A/N: Wow... It's been awhile, huh? Oops. Sorry 'bout that. I've been really
busy. I'll try to post a few chapters during break. A couple chapters ago
was one of my favorite chapters... One of the next ones will be another
favorite. Hmm... well, yeah. Again, sorry for the delay in posting!
Chapter 9
Sandy parked in the same spot he'd parked the day prior. Slamming the driver's door shut behind him, he pressed the lock button on his keys, listened for the beep informing him that the car was, indeed, locked, then rushed towards the small house. This time he wasted no time glancing around for possible car-stealers - he didn't care this time, his mind was solely on Ryan.
He noticed the front door was slightly ajar - unless it had been burglarized in the last 24 hours, then Ryan was definitely here. At least, he had been. Sandy only hoped that he had stuck around. Pushing open the door, he immediately noticed Ryan's jacket carelessly thrown on the ground.
Glancing around, he searched for his foster son. Not in the living room... or the kitchen... Sandy began to panic - where was he?
Peeking in the doorway to the bedroom where Sandy'd found Dawn, he spotted Ryan. The teenager was sitting on the floor, a shoebox and scattered photographs surrounding him. Tears were streaming down his paled cheeks; he was leafing through the photos slowly, mumbling to himself.
Sandy opened his mouth to call out to Ryan, but he stopped himself, noticing an object on the ground within an arm's length of the boy. A gun. Sandy cursed to himself - Ryan must have found it in the closet while searching for the shoebox of pictures. Sandy sighed inwardly. What was he going to do? He couldn't stand there forever, he needed to help Ryan.
Bracing himself for any possible situation that might come from this, Sandy let out a whisper. "Ryan?" At receiving no reaction, he hesitantly tried again, this time a bit louder. "Ryan?"
Ryan's senses may not have picked up on Sandy's arrival, but his sense of paranoia was unusually high. Hearing Sandy's voice, he snapped to his feet, tears stopped falling and the gun already in his hand.
Sandy gulped. "Ryan, it's okay..." Upon receiving no response, he continued. "I'm sorry about your mother."
Ryan's emotions were extremely raw - you could easily read his pain from his eyes, which were now red and puffy from crying. Ryan tensed at the mention of his mother. "Yeah?" He scoffed.
Sandy nodded. "Yes, Ryan. We're all sorry about it."
He was definitely not prepared for Ryan's following outburst. "If everyone cared so much, then why didn't anyone fucking save her?" Ryan yelled, waving the gun around.
"I'm sure they tried," Sandy spoke softly, his eyes darting between the gun and the dangerous glint in Ryan's eyes.
"No," Ryan whispered. "No one... Not even I did..." A tear slid down his cheek. "Fuck me, why didn't I save her?" Immense guilt racking his body, he let out an audible sob, then slowly raised his right hand... the hand holding the gun... to his head. "Why didn't I save her?" He asked in a deathly whisper. He cocked the gun.
Chapter 9
Sandy parked in the same spot he'd parked the day prior. Slamming the driver's door shut behind him, he pressed the lock button on his keys, listened for the beep informing him that the car was, indeed, locked, then rushed towards the small house. This time he wasted no time glancing around for possible car-stealers - he didn't care this time, his mind was solely on Ryan.
He noticed the front door was slightly ajar - unless it had been burglarized in the last 24 hours, then Ryan was definitely here. At least, he had been. Sandy only hoped that he had stuck around. Pushing open the door, he immediately noticed Ryan's jacket carelessly thrown on the ground.
Glancing around, he searched for his foster son. Not in the living room... or the kitchen... Sandy began to panic - where was he?
Peeking in the doorway to the bedroom where Sandy'd found Dawn, he spotted Ryan. The teenager was sitting on the floor, a shoebox and scattered photographs surrounding him. Tears were streaming down his paled cheeks; he was leafing through the photos slowly, mumbling to himself.
Sandy opened his mouth to call out to Ryan, but he stopped himself, noticing an object on the ground within an arm's length of the boy. A gun. Sandy cursed to himself - Ryan must have found it in the closet while searching for the shoebox of pictures. Sandy sighed inwardly. What was he going to do? He couldn't stand there forever, he needed to help Ryan.
Bracing himself for any possible situation that might come from this, Sandy let out a whisper. "Ryan?" At receiving no reaction, he hesitantly tried again, this time a bit louder. "Ryan?"
Ryan's senses may not have picked up on Sandy's arrival, but his sense of paranoia was unusually high. Hearing Sandy's voice, he snapped to his feet, tears stopped falling and the gun already in his hand.
Sandy gulped. "Ryan, it's okay..." Upon receiving no response, he continued. "I'm sorry about your mother."
Ryan's emotions were extremely raw - you could easily read his pain from his eyes, which were now red and puffy from crying. Ryan tensed at the mention of his mother. "Yeah?" He scoffed.
Sandy nodded. "Yes, Ryan. We're all sorry about it."
He was definitely not prepared for Ryan's following outburst. "If everyone cared so much, then why didn't anyone fucking save her?" Ryan yelled, waving the gun around.
"I'm sure they tried," Sandy spoke softly, his eyes darting between the gun and the dangerous glint in Ryan's eyes.
"No," Ryan whispered. "No one... Not even I did..." A tear slid down his cheek. "Fuck me, why didn't I save her?" Immense guilt racking his body, he let out an audible sob, then slowly raised his right hand... the hand holding the gun... to his head. "Why didn't I save her?" He asked in a deathly whisper. He cocked the gun.