"The Air of Finality" – chapter 3
Thank you to those who continue to review each chapter. I feed on the feedback. I hope the intense sex scene in the last chapter wasn't off-putting to anyone. I saw it as a logical conclusion, a life affirming, tension relieving act after Ryan's stress filled day.
This chappie: A lot of Seth/Ryan time. I was armed with a glossary of sailing terms and no other knowledge while writing the catamaran scene. So if you know tons about sailing and I've misused the terms and sound like an idiot – sue me! Note the surfing shout-out to storymom and her fic "But It Was Only an Accident." And if you haven't yet read that story, go read it.
Sunday.
Ryan woke with a face full of hair and an armful of soft, warm body. He brushed the wispy strands away from his mouth, smoothing them down and then curled his hand around Summer's naked shoulder.
He looked up at the white canopy that sheltered the bed, then around the room at the clutter of beauty products cluttering the dresser, the clothes and shoes littering the floor, the chair crammed full of stuffed animals like a Noah's Ark, and the ruffled curtain framing the sun-filled window telling him it was late morning. He should probably get up and get going.
He should have been home last night by 1:00 a.m. That was the ridiculous curfew imposed by Sandy and Kirsten. They knew and accepted the fact that he and Summer were having sex but they wouldn't allow him to stay overnight at her house. Where was the logic in that?
But last night Sandy had cut him some slack. Ryan was awakened from a sound sleep at about 2:30.
"Hello?" he had said groggily.
"Ryan, are you still at Summer's?" Sandy's voice sounded concerned but also a trifle annoyed.
"Yeah." He had glanced at the clock and immediately begun apologizing, "Sorry. I fell asleep. I'll be right there."
There was a brief pause then Sandy said, "No. It's all right this once. Go back to sleep. We'll see you tomorrow."
"Thanks," Ryan answered gratefully. The last thing he wanted to do was leave the warm nest of blankets and drive back to the cold, empty bed in the pool house.
After he hung up he had glanced over at Summer, surprised that the call hadn't even disturbed her. She was laying on her back, dark hair fanned across her white pillowcase, her breath whistling in and out through slightly parted lips. He put the phone on the nightstand and scooted up next to her, cupping her jaw and tracing his thumb lightly over her full lower lip. She frowned and batted his hand away, rolling over to her side with an unintelligible grunt.
Ryan had grinned and moved to turn off the bedside light and the television, and then he snuggled down under the covers. He wrapped an arm around Summer and pulled her close, eliciting more protesting moans. His face pressed to the back of her neck inhaling her rich, Summer scent, Ryan drifted off to sleep again rocked in the rhythm of her breathing and the slow, steady beat of her heart underneath his hand.
Lying next to her this morning, Ryan thought that he could happily stay and play house with Summer in her daddy's mansion forever but then the dark shadow of Trey's death crept back into his mind. There would be more phone calls and decisions to make today. He might as well get back to the Cohens and start dealing with it. After kissing Summer's soft shoulder, he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed.
He dressed quickly then sat on the edge of the bed watching her sleep and trying to decide whether to wake her up to say goodbye or just leave a note.
"Hey," he whispered, nudging her arm a little. "I've got to go."
Summer's eyes in their smudged black rings of makeup flickered open. "What time is it?"
"A little after 10:30."
She yawned and stretched. The sheet fell away from her breasts, and Ryan was mesmerized by the sight for a second.
"You have to go right now?" she complained through her yawn.
"I should have been home last night," he reminded her. "Sandy called here looking for me."
"No shit? God, they're really, like, real parents aren't they?"
"Yeah. Anyway, I've got to go home but I'll call you later." He leaned over and kissed her lips lightly.
"I'll be at the hospital working this afternoon," she told him then smiled slyly, "but I'll keep my candy striper uniform on afterward if you want."
Ryan grinned and leaned over to give her another kiss, deep and searching despite her morning breath. "I'm counting on it," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.
As he reluctantly pulled away, she stopped him with a hand on his neck and a somber look in her brown eyes. "But seriously, Ryan," she said earnestly. "Whatever you decide to do about Trey, don't start second guessing yourself and feeling guilty about it. Follow his wishes or your dad's but mostly follow what your heart tells you to do and then don't look back."
She looked embarrassed at her own sincerity. "Now shoot me before I get any more mushy."
"I will," Ryan said. "Uh ... the first part, not the shooting."
"Funny," she said slapping his arm.
They exchanged another smile, another kiss, and then Ryan got up to leave.
At the Cohens, Seth was awake but still lounging on the living room couch with a bowl of cereal watching Cartoon Network.
"Hey," he called cheerfully when Ryan came into the room, "You've broken the proverbial sound barrier, my friend. You've blazed a trail that others may follow given the opportunity and an actual girlfriend. You've effectively torn down the iron curtain between the land of abstinence and the land of copulation. You've..."
Ryan silenced him with a look as he dropped down on the other end of the couch.
"All right. Point taken. I'd run out of metaphors anyway." Seth sat up straighter, put his bowl aside and leaned in confidentially. "So, how did you do it? How'd you convince my dad to let you spend the whole night? I need to know this, because there's going to come a time, maybe in the not too distant future, when I'll need to, well ... know this."
"It was an accident. I fell asleep," Ryan said, picking up the remote and changing the channel.
"'It was an accident. I fell asleep,'" Seth repeated as if practicing the words. "Got it. I can work that."
Ryan managed to look amused while still maintaining his deadpan expression. "It was just this once. I'm sure he won't let me get away with it again. After all there have to be some perks for having a death in your family."
Seth fell suddenly silent and Ryan darted a quick glance at him. Seth's eyes wore that concerned expression that bordered on pity. Ryan hated that expression.
"Joke," Ryan prompted, wishing he hadn't said it. He had just been trying to fall in with Seth's banter and the inappropriate comment spilled out.
Seth's mouth opened then closed again and Ryan thought he ought to take a picture to prove that there was once a moment when Seth Cohen was at a loss for words.
"Look," Ryan said with a sigh. "Don't get weird on me. It's okay to joke around."
"Yeah but Ryan, you never joke. You're throwing me for a loop here," Seth began to tease again and Ryan instantly felt more comfortable. "So that's the key to unlocking your sense of humor? Death? It's a tad morbid, dude."
"How was work yesterday?" Ryan neatly changed the subject. "And thanks for covering for me by the way."
"No problem," Seth said. "It was long ... but possibly fruitful. Nikki and I were in the trenches together all day and most of the evening. That kind of thing builds a camaraderie that's priceless. She's like ripe fruit in the tree, Ryan, almost ready to fall off into my hand."
"So when are you going to ask her out?" he cut through the bullshit.
"The timing has to be just right," Seth explained. "Too soon and the fruit will still be green and hard."
"Too late and you have a handful of rotten fruit," Ryan said dryly. "Ask her, man."
"I know." Seth sighed then perked up as a thought struck him, "Double date? That way you can take some of the pressure off. You know, bail me out if I start babbling – that kind of thing."
"Sure," Ryan said. He stopped channel surfing, settling on a soccer match.
There were a few beats of silence then Seth said carefully, "So, Ryan, I know you've got stuff to do today, but I thought maybe in a while you'd like to go sailing – take your mind off things."
"Sounds good," Ryan said. "I'd like that." He tossed the remote to Seth. "Where are your parents, anyway? I've got some things I need to ask them."
"They went for a walk on the beach. They should be back soon." Seth set the remote on the couch, leaving the TV on soccer.
They watched the match in companionable silence for several minutes.
"I'm going to grab a shower," Ryan announced after a particularly impressive goal and a commercial break.
Seth nodded. He was staring blankly at the television screen and Ryan wondered why he didn't change the channel. He knew Seth didn't really like soccer.
Ryan stood up to leave but Seth's voice halted him.
"Ryan?"
"Yeah."
"How was it yesterday? ... You know, at the ... at the morgue." He looked up with those bright, inquisitive eyes. "I don't want to pry or anything, but I'm trying to understand what it's like for you ... what you're going through."
He broke eye contact then, shaking his head and waving a hand, "Never mind. It's none of my business. I shouldn't have brought it up. You go. Take your shower. Have some breakfast or lunch or brunch ... whatever."
"No. It's okay," Ryan said. "I can talk about it." He stood for a moment carefully formulating his answer to an impossible question. "It was ... surreal."
He considered some more. "Even though I saw him, I couldn't really believe it. I've only seen Trey once over this past year and it's easier to believe that he's still just ... somewhere else. In prison. In Chino. Still living his life, you know?" He shrugged. "I don't know. I can't explain it."
Seth nodded solemnly. "I get that." He cleared his throat. "Well, if you ever want to talk about it ... you know."
It was Ryan's turn to nod. "Thanks."
After a long, hot shower, Ryan came back to the house to rummage in the kitchen for some food. But he could hear Kirsten and Sandy's voices in the dining room so he put his stomach on hold and went to talk to them.
They were sitting at the table each with a cup of coffee and they looked up when Ryan entered.
"Hi," he said, "Sorry about last night. I didn't mean to worry you."
Sandy shrugged it off. "It's all right. Just so it doesn't become a habit."
Ryan nodded. He noticed that Kirsten looked more uncertain about how 'all right' it was, but she said nothing, simply staring down into her cup of coffee with an unreadable expression and a slight blush on her face.
Kirsten's discomfort made Ryan uncomfortable too so he quickly changed the subject. "I was wondering if you've heard back from the investigator? Was he able to find out anything about my mom?"
"Not yet," Kirsten said, looking up at him again. "But he's still following leads. Unfortunately it looks like she left Chino to go to L.A. At least that's what she told some of her ... acquaintances. And finding someone in L.A. isn't so easy."
Ryan digested that with a frown furrowing his brow.
"Look, if he doesn't have a solid lead by the end of today, I want you to end it," he said abruptly and decisively. "I don't want you to put any more money into this investigation."
Kirsten opened her mouth to protest but Ryan fixed her with a steady look and she closed it again without speaking, nodding instead.
"All right," she said quietly after a moment.
"What about my dad?" Ryan asked then, turning his attention to Sandy. "How long will it take the prison to decide whether or not to grant him a furlough?"
"That depends," Sandy explained. "The warden has the power to grant permission but evidently he's on vacation right now and although the deputy warden is empowered with the same authority, he's evidently hesitant to make the decision. He's waffling right now, and your father's court appointed defender isn't exactly aggressive on his client's behalf. I've been trying to apply pressure from this end or to go over this joker's head and find a way to contact the warden himself. Don't worry bout it," Sandy shook his head, "I'll make it happen."
Ryan believed him. Sandy seemed to have the uncanny ability to talk his way into making people do exactly as he wished. It was impressive – and kind of scary.
"Thank you," he said, and then acknowledged Kirsten again, "Both of you."
"Glad to do it," Sandy said in that relaxed way he had which made you feel okay about accepting his charity. "By tomorrow the Medical Examiner should have the autopsy finished and be ready to release Trey's body. I can contact our local funeral director and make arrangements for them to transport him to the mortuary. But I wondered if you've given any more thought about whether you would like to choose burial or cremation."
Ryan thought, 'I'd like to choose neither, please. I'd like to never have to think about it again.' but what he said was, "I'm still deciding ... if that's okay."
"Of course," Sandy said. "Take your time."
Ryan knew that this was the opportune time to bring up his dilemma about Trey's wishes versus his father's but he simply wasn't ready to launch into a discussion of it again.
"I'm going to call some of his friends in Chino," he announced. "Let them know what happened."
Both Kirsten and Sandy made murmurs of assent.
"And then, this afternoon, Seth thought we could go sailing. Would that be all right?"
"That's a great idea," Kirsten said.
"Nothing like the ocean to help clear your head," Sandy agreed. "You should come out surfing with me some time."
"Have you eaten yet today," Kirsten asked, changing the subject. "Sandy and I were about to have lunch, leftover takeout from Del Tosi. Your favorite, lasagna."
Actually Ryan preferred the cannelloni but he simply nodded and said, "That sounds great, save me some. I'd like to get these phone calls out of the way first."
Back in the pool house again, Ryan dialed Theresa's number from memory. After several rings, her mom answered.
"Hello, Mrs. Martinez. It's Ryan."
"Mi hijo! How are you? It was wonderful to see you at Theresa's wedding. Everybody was so glad you came."
"Yeah. It was, uh, good to be there." God he hated small talk. "Mrs. Martinez, I actually called to get Theresa and Eddie's phone number. I have some news about Trey I need to share with them, and I wondered if you'd tell Arturo too."
"Ah no." Sophia must have had years of receiving bad news to cue her in instantly to Ryan's tone.
"He, uh, died of a brain aneurysm on Friday," Ryan said, realizing that it was the first time he'd actually had to say the words: 'He died.' 'My brother is dead.'
"Dios! I'm so sorry, nino. He was so young!" Ryan figured she was thinking of Turo who was the same age. He didn't know what to say in reply so he said nothing.
"Does your mom know yet?" she asked cautiously.
"Um, we haven't been able to locate her." He added, "But my dad may be able to come to the funeral."
"When is it?" Mrs. Martinez asked. "I would like to come."
"I'm ... not sure." He wasn't going to explain that he didn't even know yet if there would be a traditional funeral with a casket and a body. He was pretty sure Sophia was picturing a full Catholic mass and a church full of flowers. "I'll let you know soon."
Mrs. Martinez said she was visiting Arturo at the prison that afternoon and would tell him the news. She said how sorry she was a few more times in several different ways, made a comment about God's mysterious ways, and then she gave him Theresa and Eddie's phone number and told him goodbye and God bless.
Ryan paused a moment after he hung up to breathe, and steel his nerves before the next phone call.
This time the phone rang six times before it was picked up.
"Yeah?" It was Eddie, sounding distracted and slightly annoyed. Ryan could hear the blare of a TV in the background, the roar of a crowd and the frantic voice of a sports announcer, which explained his reluctance to answer the phone.
"Hey, man, it's me, Ryan."
Ryan! Holy shit! What's up, man?" Eddie's voice focused and lost the irritated edge. "How the hell are you?"
"Okay." Ryan didn't know a casual way to work into what he had to say so he plunged right in. "Actually I called to tell you and Theresa some news. Trey died last Friday."
It sounded so blunt. There ought to be something to add to it, but he didn't know what it was.
"What?!" Eddie sounded shocked. A vivid picture came into Ryan's head of the four of them; Trey driving, Arturo, as always riding shotgun, and Ryan and Eddie in the back seat. Eddie was telling one of his stupid jokes and screwing up the punch line as usual. Turo was half turned around, laughing and reaching back over the seat to cuff Eddie upside the head, telling him to shut the fuck up if he couldn't tell the joke right. Then Trey was telling everybody to shut the fuck up or he'd toss them all the fuck out of his car. They were giving him a headache with their stupid fucking chatter. Ryan remembered listening to the others squabble while looking out the window, watching the neon signs of topless bars, tattoo parlors and fast food restaurants slip past and thinking that Chino actually looked kind of pretty and colorful at night.
"What the hell happened?" Eddie demanded.
"He had an aneurysm. It burst and flooded his brain with blood. He died almost instantly," Ryan recited the details, feeling detached and cold.
"Christ! Man, I am so sorry," Eddie said. "Does Turo know yet?"
"I told Mrs. Martinez. She'll let him know when she sees him today." Ryan continued, "I wondered if you could help me out."
"Sure. Anything, man." He sounded so earnest it gave Ryan's heart a sudden twist.
"I don't really know what's going on with any of his old friends. I don't know their phone numbers and I wondered if you could...."
"Yeah. I can spread the word. No problem. You just let me know where and when the funeral is going to be and Theresa and I'll gather up a posse from Chino to come."
Again Ryan didn't bother to correct the assumption that there would be a traditional funeral. Lapsed or not, almost everybody he knew in his mostly Hispanic neighborhood in Chino had grown up old style Catholic and didn't consider cremation an option. It was starting to look like his decision was made for him. Ryan didn't even own a photograph of Trey to display. How could he have these people come expecting to pay their respects to Trey personally and present them with nothing but an urn?
"Thanks," he said to Eddie. "I'd really appreciate that. I'll let you know as soon as I find out the details."
"I'll call Ricky and Mike but Tito had to get out of town for a while. I don't know where he's at." Eddie paused. "Jesus, I hate to call Sherry. They haven't been together in a long time but shit ... all through high school, man." He laughed, "Except when they were fighting."
Ryan knew exactly what he meant. He pictured Trey and Sherry screaming and cursing at each other then making out on the couch next time you looked. He remembered the time he'd caught them humping on his bed. Trey threw a shoe at his head and told him to get the fuck out of the room. Sherry's tits were the first Ryan had ever seen outside the pages of Playboy. It suddenly occurred to him that Trey would never fuck a woman again and he felt a brief pang of guilt for enjoying Summer so completely last night.
"Thanks a lot for taking care of it," Ryan said again.
"Anything to help, bro. You want me to have Theresa call you when she gets home from work?"
"Sure," Ryan said. "I'll be gone for a while this afternoon, but after that."
"All right." Eddie was silent a moment. "Damn, I'm sorry. Trey could be a real son of a bitch but he was.... He helped me out a time or two, you know? You could always count on him."
"Yeah." Ryan didn't know what else to say. "Look, I gotta go, but thanks again and I'll call you tomorrow as soon as I know what's going on."
"Okay. You take care, man."
Eddie gave him his work number at the garage, and after he hung up, Ryan realized that he wished he were there right now, hanging with Eddie, watching football and talking about old times. Another of those debilitating waves of homesickness swept through him.
He shook it off and went to eat lunch with the Cohens then he would find Seth and see if he was ready to go sailing.
"Cast off," Seth ordered. "That means untie the rope from the dock," he explained in a pre-school teacher's tone.
"Yeah. Got that," Ryan said with an annoyed squint. "I'm not that much of a land lubber."
"Ryan, don't say land lubber. You sound like a geek."
At the tiller, Seth guided the catamaran away from the harbor and into open waters then he set a course for a nearby island. It was a perfect breezy day and the wind filled the sail. The boat cut cleanly through the slightly choppy water of the bay and it felt like flying. Ryan lifted his face into the rushing breeze, felt it ruffle through his hair and sting his cheeks. He breathed deeply inhaling a lungful of the invigorating, salty air.
On board his boat, Seth seemed suddenly older, more confident and in charge. He moved around setting the trim, guiding the rudder and occasionally giving Ryan a task to accomplish, while he explained why they were doing it and how it should be done. Ryan listened and learned.
After the sheet was adjusted to his satisfaction, Seth sat aft, controlling the tiller and Ryan sat in the bow simply looking out to sea and watching the island they were heading toward loom closer. The shore was rocky without a strip of sand to mark the line between land and water and a tree covered hill rose steeply from the edge of the shore.
Seth navigated around the south side of the island, staying well back from the underwater rocks that made it a hazardous course. He finally reached the spot he'd been looking for and there was a flurry of activity as he ran down the rigging and had Ryan drop anchor then they bobbed in place while they opened the cooler and pulled out refreshments.
Seth sat down with a bag of Combos and Ryan popped the top on a can of Sprite.
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the lap of the waves and the screams of circling gulls and enjoying the hot sun beating down on them.
"Seagulls, Ryan. What a life," Seth sighed, looking up at the white, swooping birds.
"Eating garbage and dead fish and crapping on peoples' cars?" Ryan asked dryly.
Seth made a tsking sound. "No. Flying free, soaring up to the clouds and landing wherever you wish." He added thoughtfully, "I wonder if mom and dad would spring for flying lessons if I asked them. Can you picture us flying?"
"And falling and hitting the ground? No thanks. The boat's close enough to flying for me."
"Ah, that's right. You'll have to have therapy for that vertigo if we're going to take up flying." Seth fished another soda can out of the cooler, pulled the tab and took a long swallow.
"I think that's my new career goal," he announced, gesturing at Ryan with the hand holding the can. "Pilot. Not flying an airliner. A bush pilot. I can transport medical supplies to sick villagers in remote regions of Africa. Carry mail or tourist groups to exotic places."
"Smuggle drugs from Columbia or Mexico," Ryan added helpfully, lifting his can to knock against Seth's in a toast.
"I could work in any part of the world and when I got bored there, move on to somewhere else."
"And you think you'd like that?" Ryan asked. "Seth, you throw a fit if your morning paper is five minutes late."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you like your routine – a lot. I don't think you'd be very happy as a nomad."
"That's right, Mr. Glass Half Empty, shoot holes in my dreams." Seth shrugged. "People change." He paused then asked, "So, what do you want to be someday? Still interested in architecture?"
"Yeah," Ryan admitted, "But it takes a lot of higher education which I can't afford. I'll probably settle for being a construction foreman or something."
"Ryan, never settle," Seth admonished. "Besides you should know by now that my parents are not going to let you go out into the world without a college education. To them, walking around without a degree is like going naked in public. They're fanatics about it. I think my ultimate rebellion would be telling them I'm going to forego college to pursue, like, a career on an oil rig or to live in a commune in Oregon."
Ryan smiled but didn't say anything. He thought about what Seth had said and what Summer had been continually telling him - that the Cohens expected to see him through college. He had assumed when he came to live with them that they would help him out until he turned eighteen or until he graduated high school and his financial dependence on them would end after that. Racking up more debt beyond that was not part of his plan. He would apply for scholarships and financial aid but he would not impose on the Cohens any longer no matter what anyone said, and somehow, someday he would find a way to pay them back for everything they had done for him so far.
Ryan suddenly noticed that an uncharacteristic silence had fallen on Seth. Looking at his friend's pensive expression he knew he was mulling something over.
"What?" Ryan asked.
"Nothing. I was just thinking." Seth shrugged.
"About...?" He was unused to having to draw Seth out.
"No. We're out here to get your mind off things. I don't want to get all introspective and heavy."
"Too late. What do you want to say?" Ryan drained the rest of his Sprite then set the can on his thigh, twisting it this way and that to watch the way the sunlight reflected off the aluminum.
"I know your family never went to church. Mine didn't either," Seth began reluctantly. "I make a lot of noise about Christmukkah but I'm not sure which parts of my parents' faiths I really believe in. But anyway, I was just wondering ... cause with Trey's death and all it kind of makes you think about it ... and at the risk of sounding like a TV evangelist, do you believe in a Higher Power?"
Ryan was quiet for a minute, considering the unexpected question.
"I don't know. I guess so." He actually had thought about this quite a bit but didn't like trying to translate his thoughts into words. "The cosmos is huge. It's logical that there's some kind of organizing force, right? So yeah, I suppose I believe in that."
"But you don't think that force takes a personal interest in individuals?" Seth asked.
Ryan shrugged. "Sure doesn't seem like it."
"Hm." Seth sat back on his heels and munched down another handful of Combos before he continued. "Well, here's what I think. In the history of the world just about every civilization has about the same belief system: a divine entity or entities and an afterlife of some type. Trillions of people can't all be wrong. There has to be something out there."
Ryan nodded in understanding if not perfect agreement.
"I think that whatever you believe in – that's what you get," Seth said. His moment of epiphany dissolved into habitual joking, "So me personally, I'm opting for the halls of Valhalla and a warrior's welcome into the next life. Feasting and hearty grog and plenty of beautiful servant girls, whaddya think?"
"Uh, I don't know much about Norse mythology but don't you actually have to BE a warrior to enter Valhalla?" Ryan said with a smile.
"I'm a warrior of LIFE, Ryan. Fighting against all odds to secure my place in the world. Facing violent water polo players and scornful maidens every single day on that battleground we call high school. It's the ultimate act of bravery and will definitely earn me a place among the gods."
Ryan stretched and yawned, tossing his empty soda can back in the cooler. "Servant girls, eh? Sounds good, man. Can I join you?"
"I'm counting on it," Seth replied.
They sat contentedly in the sun for another half hour, bantering back and forth about inconsequential things before weighing anchor and heading back out to sea. At the head of the island, Seth tacked and ran downwind for a while. The speed was exhilarating and Ryan was sure a twin-engine plane had nothing on this. He was falling in love with sailing.
He suddenly thought about Trey, wondered if his brother had ever had a chance to sail, doubted that he had and felt another stab of guilt for enjoying something that Trey would never be able to experience. He knew it was stupid, knew it wasn't his fault, but still the guilt remained.
Ryan looked back at Seth, piloting the boat from his seat in the stern. His dark, curly hair was whipped wild by the wind and he stared off into the distance with an intense expression in his eyes. Ryan wondered what he was thinking about; with Seth it could be something as inane as an inner debate over whether Kirk or Picard made a better captain or as profound as puzzling out a plan to end world hunger. The boy's brain never seemed to stop clicking away at top speed.
That's what kept things interesting with Seth. If you asked him what he was thinking, you never knew what he was going to say. And in that moment Ryan was profoundly glad that he was here, sailing with Seth and not crashed out on Eddie's couch shooting the shit about the old days, which weren't nearly as fun to live through as they glorified them to be.
Ryan turned fore, closed his eyes and lifted his face up into the rushing wind.
To be continued....