Title: Hello, Ryan
Chapter: 4
Author: Antigone11
Rating: PG-13 (language and violence)
Summary: Ryan gets an unwelcome visit from his father
Chapter 4
Ryan sat in the back of the van, crammed between coils of hose, boxes of cleaning solution, and the hulking form of George. His father and Mike were in the front seat. It was getting more difficult to breathe and the pain in his side was getting sharper. At least the Cohen's were OK. Nobody got hurt. With a jerk, the van pulled out of the driveway. Through the small, dirty windows, Ryan could just catch a glimpse of the house, his home, getting smaller and smaller as they drove away. He hoped they would find the brooch he had dropped. It was a small token, but it was the only way he could think of to let the Cohens know how truly sorry he was.
If you still want him. Ryan couldn't stop thinking about his father's words. The Cohens couldn't possibly want him back. Not after everything he had done. First Donnie, then Dave Atwood. Seth had never gotten closer than a video monitor to guns before he entered the scene. What must Kirsten think of him now?
He remembered her telling him, "I want my husband to be right about you" after catching him ordering a drink that first weekend he stayed with them. Though it wasn't until he'd gotten Seth hurt that she had asked him to leave. He completely understood, he even respected her for it. Kirsten protected her family. That's what parents were supposed to do. She must have an incredible amount of trust in Sandy to have taken him back. His own mother had deserted him. Why would complete strangers care if he ended up in a shelter or something? Ryan never knew what Sandy had said to Kirsten to get her to allow him back in the house. Sandy was good with words, a skill Ryan envied. Is that what it took to have someone trust you that much?
Ryan wanted desperately to earn Kirsten's trust, but now, everything he had allowed himself to hope for, to dream of, was destroyed. He was a 100%, certified idiot. He knew better. He'd known better since his was six. And yet, in a few short months the Cohens had stripped away his defenses. Hope had made him vulnerable. Mixed in with anger at his father, Ryan felt bitterness that he'd allowed himself to be suckered into believing life could be good.
It was like Sandy's surfing. He was always raving about the waves. The thing is, that moment at the crest of the wave? It didn't last. The water that so powerfully crashed into the beach was, a moment later, sucked back down, into the undertow, and the strong current dragged it back out to sea. Ryan guessed that some people's waves just lasted longer than others. Or else, maybe they kept getting a succession of waves, so that they never did hit the sand. Not him, though. His was a one shot deal.
George put a heavy hand on Ryan's shoulder as they slowed down to pass the development's gatehouse - a warning not to make any noise. It was unnecessary. Ryan knew it wouldn't make any difference anyway. Mike nodded to the security guard. And the van exited Pelican Cove, leaving Ryan's last shred of hope dashed like a wave on the shore.
"It's workin' like a charm," Dave chortled.
"I don't like it," Mike said. "Sure we got past the security guard, but that don't mean they aren't calling the cops right this minute. We got three hours until we hit the border. I took a peek in that bag. That's some serious shit in diamonds! We should have handled it more permanently. Like we did with the van."
"That's why we took Ryan, dumbass."
"Why would they care about this kid, Atwood? If we were grabbin' a hostage, we should have taken their kid, or, like I said, just shut 'em up permanently. We just walked off with a couple hundred thou in jewelry! They're gonna call the cops!" Mike was agitated. Now that the adrenaline from the home invasion was wearing off, doubts were starting to creep in.
"Listen up," Dave warned. "These bleeding heart types, they would never put a kid in danger. They've practically adopted Ryan. Didn't you see their faces? They'll do what they're told. Besides, shooting rich people is always a bad idea. Stealing the van and gettin' rid of the real crew, that's not a big deal. If the cops don't catch ya right away, they forget about it once the next guy gets shot. You shoot rich fucks like the Cohens? They'll chase your ass all the way to Argentina. This is better. Trust me. Who just got you into the sweetest deal you ever seen? Huh? How about you, George? You got any problems with how I'm handlin' things?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah?" Dave's tone was dangerously low.
"Why is my ass sittin' on the floor back here? I should be drivin'."
Ryan cringed as raucous laughter filled the van.
"'Cause Mike knows all the back ways down to ol' Mexico, don't you, Mike? You just sit tight and babysit." Dave twisted in his seat and looked back at Ryan. "How're doin' kid? Pretty slick huh? In and out, just like I always told ya."
Ryan stared balefully at his father. "Why did you come there, Dad? Wouldn't it have been easier to knock over a liquor store, or one of those grocery store banks? Why'd you have to come?"
"Show some respect, boy," Dave advised. "You sure have gotten mouthy since I saw ya last."
"That was over four years ago. Things change."
Dave snorted in disgust. "No shit. I'm out of the picture for a coupla years and the whole family goes to hell. Dawn didn't bring you boys to visit more than two or three times. A man has a right to see his own family!" Ryan's eyes grew wide as his father's voice started to rise. Dave seemed to catch himself and took a deep breath. "Your mom, she stopped sending me your school pictures a few years ago." He shrugged. "I wanted to see you. It's the last time…I ain't ever coming back here again. When Dawn told me she landed you with the Cohens, it was perfect. A quick in and out job, and see you at the same time."
Ryan knit his brows together in confusion. His father sounded sincere. How screwed up was that? His dad thought combining an armed robbery with a visit with his son was a "perfect" situation? His family was seriously fucked up. And his mom "landing him" with the Cohens? It sounded like Dawn was actually trying to take credit for the one nice thing that had ever happened to him.
"Have you seen Mom?" Ryan asked, hesitantly.
"I don't need to see that bitch. Last letter I sent was returned, anyway. She didn't live there anymore. I woulda liked to see Trey. How's he doin'?"
"I don't know. I wrote him twice, but he hasn't written back," Ryan admitted. Answering his father's questions, with as little attitude as possible, was the safest route. No doubt he wouldn't be living with the Cohens any longer, but he would still like to live through the night.
"He got you into this mess to start with, didn't he?" Dave looked at Ryan appraisingly. At the slight nod, Dave snorted, "Stupid, stupid fuck! Bringin' a kid with him to boost a car! He had a gun on him? Drugs?"
Ryan nodded again.
"God. What a family! Your mom never could control him." Dave shook his head in disgust. "Dawn wasn't fit to raise you boys. I shoulda been there. Look, Ryan. I'm sorry I missed out on seeing you grow up. But you're a smart kid. You got a chance now...." Ryan cut in before Dave could finish.
"I already heard this from Mom! Right before she abandoned me for the second time." He couldn't help himself. A certain level of fatalism was beginning to take hold. Ryan was sure he could feel each rhythmic contraction of his heart, pushing hot blood through his body, it was so hot, and it was getting harder to take a breath.
"Dawn's weak, Ryan. You're better off without her, she'd only drag you down with her. And you fuckin' stay away from Trey. He'll get you killed, next time." Dave was enjoying his conversation with Ryan. He hadn't had the opportunity to give fatherly counsel for years. Sure, when he talked to other inmates, they listened to him. He was a natural leader; he knew that. But they didn't look at him like he imagined his kids had when they were younger. Teaching your son, helping him become a man, that was real power. Dave was ready to impart his wisdom to Ryan.
"Now the Cohens, they seem like they care about you. Sendin' you to a private school and everything, I hear. Take advantage of that, Ryan. You could even go to college." Dave was on a roll, caught up in a dream, where his son graduated from college and ended up running a car dealership or something. A success. All Dawn's crap about Ryan really being the son of that prick, Johnny Hawkins, well, it was crap because obviously Ryan was smart and where else would he have got that from?
Ryan was having a hard time concentrating, because his father couldn't possibly have said what he just heard. "You're giving me advice? Look around, Dad." Ryan indicated the interior of the stolen van. "I'm supposed to listen to you?"
"You could do worse, kid," Mike threw his comment over his shoulder. "Your dad's a smart guy."
"Damn straight!" George chimed in.
"I been around, Ryan. I know how the world works. You make nice with the Cohens for a few years, get them to send you to college and you got it made. Hell, why not? Run for Governor, why don't ya?" Dave laughed.
Ryan felt like he was trapped in a Fellini movie. The fog was back and his head felt disconnected from his body. Nothing made sense. Nothing had made sense since he had walked into the living room a couple of hours ago and seen his father.
"They're not going to want me back! It's over! It's just not gonna happen." Ryan was near tears. Everything hurt, he was hot, and he was nauseous. He wasn't sure if his nausea was due more to his father's insane impersonation of Father Knows Best or his increasingly unstable stomach. He did know he was going to be sick, and soon.
Dave reached over the seat towards Ryan, who shrank back into the coils.
"Shit, Ryan! Are you ever gonna learn?"
Ryan couldn't hold it back any longer. His stomach contracted. Along with the scant remains of his long ago lunch came a warm, sticky substance.
"Christ!" George exclaimed. The sun had set as they were driving, and in the dim light of the dashboard, George could see a dark stain down the front of Ryan's shirt. "That's seriously fucked up, man!" He glanced nervously at Dave. "That ain't normal."
"Pull over," Dave ordered.
Mike pulled the van to the side of the two-lane road they were on. It was little used, paralleling the main highway. They wouldn't have to worry about somebody wondering what they were dong.
"Turn on the dome light." Dave got out of the van, opened up the back doors and climbed back inside. He studied his son. Ryan was pale and sweating, continuous tremors swept his body. He clutched his stomach as if trying to hold the contents inside. Ryan gagged, followed quickly by a series of coughs. Drops of coagulated blood joined the mess already staining his shirt.
"Shit." Dave was silent for a moment. His lips thinned. "If you hadn't been such a smart ass, this wouldn't 've happened! Damn it!"
"What're we gonna do?" George swallowed harshly, trying to keep his own bile down.
"Shit," Dave snapped again. He rubbed a hand over his face and took another hard look at Ryan. "We gotta drop him somewhere."
"But Dave! He'll tell the cops!" George looked to Mike for support.
"He's right. We can't pull into a hospital or somethin'. We don't got the time and we can't risk it. You know it, Dave. We got our stake. We can't risk it now!" Mike was begging Dave to be reasonable.
"I ain't plannin' on killin' my son," Dave stated deliberately, switching his glare between Mike and George until he was sure they were listening. "He won't say a word. Right, Ryan? 'Cause he knows if he does, I'll come back and visit his new family again." Dave's voice was low and menacing. He leaned in close to Ryan, eyes glinting coldly. "Pay some special attention to that blonde chick. Your new mom."
Ryan's gag reflex kicked off, but there was nothing left. He was well acquainted with this side of Dave's personality. Ryan knew his father would keep that promise. Even if he ended up getting arrested and put back in jail, he'd get out someday. And he wouldn't forget.
"I know how to keep my mouth shut," Ryan whispered brokenly. "I won't say anything to anybody."
"That's my boy!" Now that Dave had heard what he wanted to hear, he was feeling back in charge. "Mike, wasn't there a sign about a gas station up ahead?"
"Yeah. Should be about a mile further south," Mike agreed. He exchanged a glance with George and shrugged. Dave Atwood was not a man to argue with.
"OK, Ryan. Get outta the van. You get yourself to that gas station and you'll be fine. Right? Don't give nobody your name. Remember what I said," Dave warned, waiting impatiently for Ryan to get moving. Dispensing fatherly advice was one thing, but he wasn't about to let Ryan jeopardize his plans.
Ryan painfully pushed himself to his hands and knees and crawled to the back of the van, Dave stepping aside as he passed. Ryan gingerly eased himself out until he was standing on the ground.
No other words were said. The van doors closed, and it drove away, leaving Ryan standing uncertainly by the side of the road. He could see a faint glow in the distance. Assuming the lights to be from the gas station, he wearily commanded his feet to take him there. One foot ahead of the other, Ryan plodded forward. Unaware of his surroundings, he tripped over a pothole and fell to his knees. After another bout of dry heaves, Ryan managed to get back to his feet. No longer able to concentrate, his mind disengaged, forcing his body to act on autopilot. He just started walking, not noticing that the lights from the gas station were now behind him. North. He was headed back to Newport.
Ryan stumbled through the darkness.