Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.
A/N: Sequel to "A Bitter Pill": Bob Stankey, head of the group home Ryan stayed at for six months, is ready to stand trial for second-degree murder due to depraved indifference in the death of a teenage boy in his care. Ryan is set to take the stand and testify against Stankey, facing the man who abused him.
This story takes place three months after "A Bitter Pill" ends. Ryan and Luke are friends and attending the public school while Seth is attending Harbor. I'm taking some "liberties" with the time and understand that it would be more like a year or longer for any trial to begin. But, I didn't want to fast forward an entire year so, in this story, the legal justice system works at lightning speed. :-)
This last chapter ties in an event that occurred in "A Bitter Pill" as well as bringing Ryan's and Luke's friendship to fruition. I always felt Luke should have remained on the show. I'm still not sure why the character was written off. If anyone reading knows why, please feel free to enlighten me. :-)
I really want to give a whole-hearted thank you to the readers who have stuck with this story and supported my writing. I appreciate all of the feedback and the reviews I've received. :-)
Chapter Twelve
Sandy lays in bed with his eyes wide open and sighs. He's been unable to fall asleep. He was so tired at bedtime but his brain just won't shut down with everything that has happened during the day; Sheriff Hicks assuring him that Stankey will do major time in prison, picking Ryan up from jail and the long ride home, then proposing the idea of adoption to the boy. He's read about this strange phenomenon called "overtiredness", literally being too tired to fall asleep. Sandy turns his head and looks at the alarm clock taunting him on the side table. It's a little after one in the morning. Sandy lets out another sigh as he reluctantly embraces the notion...
I'm too tired to sleep...
Sandy quietly gets out of bed, not wanting to disturb his wife who is sleeping soundly and immediately shrugs off the feeling of envy. Sandy slips on his slippers and dons his plush, blue robe and makes his way to the bedroom door. Carefully he turns the knob and lets himself out of the bedroom. The full moon casts a soft light upon the dark hallway, guiding Sandy to the kitchen. He makes his way over to the kitchen sink, takes a tumbler out of the cupboard and proceeds to fill it with water. He needs to reset his timer.
I need to get some sleep...
Sandy takes a sip of the water and looks through the kitchen window. He sees some movement; maybe a shadow cast by a tree branch as a light breeze brushes through its leaves. He sees a slight movement again. Curiosity takes over. Sandy sets his glass of water down on the counter and quietly makes his way out onto the patio.
"Ryan?" Sandy asks when he sees the boy standing in the middle of the patio with his arms crossed tightly in front of him, most likely fending off the crisp, early autumn air while staring up at the moonlit sky.
"Sandy, what are you doing up?" Ryan asks.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," Sandy replies as he stands next to the boy. "Can't sleep?"
Ryan glances over at Sandy, offers a small smile and answers, "No, and you?"
Sandy smiles and nods to acknowledge both their groggy plights.
"Beautiful night," Sandy says, looking up at the starlit sky. Sandy waits a moment, but gets no reply. He decides to allow the peaceful silence to take over. After all, he hasn't been able to fall asleep. As far as he's concerned, he has all night.
"I was just thinking," Ryan says quietly, breaking the silence.
Sandy looks over at the boy with his arms still wrapped tightly around himself and gazing up at the night sky.
"What were you thinking?" Sandy asks, hoping Ryan isn't having second thoughts about being adopted.
"It was just twelve hours ago..."
"Twelve hours ago?" Sandy asks with concern.
"Twelve hours ago, I was laying on a hard cot in a jail cell staring up at a cement ceiling."
"Ryan, you will never have to..."
"I thought I would be staring up at a cement ceiling for at least the next two years," Ryan interrupts. The boy sighs."I had to come out here and look at the sky. I never want to take it for granted again."
Sandy takes a step in closer to Ryan and wraps his arms around himself to fend off the night chill.
"Ryan, do you remember us sitting out here a few months ago, back in the Spring?" Sandy asks. "You shared a memory with me... a memory of you and your brother."
"The stars... my brother told me they were sugar cubes," Ryan says quietly, fondly recalling the memory. Ryan turns towards Sandy a smiles. "Trey was always good at lying, but I know he meant well. When I was little, he always tried his best to protect me."
Sandy offers a warm smile. A part of him can understand how much that must have meant to a young child.
"Your brother was giving you a sense of hope. Something to believe in," Sandy says as he remembers placing a sugar cube in Ryan's hand that night the boy shared his intimate memory with him. It was here on the patio, under the stars. The boy made a wish...
"You made a wish," Sandy continues. "You chose a star and made a wish. I'm just wondering... the wish you made. Did it come true?"
Ryan returns his gaze up to the night sky as he tries to remember the wish he made. He closes his eyes and recalls his exact words...
"I wish I had a family just like the Cohens... parents like Sandy and Kirsten. I wish the Cohens were my family."
Ryan turns his head, looks at Sandy and offers a heartfelt smile. "Yes. I believe my wish has come true."
Two weeks later, at the the California Institution for Men in Chino, maximum security...
"Do ya got it?"
"Yeah, I got it," the jittery inmate says as he discreetly hands over the shiv.
"Good. You always come through for me Charlie," the man says as he places the handle of the small knife in the palm of his hand with the blade pointing upwards against his inner wrist. With the bath towel wrapped securely around his thick waist, the man rests the blade against his hip... concealing it from any watchful eyes. "Now, how do I identify him."
"Well, he's an ugly son of a bitch..."
"Everyone in here is ugly," the man states. "I need more."
"He's balding... got some sort of huge birthmark on the back of his head..."
"Now we're talkin'," the man purrs with a slightly deviant, unnerving satisfaction as he makes his way to the showers. The man passes a guard standing outside the shower room and nods his head as he squeezes the handle of the sharp blade, keeping it concealed. He then enters the steamy room. He wrinkles his nose against the stench of musty mold and mildew assaulting his senses. He walks a few paces down and comes to stall number three. He notices a balding man, with a large birthmark on the back of his head, taking a shower. The poor sap is completely oblivious to what is going to happen next.
"You Bob Stankey?"
Bob Stankey huffs, then lets out a plaintive sigh. All he wants to do is take a shower and get back to his cell. He's got a plan he's been working on. A plan that includes a handful of guards and a few loyal inmates that will hopefully make his time in lockup a bit more tolerable.
"Yeah, who wants to know," Stankey replies as he rinses the soap off his hairy, bulky body.
"My name is Frank... Frank Atwood. I believe you know my son, Ryan..."
A sense of dread comes over Bob Stankey. He slowly begins to turn around, then suddenly gasps in agony as he feels a searing pain rip into his side. He starts to sputter nonsense then begins choking. He can't scream or cry out for help. The pain is utterly excruciating.
Frank offers the mortified man a sly grin then thrusts the knife in deeper, twisting the blade to the left then to the right, all in the effort to deliver maximum internal damage.
Stankey drops down onto the wet, mildew-stained tile floor. He gasps as he coughs up blood. He begins to feel cold even as the shower head continues to spray warm water over his convulsing body. The water turns crimson red. He feels lightheaded and shivers relentlessly as he watches his blood... and his life, swirl down the dank smelling drain.
Frank rinses off the knife and drops it, then crouches down next to the dying man.
"No one fucks with my kid... except me," Frank says, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
Frank stands back up and tightens the now blood-speckled towel around his waist. He nonchalantly walks out of the shower room, turns to the guard still standing outside the doorway and says, "Ya got a bit of a mess in there. Need a clean up in stall three."
The guard suddenly turns pale as he watches the inmate walk away, seemingly without a care in the world.
"Frank, I don't get it," Charlie says as he hands over clean socks, boxer shorts and an orange jumpsuit, all courtesy of the California Department of Corrections. "Ya got like what... two and a half, maybe three more years left on your sentence? California's got the death penalty, Frank. You get pinned for this... you're sittin' on death row."
Frank takes the clean clothing from Charlie and musters up a thankful grin. "I saw the Doc last month," Frank says as he dons the clean clothing. "He told me I got cancer."
"Cancer?" Charlie questions with deep concern.
"Pancreatic... stage three."
"Oh man... I'm so sorry, Frank. I'm really sorry to hear that."
"Doc gave me six months... a year if I'm lucky," Frank says as he zips up his orange jumpsuit and tosses the blood-stained towel into the bin. "So you see, Charlie, I'm already sittin' on death row."
Frank glances over towards the showers. He sees the guard, his complexion even more pale, emerge from the steamy room and speak into his radio. Frank attempts to read the guard's lips and is able to decipher the only two words he needs to know.
"Man dead..."
"And now, when I go to hell," Frank says as he returns his attention back to his fellow inmate. "At least I know I won't be alone."
Ryan stares down at the black shape... a pentagon. He feels the warm, late September sun shine down upon his shoulders. He drinks it in and sees other shapes... white hexagons.
Maybe I did learn something in geometry...
Ryan hears John Plitzuweit, or as the team refers to him, Coach Plitz, blow his whistle. He immediately picks up the soccer ball and jogs towards the sideline, along with his fellow players.
"Alright boys, this is it. First game of the season," the coach says as he brings his team into a huddle. "You've all worked hard. Practiced... trained... and I couldn't be prouder. We're playing against Harbor. They're a good team, but we're better."
"Yesss!" the boys cry out in unison, agreeing with their coach.
"So I want you to go out there and play hard. Play fair," the coach states firmly. "And for heavens to Betsy sake, have fun out there."
"Yes, Coach Plitz!" the teams replies with unified energy that knocks the coach a few steps backwards.
John Plitzuweit watches his team take the field, then calls over his two star players; Luke, who was named the team "captain" and Ryan, the player who always gives one-hundred percent no matter what. "Boys, over here..."
Luke and Ryan immediately turn around and approach their coach, both concerned about being singled out.
"So, we're playing against Harbor," Coach Plitz says. "You both may have some friends who go to the school... or they may be on the team. Are you alright with this?"
"Actually Coach Plitz, I really don't have any friends at Harbor, except one," Luke states earnestly as a strange vision of Seth appears in his head. "And, believe me, he doesn't play soccer... or any sport for that matter, does he Ryan."
Ryan looks at Luke, then back at his coach. "Luke's right. Our friend doesn't play sports. He's more of an "art" sort of guy."
"Alright then, let's go out there and play some soccer!" the coach exclaims. He knows he has his dream team this season and he couldn't be happier.
Ryan and Luke jog out onto the field to join their teammates.
"Hey, Ryan... your family's here," Luke says as he takes his place on the field next to Ryan.
"My family?" Ryan asks, somewhat confused. His father, mother and brother are all sitting in prison. Ryan turns his head and sees the Cohens sitting in the bleachers. Ryan smiles. He sees Sandy fiddling with his camera, then holding it up to snap some pictures. Ryan waves and continues to smile. He sees Kirsten waving her hand at him and mouthing the words "good luck... we love you..." Ryan then turns his attention to Seth. He notices his friend's right leg bouncing up and down a mile a minute; his attention not on the soccer game but on the group of girls sitting a few rows down from him.
Ryan smiles even more.
This is my family...
"Hey, Luke, I see your parents are here too," Ryan tells his friend.
Luke looks towards the bleachers and sees his mother and father sitting a row behind the Cohens. "Wow, this is a first," Luke states as he waves to his parents.
"What do you mean?"
"My mom would come to some of my athletic events, but never my dad," Luke says as a smile quickly forms upon his face. "I guess my dad realizes how much it means to me... you know, to have him here."
Ryan looks over at his friend and smiles. It would seem they both got something they've always wanted... a family with parents who actually care about them.
"Well, what do you say good friend," Luke says to Ryan as both boys take their respected positions on the field. "You ready to play some soccer?"
"Oh, I'm more than ready," Ryan replies as he tosses the ball to Luke.
Luke catches the ball then fist bumps with Ryan. "Alright then, let's kick some Harbor butt!"
-the end-
Thank you again for the support and reviews. I really appreciate it! :-)