Nota Bene Version 2.1:
Thank you to all of you kind souls who have reviewed thus far. I guess your enthusiastic response means I'd better keep on this thing, lest I find rabid Riley fans descending on my doorstep with torches in hand. Ha, ha! (Y'all know I'm just kidding. Right?)
I apologize for the time it has taken for me to write and post this. No, I hadn't forgotten about it, nor have I been ignoring your pleas to update this thing. On the contrary, I have spent quite a few breaks at work with my trusty notebook and pen, trying to plot a general idea of how this story should play out. I have not drafted a true outline to this tale, but I have determined that it is going to meander quite a bit. This could be quite long when it's finished, certainly longer than any fan fiction I have posted previously.
As I always do with fan fiction, I ask myself the eternal question. How far can this thing go? A.k.a., what will the fandom let me get away with? Apparently, I can get away with a lot in this fandom if other works are any indication and that could be very, very bad. For Riley.
Holy Disclaimer Time, Batman!
1) I do not own the NT characters, just the OCs. The OC in this chapter is about as stereotypical as you can get. I have done this on purpose, so take it with a grain of salt.
2) Windsor Locks, CT and its airport and airport rental car facility are real. The suburb where Riley grew up is completely fictional.
Now, on to the story!
Chapter Two
"I know he'd never let me leave. I had to run away alone. So many threats and fears, so many wasted years before my life became my own. And though the nightmare should be over, some of the terrors are still intact. I'll hear that ugly, coarse and violent voice, and then he grabs me from behind and pulls me back!"
- Meatloaf
The sun had started to set when Riley's plane touched down in Windsor Locks. As the wheels touched down on the tarmac, he felt a surge of dread wash over him and, immediately, he kicked himself for feeling that way. His father was gone. Nothing could happen to him now. He didn't have to face the cold look, the unfeeling voice and the general air that he was never wanted. Still, what Riley wouldn't have given for a hit of Pepto to sooth his nervous, knotted and aching stomach.
After getting off the plane and retrieving his luggage, he headed over to Hertz to rent a car for his stay. Missing his Ferrari, he chose a cherry red Mustang convertible. At least he could feel like he was driving his car, even if the January weather wouldn't let him put the top down.
It seemed like the thirty minute drive to Oak Hollow ended too soon. As he pulled into the semi-circular driveway he glanced up at the imposing brick Italianate that had been a prison to him for his entire youth.
While he was without moral support, he wouldn't be alone in the house. Upon calling his father's lawyer, Riley had learned that his father had appointed their old butler, Burton, to act as caretaker of the premises and had given the elderly man a generous stipend for such shortly before his death. The butler had been appointed to oversee the property until Riley could be found and the property officially signed over to him.
As it turned out, his father had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. If the car crash hadn't killed him, the disease would surely have done the job. Riley couldn't help but feel that the old man had gotten off rather easy. A less charitable part of him wished his father could have experienced some suffering before he passed. Maybe then, Riley could have had some justice for the way he had been treated for two-thirds of his life. As soon as the thought had flashed through his brain, his conscience berated him for the evil thought, but Riley didn't care. He certainly wasn't going to made to feel guilty, because he couldn't bring himself to forgive someone who had always hated him.
Just because his father didn't hit him excessively, it didn't mean that Riley wasn't abused. Words could hurt as much, if not more and his father had always had an arsenal of hate and loathing lying in wait to strike him down. He never acknowledged Riley's birthday and made it a point to be conspicuously absent then and for every Christmas. Ryerson Pellanor Landley II: Came from old money, renowned antique collector and dealer, as well as esteemed philanthropist. However, he never qualified for father of the year.
At least his mother had been different. Anyway, he thought she had been different. He only had one memory of her, from when he was about two and the family had vacationed at the summer cottage in the Vineyard. Riley swallowed thickly as he tried to push the memory from his mind. The fuzzy image of the blonde-haired woman smiling on the sandy beach brought up a terrifying nightmare that he never wanted to think of again.
Riley opened his door, to a face full of fat snow flurries and a gust of New England January chill. He grabbed his duffel bag from the trunk and tread carefully through the thin, greasy layer of freshly fallen snow to the door. Maybe his Converse hadn't been the wisest footwear choice.
He walked up to the front door, drawing a long, shaky breath. "Abandon all hope ye who enter here," he muttered bitterly. With an equally shaky hand, he grabbed the door knocker and hit it firmly against the door. As the sound echoed into the foyer, Riley wished he was back on the rickety elevator below Trinity Church or the seesaw platform from Hell in Cibola. Anywhere, but here.
At first, there was no indication that Riley had even been heard. The door eased open a crack and an elderly man peered out. Once the man recognized who he was looking at, he opened the door wider, but his emotionless, unwelcoming expression didn't falter. "Master Ryerson, I see you have arrived."
Riley swallowed thickly, the knot in his stomach tightening. It felt just like old times and Riley almost forgot he was a grown man. "Hello, Burton," he said unenthusiastically as the older man stepped aside to let him in. Riley stepped into the foyer and Burton closed the door gently behind him.
"I have prepared your room, sir. I trust you remember where it is," Burton said in his customary monotone voice. "Dinner will be served promptly at seven," Burton continued. "Do you need anything else, sir?"
"Uh, no, Burton. Thanks," Riley mumbled as he looked around. Burton nodded and left the foyer, heading in the direction of the kitchen.
Riley walked up to his old room on the second floor. He opened the door and quickly scanned the large room. There was his old bed, desk and bureau, but the room was devoid of any personal sign that Riley had ever lived there.
He sat on the edge of the bed, putting his head in his hands. Why was he putting himself through this? He had escaped this place to carve a life that wasn't dictated by his father's prestige or money and he didn't owe the old man a damned thing. However, as a puppy that had been conditioned to believe that he deserved his beatings and, therefore, had long ago been conditioned to obey when his father summoned him. Now, his father still kept him under his powerful thumb, even from beyond the grave.
"Who says ghosts aren't real?" Riley muttered.
He thought of calling Ben, if only to hear a friendly voice. That is, if Ben had forgiven him yet and that would depend on the severity of the tongue lashing he had received from Abigail. No one had tried to call Riley before he left Washington D.C. and he had turned his phone off on the plane. He lifted his head from his hands and reached into his pocket for his flip phone. He turned it on and scanned for messages, frowning when he couldn't find a signal. Curious, he unearthed his laptop from his carry-on bag and turned it on, hoping, maybe, to piggyback an unsuspecting soul's WI-FI signal. Again, nothing.
"Even technology is afraid to come in here," he said to the empty room as he closed his laptop and placed it next to him on the bed. He resolved to hit up a coffee shop the next day. He couldn't bear the thought of being cooped up in that house for two whole days with nothing to occupy his mind. Hell, he couldn't even fathom being there for two more minutes with nothing to do.
Not one to sit still very long if a computer wasn't on, Riley decided to reacquaint himself with his childhood home. He had planned to sell the property once the ownership had officially been transferred and this would be an excellent opportunity to assess precisely what he would be putting on the market.
Riley made his way down the grand staircase to his father's old study. The quiet in the house was unnerving. Riley half expected the balding, hulking form of his father to jump out of the shadows at any moment and scare ten years off his life.
"Ryerson!"
Riley jumped, his breath coming out in shallow pants. The ethereal sound seemed to come from within the walls. Or, maybe it was his memory playing tricks on him. He approached the heavy, oak door of the study and placed a still shaky hand on the doorknob. He slowly opened the door and flipped the light switch.
The room was exactly as he remembered it. The brown leather couch, antique, oak desk and oversized brown leather desk chair were all in their usual places. The built-in bookshelves still housed his father's massive collection of volumes. His father's presence was everywhere and in everything in that room, but there was nothing tangible.
Still, the room brought the old feelings flooding back. Memories of having no one in his life save for those who wanted him for his computer expertise or his family's money. Though, at least it had been marginally better than not being wanted at all. Like a tidal wave slamming into shore, everything his father spouted to him out of loathing for each infraction that Riley had ever incurred, no matter how minor, infiltrated his psyche. Unfortunately, there were a lot of repeats in those hateful utterances.
"God should have taken you when you were born!"
"Your mother killed herself, because of you!"
"You are my cross to bear!"
"I don't want to see you or to know you!"
"You are a slur on everything I have ever accomplished in my life!"
"How dare you disgrace me by being expelled from Dartmouth! If it weren't for the family name I would gladly let you fester in jail. You are a despicable criminal and a sorry excuse for an heir."
The walls seemed to close in on him and he found it hard to breathe. He just had to get out of that room. He rushed out of the room and returned to the foyer. He sat on the bottom stair; his eyes squeezed shut, trying to control his breathing and shaking.
Two days. He just had to make it until Monday. After the will had been read and the papers signed, he could get rid of everything his family's name had stained. He could hop a plane back to Washington D.C. and return to his regularly scheduled life as Riley Poole.
