Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.
A/N: This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.
My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)
I'm very relieved that readers are embracing Anne and Ryan's relationship. Back when I first wrote the outline for this story (a looong time ago) I had two scenarios laid out. One was that Kirsten was the one who aided Trey and ended up with Ryan in the cellar of hell and, of course, this scenario with Dr. Morrison. I've been wanting to write more interactions between Ryan and Kirsten, so hopefully I'll be able to find a place in my story to do so later.
The reason I elected to go with Anne was because I had certain issues I needed to address. First, I needed someone with medical expertise so Ryan wouldn't die within the first few chapters of my story (always a plus in my book.) Second, I needed to find a way to explain the title of my story and I knew that explanation needed a more intimate conversation. I've always written Dr. Morrison as a consummate professional while on the job. If Ryan was her patient in the hospital, she would not share anything personal about herself with him. And last, I needed a strong character (who better than an ER doctor) who could endure this dire situation with Ryan, since his physical and emotional well-being is severely compromised.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)
Chapter Thirteen
Jack O'Brien sits alone on the park bench, sipping a cup of Starbuck's strongest brew while eating a blueberry muffin. He glances down at the folded newspaper next to him and sighs.
This better work, Jack thinks to himself, feeling he's come to a virtual dead end in his search for the missing teenager.
Jack spies a gray pigeon out of the corner of his eye. Intrigued by the intelligent bird, he watches as it makes its way closer to the bench.
"You probably want a bite of my muffin, don't you," Jack says to the bird, happy for the company while he waits for his 'guest'. "I'll tell you what, I will give you a piece of my muffin if you fly off and find the lad for me."
Jack tosses a small crumb onto the ground and watches the bird immediately devour it as if it hasn't eaten in days.
"The lad is sixteen, five eightish with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He was last seen wearing blue jeans and a light blue, long sleeve Henley," Jack says as he tosses another crumb on the ground for his new avian friend. "Just look for the color blue."
Suddenly the bird flies off and Jack senses he's no longer the only person sitting on the park bench. He glances over at a man in his mid to late thirties, dressed in black pants and gray sport coat with dark, thinning hair and black goatee.
"Cop?" the man asks as he nonchalantly places his hand on top of the newspaper.
"Detective, Newport Beach."
"Internal Affairs?"
"Just a man looking for a missing teenager," Jack replies, hoping the cop won't feel it's too risky to talk and decide to leave. "I don't care about any bribes you may have taken in the past or evidence you may have planted to get some scumbag off the street..."
Jack glances down and sees the man pull the newspaper in closer to himself.
"Check out the sports section."
"March Madness... you a basketball fan?" the cop asks as he discreetly takes the folded sports section and opens it slightly, noting five one-hundred dollar bills neatly tucked inside.
"Soccer."
"Right..."
Jack takes another sip of his coffee and finishes what's left of his muffin. "Trey Atwood... sound familiar?"
"Car theft... black Camaro, if I remember correctly..."
"I'm interested in the interrogation after his arrest," Jack says staring straight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact with the man too quickly.
"Hmmm... why, may I ask?"
"I'm looking for his younger brother... he's gone missing."
"I wasn't one of the arresting officers, just part of the interrogation team. But I seem to recall a younger brother getting arrested along with Trey. Kid was sent off to juvie, I believe."
"Well, now he's out."
"Possible runaway?"
"No, not a runaway."
"Foul play?"
"None that we know of... yet."
"How long has he been missing?"
Jack looks down at his watch and sees it's getting close to noon. "Eleven hours, thirty-five minutes and... forty-seven seconds."
"Not long enough for the Department to get involved," the cop acknowledges as he takes the folded sports section and carefully tucks it inside his jacket. "What does Trey's interrogation have to do with his brother missing?"
"While searching for the lad, I've learned that Trey owed someone money... two grand," Jack explains as he tosses his garbage into the bin next to him. "I'm just working a hunch... maybe that debt was tied to his last arrest?"
"Why don't you just ask Trey?"
"Trey is... unavailable, at the moment."
Jack listens as the man utters a deep sigh under his breath, believing now his hard earned money has been well spent.
"I've hit a brick wall. I'll take anything... a name, an address, a phone number..."
"Through our sources, we found out Trey owed a drug dealer some money... two grand," the cop reluctantly explains. "We figured Trey was stealing the Camaro to help repay the debt."
"Go on..."
"This drug dealer... he's bad news. We didn't care about the car theft and we were willing to drop all charges if Trey would testify against the guy."
"I take it Trey didn't bite."
"Hell no, and that's the problem! No one will cross this guy for fear of retaliation. Trey 'lawyered up' but we kept on him, hoping he'd have a change of heart," the cop says, recalling the interrogation. "All we need is one person to come forward. Then we can get a search warrant for his house. So far, this drug dealer's always been one step ahead of us and everyone's so goddamn afraid of him... No one will cross him."
"So this drug dealer, what would he do... bust a few knuckles?"
"Hah, I wish," the cop replies with a smirk and light chuckle. "About a week before Trey was arrested, we found a body out in the desert. Looked like he had been out there for awhile. His throat had been slit and a certain male appendage was, well... how shall I put it... missing."
Jack cringes slightly and immediately crosses his legs as he swallows to keep his blueberry muffin from re-emerging in his throat.
"There wasn't any evidence to tie this drug dealer to the murder but word on the street was he did it. We just need one person... one fuckin' person to come forward, but everyone's too damn scared."
"Don't blame them..."
"The guy's been building quite a reputation. On the street, they're starting to call him 'Slitter'."
"Charming," Jack utters. "Does this 'Slitter' have a real name?"
"Ramon Cruz."
Jack quickly takes his notepad and pen out and jots down the name. "Got an address?"
"Listen, if you think Ramon Cruz has your missing kid, you're stepping into some very dangerous territory," the cop says as he writes down an address on the front section of the newspaper and hands it to Jack. "You may want to think about some backup."
"At this point, I really don't know what to think..."
"What's the kid's name?"
"Ryan Atwood. Sound familiar?"
"Ryan Atwood. The kid who was kidnapped by his lunatic, sociopath of a father? That Ryan Atwood?" the cop asks, recalling the case vividly. "I never connected that kid to Trey..."
"The lad... he's been through hell, literally," Jack explains, thinking back to when he and Kat investigated the abandoned warehouse; the unthinkable prison of horror the boy's own father locked him and left him in... to die. "I'm very concerned about the lad's mental state..."
"If Ramon has him, I'd be concerned about his physical state," the cop adds as he stands up and begins to take his leave. "Good luck, Detective. I hope you find the kid."
"D... did you see that?"
"See what?" Anne asks, confused yet concerned.
"I thought I saw something m... move... over there."
Anne peers across the dimly lit room, searching intently but sees nothing; the corners and walls obscured by shadows cast by the flickering lightbulb.
"I don't see anything," Anne says. "I can go over there and..."
"No, don't!" Ryan interrupts as he places his arm in front of Anne to keep her from getting up. "It m... might be a r... rat. You need to k... keep your legs in close to your body so they w... won't climb up your legs."
"Ryan, there are no rats in here," Anne states gently, hoping the boy will take her word. "You're just imagining..."
Anne immediately bites her tongue, wishing she had phrased her words differently.
"What I meant to say..."
"Do you think I'm crazy?" Ryan interrupts as he rubs his eyes and peers into the shadows, searching for movement as he begins to question his sanity.
"No... heaven's no! You're not crazy," Anne reassures as she gently rubs the back of Ryan's neck, hoping to calm the boy down. "You're injured... you've lost a lot of blood and you're in pain. Combine that with everything you've been through..."
"It's not the first time I've thought I've seen s... something that wasn't there," Ryan admits softly, recalling the numerous times he had thought he was dreaming only to discover he was never really asleep.
"Have you talked to Dr. Evans about this?" Anne asks, realizing the boy has been suffering from post-traumatic stress. "Have you told Sandy and Kirsten?"
"I've talked to Dr. Evans, b... but Sandy and Kirsten are going through enough right now, you know... with C... Caleb's trial s... starting soon," Ryan stutters as he lowers his head and sighs. "They don't need to hear about my problems..."
Anne's heart sinks as she listens to the boy's words; his voice soft and melancholy as he attempts to downplay his emotional pain.
"Ryan, there is no evidence of rats in this basement," Anne assures as she moves her hand down to the boy's tense shoulder and squeezes gently.
Anne waits a few moments, willing the boy to turn his head and look at her.
"Ryan, I would never lie to you. The only rat in this house is the two-legged one upstairs," Anne says, glancing towards the basement door. "You need to trust me."
"I do trust you," Ryan replies softly as he looks at Anne, offering the doctor a small smile before turning his head back to continue casing the dark corners of the basement.
But you could be wrong...
Jack sits in his car and takes out his cell phone to call his friend, Grayson Birch.
"Gray... Jack O'Brien here," Jack states when his ex-colleague answers his phone.
"Jack, how goes your search?"
"At this point, I think they'll find Jimmy Hoffa before I find the lad."
"That good, huh... how can I help."
"I need to pay a visit to a drug dealer, but it could be dangerous. I'd like to ask the CPD for some back-up, just one squad car..."
"You're in, Jack. I talked to the Captain. Told him you were looking for a missing kid. As soon as I mentioned it was Ryan Atwood, he was one-hundred percent on board."
"Really? That's great!"
"He remembers that case vividly... has two teenage boys himself. That kidnapping affected a lot of people, Jack. Call him if you need help."
"Thanks, Gray. I owe you one."
"Just find the kid, alive and well. Then we'll go out for some single malts and reminisce about the good old days..."
Jack smiles as he ends the call to his friend, then searches for the number of Ryan's cell phone.
Mr. Cohen should be home by now, Jack thinks to himself, feeling the need to give the man an update on his progress. I hope he still has the lad's phone. I really don't want to tie up his line...
"It's too m... much..."
"What's too much?"
"Money..."
"I don't understand," Anne says quietly, hoping the boy will explain his thoughts.
"The r... ransom... the Cohen's shouldn't p... pay it..."
Anne studies the boy as he continues to stare into the shadows, looking for rats that aren't there and worrying about money; feeling he's not worth the expense.
"What do you think would be a fair price for you?" Anne asks, hoping if she can get the boy to talk openly, he'll begin to understand what's most important.
"Huh?" Ryan questions, suddenly confused.
"How much? What do you think you're worth?"
Ryan bites his lower lip and lowers his eyes as he contemplates the doctor's question.
"I don't know..."
"Surely there's some amount..."
"I said I don't know."
Anne listens as the boy curtly dismisses the question and cuts the conversation short.
"Ryan, the simple truth of the matter is, the Cohen's love you."
"But, what about you? AJ might not let you go..."
"I'm putting my faith in the police," Anne states with utter conviction. "It's like going to the doctor when you're sick. You have to trust that person to do their job and make you well. I'm trusting that the police will do their job and bring us both to safety."
"I still d... don't think the Cohen's should have to pay so much..."
"This is what I know, Ryan," Anne states as she wraps her arm around the boy's shoulders and gently pulls him in closer to herself. "The Cohen's don't need a bigger house, another fancy car or, I don't know... more stuff."
Anne leans in and gently kisses the side of the boy's head. "What the Cohen's need, Ryan... is you."
AJ checks his watch, noting it's well past noon.
Time to call back Mr. Hotshot lawyer, AJ thinks to himself as he opens the front door to return to the payphone he used to make his ransom call. He should have my money by now.
"What the fuck?"
AJ immediately closes the front door when he spots a patrol car parked across the street.
"No, no, no... this cannot be happenin'... goddamn it!"
AJ paces back and forth in the small entryway, cursing anything and everything he can think of to curse.
"He called the cops? He called the fuckin' cops?" AJ spits out as he takes Ramon's cell phone to call Sandy Cohen. "That damn lawyer's gonna pay for this... that damn kid's gonna pay!"
Sandy lets out a wistful sigh and rubs his hands over his tired eyes. He glances over at Ryan's cell phone laying on the breakfast bar where they left it, then looks at his phone and stares at it, still willing it to ring. Suddenly, Ryan's phone rings jolting Sandy, Kirsten and Seth to attention.
"I wonder who that could be?" Kirsten asks nervously.
"Do you want me to answer it, Dad?" Seth asks. "It could be someone from school..."
"No, I'll answer it," Sandy states as he takes in a deep breath and answers the phone.
"Mr. Cohen, Jack O'Brien here."
"Detective... what can I do for you."
"I've got a lead on the person Trey owed money to... checking it out now."
"Really? Do you think it has something to do with Ryan?" Sandy asks, feeling bad about keeping the truth from the detective but knowing he has no choice.
"I'm not sure, but it's a start..."
Sandy becomes startled when his cell phone suddenly starts ringing.
"Hold on , Detective," Sandy says as he puts Ryan's cell phone down on the breakfast bar and answers his phone.
"What in the fuckin' hell do you think you're doin'! Callin' the cops! That was a bad move, mister... a seriously bad move..."
"Wait... what? I didn't call the cops," Sandy says in a state of confusion.
"Well, there's two cops sittin' in a squad car right across the street. And now I see some middle-aged dude gettin' out of a car and walkin' this way. Got 'detective' written all over him. Here, I thought you cared about that mangy good-for-nothin' kid..."
"I do care! You have to believe me!" Sandy pleads, realizing Jack has stumbled onto the house where the kidnapper is keeping Ryan. "I'll fix this. Just... just hold on... don't do anything rash!"
"Sandy, what's going on?" Kirsten asks in a state of panic. "Is it about Ryan? Is he alright?"
Sandy puts his cell phone down and quickly picks up Ryan's phone as he holds up his other hand to silence his wife.
"Detective, you must turn around this instant and leave. You cannot go to that house!"
"What? I don't understand. This is a good, solid lead, Mr. Cohen."
"Please, you can't... please, you need to..."
"What are you not telling me? Spit it out, Mr. Cohen!"
"The man inside the house... he has Ryan!" Sandy blurts out.
"You knew this and didn't tell me? What in god's name were you thinking!"
"A man called me when we were at Kramer's. He's asked for two million. He said he would kill Ryan if I went to the cops."
"They always say that!"
"I've got the money right here, Detective, and the kidnapper is on the other line. I told him you would walk away. Please, Detective..."
Jack glances over at the house and notices someone peering through the crack of the boarded up front window.
"I'm walking away now, Mr. Cohen. Talk to the kidnapper. Make sure he understands I'm retreating."
Sandy picks up his cell phone and takes in another deep breath.
"The detective is walking away. He didn't know you had Ryan. I didn't tell him... I swear to God."
"Yeah... I see him walkin' away..."
"I've got your money. Please, we can still do this."
"You tell the detective that you, and only you, are gonna deliver the cash..."
"All right, I'll tell him right now," Sandy says as he switches over to Ryan's cell phone.
"Dad, what's happening? Is Ryan alright?"
"Hush!"
"Hush?"
"Not you, Detective... my son."
"All right, this is what you're going to do. You have the two million?"
"Yes, it's right here in a duffel bag... next to me."
"Detective Strauss should be back by now. I will instruct her to come by your place and pick you up. She'll bring you to me, here in Chino."
"All right..."
"I'll have two officers stationed at your home. Your wife and son are to remain at the house. They cannot, for their safety, leave under any circumstances. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, very clear..."
"You will give the kidnapper my name and cell number. If he wants his two million, he's going to have to negotiate. You need to impress upon him how crucial it is that he contacts me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand... completely."
"All right, Mr. Cohen, you're a lawyer. It's time to put your negotiating skills to use. I'm counting on you..."
"You can count on me, Detective..."
"Good, because I believe the proverbial 'shit' has just hit the fan. Do not fail me, Mr. Cohen."
Sandy ends his call with the irate detective, then picks up his phone to address the even more livid kidnapper.
"Are you still there?"
"Yeah... so what's it gonna be? You bringin' me my money, or am I gonna have to take my anger out on the kid."
"I'm coming out there right now with the money. But, you need to contact Detective Jack O'Brien. He wants to negotiate..."
"I ain't negotiating..."
"Please, if you want your money, you have to be open..."
"Fine! Just bring me my fuckin' money!"
Sandy breathes a small sigh of relief as he tells the man the detective's cell number.
"You need to call Detective O'Brien... otherwise, I'm afraid they won't let us go through with our deal."
"Oh, you'll come through with our deal, Mr. Hotshot lawyer. 'Cause, if you don't, that kid will suffer. I will beat that kid... I'll beat him to a bloody pulp. I'll make him plead for mercy. You hear me? I'll make sure he screams so loud, they'll be able to hear him on the fuckin' coast! If I hurt him, it's your fault! If he dies, it's on YOU!"
Sandy listens to the abrupt "click" of the call ending and shudders as he lets out a heavy sigh. He places both phones down, then rests his elbows on the breakfast bar and covers his face in the palms of his hands.
Oh, dear Lord, Sandy laments to himself as he rubs his tired, tear filled eyes. What have I done...