly the whole page is filled with horror and apprehension. I can't help it. I'm sorry.
No, I'm not. Who cares? Who doesn't like a good angsty Riley fic? Don't deny it, we're all alike – we thrive on the desolation of our favorite characters. Why? I don't know. Don't ask me to go all psychological on this. Because I'll start saying things without thinking about it first, then go back and think why the hell did I say that?
Anyway. More darkness coming soon.