Title: Hello, Ryan
Chapter: 5
Author: Antigone11
Rating: PG-13 (language and violence)
Summary: Ryan gets an unwelcome visit from his father
Sorry for the long delay. Real life interfered! I promise to have the next chapter up sooner.
Chapter 5
Dave Atwood didn't spare a glance for the gas station as they passed. He was focused on the road ahead. Mexico. Freedom. Wine, women, and song. No responsibilities, no fucking guards watching his every move, no having to look over his shoulder whenever one of his enemies came onto the cell block. Just white sand and tequila. It was too bad Ryan had to be left behind. He might have come in handy in Mexico. Didn't Dawn say he took Spanish in school? Plus, he was a good looking kid; that could've come in handy if any sort of con became necessary. It was done though. The little shit had gotten himself hurt and Dave wasn't a damn nurse! It was for the best. Ryan would get to the gas station, keep his mouth shut, and end up living the high life back in Newport Beach. Well, Ryan wasn't the only one! Dave planned on little high life of his own.
The van turned onto the highway. They were only a few miles from the border.
"Shit!" Mike cursed.
Dave was pulled from his reverie by the sudden flashing of lights coming up behind them. A siren wailed.
"It was your fuckin' kid, Dave! He turned us in!" Mike was frantic. He pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor.
"Shut the hell up! Ryan hasn't even made it to the gas station yet," Dave snarled. "I guess those people didn't' care about him as much as I thought they did. We shoulda killed 'em."
"That's what I was sayin'! Now we don't even have our fuckin' hostage!"
Dave popped the magazine from his gun, checked the number of rounds, and jammed it back in. "We don't need him. We can handle this just fine on our own."
Kirsten wanted to scream. She'd been on an emotional roller coaster for hours now: abject terror, frustration, horror, followed by heart break. Ryan had obviously left her mother's brooch as a token. Knowing that Ryan was out there, alone and defenseless, was more of a burden than Kirsten ever wanted to bear. It had been difficult to lose her mother. Losing her link to the little girl she had been; that comforting knowledge that no matter what happened, her mom would always provide a hug, a willing ear, and a cup of cocoa. It was the worst pain Kirsten had ever felt. Nothing, however, prepared Kirsten for the devastation of having a child in danger.
If it had been Seth (and God, please hear my prayer never to let anything like this happen to Seth), at least she would be certain that Seth knew that she loved him and that his family was moving Heaven and Earth to get him back safely. Ryan wouldn't think that, Kirsten knew. Ryan probably thought he deserved every brutal blow and disparaging word Dave Atwood dispensed. He was hurt and alone and she just. Couldn't. Take it. Anymore.
Although Kirsten appeared to be sitting quietly, her long fingers rapidly tore napkins into bits, her turmoil reflected by the growing pile of shredded paper.
Not for the first time that evening, Sandy felt helpless. Watching his wife sitting at the kitchen island, mindlessly shredding napkins and drinking cup after cup of coffee, he wanted to tell her everything was going to be all right. He was the patriarch of his family, dammit, he was supposed to keep everyone fed, warm, and safe.
"Way to go 'caveman', Dad."
Sandy started. Had he said that out loud?
"Don't worry. I don't think Mom heard you." Seth gave his father a weak smile. He'd been burning off as much energy as he could, pacing the confines of the kitchen, but he could still feel the surplus buzzing around his body and mind. God, he couldn't shut his mind off! He'd tried translating his Calculus word problems into French, but that wasn't enough to keep his thoughts from swinging inexorably to Ryan.
Even after meeting Dawn, Seth could never have imagined how awful Ryan's life was before coming to Newport Beach. Drunk mother, violent father, an older brother who looks after you by teaching you how to steal a car? Of course, Seth admitted to himself, he didn't usually want to imagine the pre-Seth Ryan. It had seemed too uncomfortable, somehow.
Seth decided that when, when Ryan came home, he was going to be the older brother Ryan should have had. After all, he was 27 days older than Ryan, wasn't he? Mom and Dad were already doing a good job of parenting Ryan. It was his turn to pick up the slack. Over were the days when Ryan would have to watch Seth's back. He was the big brother; it was his responsibility to take care of Ryan. And not like the whole model home fiasco either. He would do a good job, this time.
Sandy gazed thoughtfully at Seth. His son's face was incredibly expressive. A series of emotions flitted across Seth's face, settling on determination. Deciding Seth was doing okay on his own, Sandy walked over to Kirsten. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her softly on the cheek.
"It's gonna be okay, darling. You'll see. We'll get Ryan back and you can mother the hell out of him!"
Kirsten smiled softly and leaned against her husband's strong chest. Tilting her head back to look up at Sandy, she said quietly, "I can't wait."
"Sandy." Mickey stuck his head into the kitchen. He'd been on the phone with various law enforcement agencies, monitoring the situation from the den. At the interruption, Sandy and Kirsten snapped their heads towards the kitchen door. Seth stopped his pacing. Three identical expressions of hope and fear adorned their faces.
"I've got some news, " Mickey paused. He didn't look happy. "The van." He stopped again, tiredly rubbing his temple.
"For God's sake, Mickey!" Sandy pleaded with him.
After a quick huff of breath, Mickey continued. "A patrol car spotted a van speeding on a county road only a few miles from the border, and attempted to pull it over."
"What the hell!" Sandy exploded. "We trusted you to control the situation! Everyone was just supposed to observe! How could this happen!"
"What about Ryan?" Kirsten didn't think she could be any more afraid.
Mickey held up his hand. "Let me finish. Please. Just let me get through the whole thing. Okay?"
Reluctantly, Sandy and Kirsten nodded. Seth, transfixed, just stood there, teeth clamped on his lower lip – it was the only way he could keep himself from talking, no screaming, at the top of his lungs.
"In response to the sirens, the van sped up instead of pulling over, so the guys called it in. We had a number of units in the area. Discreetly, I promise!" Mickey wanted to forestall any further comments. "At that point, there wasn't any more need for stealth, so a few units got ahead and set up a roadblock." Mickey paused again, letting out a long sigh. He was not at all happy with how the situation had been handled, but it was too late to do anything about that now. To add to his growing ulcer, knowing Sandy, the entire California legal establishment would soon be locked up in litigation for many years to come. "To summarize, there was a shoot out. The three perpetrators were all confirmed dead at the scene. A bag containing jewelry was recovered. Ryan…well, Ryan wasn't found in the van."
"Where is he?" Sandy demanded. "Where's Ryan?"
"We don't know," Mickey admitted.
"How is that possible? They took him with them as a hostage! Where is he?" Every twist of this horrific evening reverberated with an echoing twist in Kirsten's gut.
"At this point, all we can speculate is that they dropped him off somewhere along the way. We're searching all the possible routes they could have taken to get to the spot they were intercepted."
"He's hurt. You know that, right? How long is it going to take to find him?"
"Sandy. God. I wish I could give you an answer. You know how it is. It's dark, there are a lot of unused roads in the area. If Ryan's unconscious, or.…" Mickey's voice stopped abruptly. He realized how close he'd come to telling the truth, as he believed it. The kid was probably dead. Whether from his injuries, or maybe a thwarted escape attempt, or just because they figured they didn't need him anymore. Whatever the reason, Mickey Harrison didn't hold a lot of hope of finding Ryan alive.
"And, because of your fuck-up, we can't even ask anyone, can we? Dave Atwood is dead. They're all dead." Sandy had gone so far past rage that he couldn't put a name to his own emotion. His voice was cold and menacing.
Kirsten and Seth both looked at him uncertainly. This was a Sandy they had never seen before.
Mickey swallowed convulsively. He'd known Sandy for a long time, shared many a beer with him, but at this moment, he felt like he was face to face with a dangerous man. Underneath Sandy's normally affable exterior, was a man who grew up tough, someone who was able to take care of himself on the streets of New York City. "I've got half the forces in the area mobilized, Sandy. There are several dog teams coming in. We'll find him. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you've got to trust me on this. We are doing everything possible."
Sandy and Mickey stared at each other for a few moments, neither one backing down. Sandy gave a curt nod, then reached for the car keys sitting on the kitchen counter.
"Not everything is being done. Seth, Kirsten, grab some jackets and let's go."
"What are you gonna to do?" Mickey asked.
"We're going to find Ryan."
Sam Whitman was whistling. He'd been on the road for three days and was looking forward to getting home to his wife and kids. As a representative for a veterinary supply company, Sam put a lot of miles on his car. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He'd had several cups of coffee at his last stop and now…well, he'd passed a gas station several miles back but he didn't really want to turn around, and besides, the road was deserted. He slowed down, looking for a good place to pull off.
A few minutes later, Sam felt a lot better. He began whistling again as he started back to his car. He got into the driver's seat and flipped through his stack of CD's. He was in a dead zone, no radio or cell phone reception. He'd have to rely on Dwight Yoakam to get him home, he thought. As he straightened up, Sam froze. There was a black shadow alongside the road, 10 feet or so in front of his car. His headlights touched the edge. Sam was startled when he thought he saw movement. The shadow gradually became a person, who seemed to be on his or her hands and knees, retching. Cautiously, Sam pulled a flashlight from his glove compartment and got out of the car.
"Hello?" he called, shining his flashlight toward the figure. Sam was a big man, and fit. He wasn't especially concerned. After spending years on the road, he trusted his instincts about things. He'd even picked up a hitchhiker or two, much to his wife's subsequent dismay. All the same, he wasn't going to be stupid. "Hello?" he said again.
Ragged moaning was his only response. Sam stepped closer, his light illuminating a teenaged boy, hunched over, consumed with dry heaves.
"My God. What happened to you?" Sam rushed to the boy's side. The boy was sweaty, and clammy, and trying desperately to hold onto his ribs as he was wracked by continuous heaves. "Were you hit by a car? Shit! A hit and run, I'll bet." Sam shook his head in disgust. What kind of person would run into a kid and then just drive off? There weren't any houses or anything in the area, the kid was probably hitchhiking and somebody clipped him in the dark. "Come on, let's get you in the car."
"No." The boy's voice was feeble.
Sam had to lean in close. Even then, he could barely hear him.
"Don't touch me." An equally feeble swat caught Sam on the nose.
Under different circumstances, he would have laughed. As it was, crouching by the side of a deserted, unlit road, the injured boy's reaction disturbed him.
"What's your name?" he asked, re-evaluating the situation. Maybe it hadn't been a hit and run. He looked around, nervously.
"Nobody," was the soft reply.
"Hmph." Sam was not about to just drive off and leave this kid behind. "You need to go to a hospital. Come on. Can you stand up? I'll carry you if I have to."
The boy grunted, using Sam's arm as leverage to get to his feet. Eventually, he was standing. Not upright, exactly. But standing. Immediately, his feet started moving, shuffling, as if their weight was just too much to lift.
Sam, momentarily shocked into inaction, watched in amazement as the boy staggered away from him.
"Wait! What are you doing? Get in the car!" Sam scurried up along side the teenager. He peered into his eyes, trying to convince the obviously disoriented youth that he was trying to help.
"No hospital. Home. Need….Home." A small series of wet coughs accompanied the boy's whispered words.
Frustrated, Sam grabbed his arm. With a sharp cry, the boy tried to jerk his arm away. Blue eyes wide with fear, he took a step back, arm still in Sam's grip.
"Hell. What happened to you, kid?" Sam let go, horrified at the boy's reaction. "I'm just trying to help you."
With a lost look in his eyes, the boy turned, took one more step, and then faltered. Sam was there as he crumpled, sweeping the unconscious teenager into his arms. Concerned by the raspy breathing and traces of blood staining the boy's lips and the front of his shirt, Sam carefully propped him up in the front seat. "I'm worried about your ribs, kiddo, but I still gotta put a seatbelt on you. Don't think you'll stay upright unless I do."
Sam hurried about the front of the car and started the engine. Veterinary medicine was obviously different from human medicine, but Sam knew the boy was in bad shape. "I gotta get you to a hospital," he muttered.
"No. Please. Home."
The words were spoken so softly, Sam didn't even hear them.