1Title: A Twist of Fate

Ratings/Warnings: mentions of abuse

Beta: loracj2

Disclaimers: I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine. Also, I know very little about the laws of California. Any reference to anything legal is purely the made up fiction of the author's little mind. Also, in a previous chapter I said that Ryan's father was named Larry. I have changed it to Frank to coincide with canon.

Summary: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

Twist of Fate: Chapter Eleven

The Cohens and Ryan spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening back at the house. The boys occupied themselves with video games, while Sandy and Kirsten kept a close watch on them. Neither one completely trusted Ryan not to try and run away at the first opportunity.

It was about an hour before dinner when the phone rang. Sandy looked at the caller i.d. and quickly excused himself before answering. Within a few minutes he returned, and grabbed his keys from the hook on the wall.

"Honey, I've got to go by the office for awhile. I've just gotten some information on that one particular client I was telling you about earlier." He shifted his eyes in Ryan's direction.

Kirsten nodded her head in understanding. "Yes...of course...I remember. Would you like for us to wait to eat dinner until you get home?"

"If I'm not back in an hour and a half, go ahead and order."

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Good luck," she whispered in his ear.

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Sandy arrived at his office to find Dave McKinney, the private eye he'd hired, already waiting for him. Sandy couldn't help but smile when he saw the other man. Dave looked like he stepped right out of a forties mystery movie. He stood leaning against the office building wall trying his best to blend in with the surroundings. With his hat, trench coat, and cigarette dangling from his lips, the man clearly had a Bogart fascination.

"Dave," Sandy greeted and shook his hand. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate you getting back to me so quickly."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen my bill." Dave chuckled heartily.

"I know your work too well to be worried. I'm sure whatever info you have for me will be more than worth it. Especially if it helps get Ryan away from his stepfather." Sandy unlocked the door. "Come on, let's go to my office."

Dave threw his still lit cigarette on the ground and walked into the building. Sandy looked around guiltily, as if someone might notice the lit cigarette, and stomped it out before following Dave inside.

Once they were seated in the seclusion of Sandy's office, Dave slid a thick manila folder across the desk. He didn't wait for Sandy to open it before describing its contents.

"Arthur W. Sykes, born January 29, 1963, was pretty much a trouble maker from day one. He joined a local gang at the age of twelve. Nothing too big at first, petty theft, things like that. According to some who knew him, as a kid, he was quite the purse snatcher.

"Let me guess," Sandy interrupted. "He wasn't the kind to knock a woman down to steal her purse. I bet he could slice through the straps without her even knowing it."

Dave looked at him quizzically. "Yeah. How'd you know that?"

"Let's just say, I recently received a lesson in the art of how to steal women's handbags."

"This kid you want to help, he didn't try anything in front of you, did he?"

"No." Sandy shook his head. "Just the opposite. He stopped someone from stealing my wife's purse this afternoon in a parking lot."

Dave snorted in disbelief. "Talk about your ironies."

Sandy didn't appreciate Dave's tone. "Let's get back to Art."

"Sure, Sandy. Anyway, he was always in some kind of trouble. Turned eighteen in Juvie. Sentenced for stealing a car."

Sandy raised his eyebrows at the last bit of information.

"I know what you're thinking, Sandy. I heard why your kid got arrested, and I'll cover that in a couple of minutes." Dave pulled out a small notebook from his coat jacket and flipped through a few pages before continuing. "After Art got out of Juvie, there's your long list of low-life crimes-assault and battery, breaking and entering, drunk and disorderly conduct. The only real time he spent in prison as an adult was for armed robbery. But even though he's never been charged with dealing, word on the street is that he's the go-to guy when you need a fix. That's probably how he met the kid's mother. She was a hard-core addict, as well as an alcoholic. He moved in with her a couple of weeks after meeting her. They were married three months later, and she was found dead of an overdose three months after that."

"Was Art questioned in her death?"

"Yes, but there was no evidence to support any suspicions that it was anything other than a suicide."

"Was there any mention of a suicide note she might have left?"

"The kid is the one who found her first. He came home to find her dead in the bathroom. Art was home...asleep on the couch. Apparently he was exhausted from a full day of doing nothing, and didn't hear a thing." Dave added sarcastically. "The police questioned Ryan about a note, but he was pretty shaken up. According to the report, he didn't verbally respond to any of their questions. He was only able to shake his head yes or no. The police searched the home and didn't come up with any kind of note, but even without it, the police couldn't justify her death as anything other than a suicide. The only real mention of Art in the report was that his main concern was how he was going to afford to bury her."

Sandy closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn't known that Ryan was the one to find his mother. He wondered how much more hardship one kid could possibly take in their life.

"Tell me what you found out about Ryan."

Dave looked at Sandy and grimaced. "It's pretty bad."

"I've gathered as much over the past couple of days. I need some type of details, so I can confront Ryan and hopefully get him to tell me the truth about his life with Art."

"Okay. You've probably read his social service file."

Sandy nodded.

"Then you know the kid didn't exactly have it easy before his mother's death."

Sandy nodded again.

"Well it got about hundred times worse. At least in Fresno, he had some semblance of a normal life. He went to school, he had a few friends, but all that changed when she died. Right after the funeral, and I do mean that very same day, Art packed himself and the boy up and moved to Chino. Since that day, he has had no contact with anyone but Art, and the scum he brings in the house.

Ryan has no friends and he doesn't go to school. One neighbor, an elderly widow lady, takes particular notice of his comings and goings. She says he leaves the house every morning before eight and doesn't come back until dark. She also mentioned that she has never seen him without a black eye, bruised face, or a busted lip. She mentioned that she has offered him food, but he always refuses. She says he's an extremely polite kid, but too quiet for a boy of his age."

"What else did you find out?" Sandy forced himself to ask. He was afraid he already knew the answer, but he couldn't help but keep his stomach from tying itself in knots over anticipation and dread of what he was about to hear.

"I was able to corner a couple of Art's buddies in the local bar. For a couple of rounds of cheap drinks and five hundred a piece, I was able to buy their friendship and some more information."

"Art's been teaching that kid everything he knows about lifting wallets and stealing purses from the day that boy's momma died. Once Ryan hit fifteen, he moved him up in the world to hot wiring cars. I'm afraid this weekend was not the first time he tried to steal a car. It was just the first time he got caught. They told me Art never stops bragging about the boy. Says he's got himself a virtual gold mine. He's smart, a real quick study, and damn good at what he's been taught. Mind you, he doesn't say any of this to Ryan."

"I'm telling you Sandy, I've met some low-lifes in my time, and these two buddies of Art's rate right down with the lowest, but even they say the way Art treats the boy makes them sick. He half starves him to make him do whatever he wants, and if Ryan even looks at him wrong, he wakes up on the other side of the room. The one guy said he's got the kid so scared, he's never even heard Ryan speak."

He shut his notepad. "I've documented some specific instances of abuse they witnessed in the file. I could go over them if you want, but to sum it up... he beats that poor kid like a rented mule."

Sandy swallowed hard, trying to battle the nausea that threatened to overtake him. Unable to speak for a moment, he shook his head. Composing himself, he was finally able to answer. "That's okay, Dave. I've heard enough. I'm sure you've got me enough information to have Art's custody revoked. Though, I don't know how in the hell any judge ever granted him guardianship in the first place. You would think one look at Art's past would have been more than enough evidence to place substantial doubt in his ability to take care of a young boy."

"That's the thing. I don't think he was ever granted custody."

"What do you mean?"

"I've looked at every file I could get my hands on and I can't find any record that shows proof of guardianship. I think that as soon as his mom died, Art swept that kid away so fast, no one had time to do anything, and then he was just forgotten."

"How can that be? What about his father? I realize he was in prison, but surely he would have been informed of Dawn's death. Didn't he inquire about who Ryan would be living with?"

"Frank Atwood is not going to win any Father of the Year awards. Dawn filed for divorced shortly after he was incarcerated for the last time. He refused to sign the papers until she released him from any and all parental rights and responsibilities. He claimed that Ryan's wasn't his. That she trapped him into marriage and that both she and Ryan ruined his life...not that it was much of a life to ruin, might I add."

"How about grandparents, aunts or uncles?"

"Dawn was an only child. Both of her parents died in a car accident shortly after she married Frank."

"What about Frank's family?"

"It appears that Frank married a girl just like dear old mom. She's a drunk and an addict, too."

"I don't suppose I even want to hear about his father."

"You supposed right. Frank, his dad, and his two brothers' files are mirror images of each other. All four Atwood men are mean, violent drunks with a list of criminal activity a mile long. They're all in prison as I speak in different parts of the state."

"Ryan doesn't exactly have an impressive background, does he?"

"I guess it depends on what you consider impressive. I'm afraid when his mother died, there wasn't a soul left on this earth who gave a damn about that kid."

"That changed two days ago, Dave. It's going to be a cold day in hell before I let that bastard get his hands on Ryan again." Sandy slammed his fist on the desk to emphasize his words.

"Well," said Dave. "If you need anything else..."

"I'll be sure to call."

"I guess all that's left is my fee." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Sandy.

Sandy barely glanced at the bill, before opening his top desk drawer and pulling out his checkbook. Dave looked at the checkbook in Sandy's hand, and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Uhmm, Sandy."

A sudden look of realization crossed Sandy's face.

"Oh sorry, of course. I'll have the cash first thing tomorrow morning."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it. I know it's a lot."

"Don't think another thing about it, Dave. After my friends in the D.A.'s office get through with Art. This..." He patted the manila folder. "Will be worth every penny."

tbc