"…we've located a body."
"What?" Three voices simultaneously utter their disbelief. For it seems as though Theresa has picked up the phone in the guest bedroom as well.
"My god…" Kirsten cries, "Petey, is it him? Where is it? Petey?"
"Kirsten," Sandy says imploringly, "Let Corrigan talk."
"Thanks, Sandy. Now…nothing's been verified as of yet, Mrs. Cohen. We'll need a DNA test and an autopsy," Petey says, before Kirsten cuts him off again.
"Where is he? I can be there in half an hour if I need to. What do you need for the DNA test? Clothes? Toothbrush? I'll get it, Mr. Corrigan," Kirsten assures the man.
"Kirsten!" Sandy says. "Petey, where are you? Or, where did you locate the body?"
"I'm in Rialto right now, Sandy," Petey tells Sandy, "The body was lying in an alleyway…"
"Tell me the truth, Petey. Does it look like Ryan?" Petey knows what Ryan looks like. All Sandy wants is the truth. Sandy and Kirsten wait downstairs while Theresa is anxiously curled up in the fetal position, phone pressed up against her ear. She needs to know. Right. About. Now.
Theresa wants to cry. They've found a body. It's probably Ryan's. Oh, and it's all her fault. She doesn't know what she did to make God punish her like this but nevertheless Theresa prays, promises, that if Ryan is returned to her—alive—she will start going to church every Sunday and will mind her mother better.
"Sandy," Petey's voice cracks uneasily, "That's the thing…we can't be sure because the head is crushed, severed from the body. The body is mangled, but it does resemble Ryan. Look, maybe you better come down, and we can sort this out. Bring some clothes, maybe a toothbrush like Kirsten said. Dental records may be useful."
Theresa slowly sets the phone back in its cradle, while downstairs Kirsten is doing the same. She cannot believe this. Who would do such a thing to her Ryan? Theresa knows the body can't be Ryan's, it just can't. She can hope, but that's about it. Prayers to God won't save Ryan now, if such a fate has indeed befallen him.
She doesn't even hear Kirsten walking up the stairs. Theresa doesn't hear her name being called, doesn't feel the arms that envelop her in a comforting hug. She's deadened, lost all feeling. Ryan… Mr. Corrigan wouldn't have called unless there was a great chance it was Ryan, right? Theresa wants to believe the opposite, wants Petey to be wrong, but what if he isn't?
He has to be wrong. There is no other option for Theresa.
"I miss him," says Kirsten, and Theresa nods, silently agreeing. "I just…wish I'd been more accepting of him. He knows I didn't like him at first but he grew on me. I never really showed it…Oh…"
And now Theresa finds herself consoling Kirsten, for the woman is so distraught that Theresa's own doubts and worst fears must be pushed to the wayside.
"Kirsten," Theresa soothes, "He knows you cared for him. And he loved you."
"He did? But…oh, why did he leave?" Theresa sighs; he left because of her but telling Kirsten this will probably make her angry and upset with her.
"He loves you," Theresa repeats firmly, "And…he had to leave…I'm sorry, it's my fault…if—when—we find Ryan he'll come and live with you, okay? I don't need him…I shouldn't have taken him away from you."
Theresa wants to laugh. It's as far from the truth as she can get. If—when—they find Ryan, she's chaining him to their bed so she can keep track of him. That, or she'll plant those mini cameras on his clothes so she knows where he is at all times. She needs him. She needed to take Ryan away from the Cohens. She didn't mean to, but she did. In a way, Theresa pushed him to come back to Chino, because, knowing Ryan, he'd do anything to help out an old friend, especially if they were pregnant and the baby was quite possibly his. Enter Theresa, stage left.
"Oh, no sweetie, it's not your fault." Kirsten sighs. "If—when—Ryan is found, you two will have to live in the pool house."
"I couldn't…impose on you like that." Theresa smiles feebly. Kirsten is too nice. But she can't. Ryan won't; that Theresa knows for a fact. He's too proud to ask for help and if he won't even cash the checks the Cohens send him, why in the world would they think he'd be okay with living under their roof?
"I'm not taking no for an answer, Theresa," Kirsten says gently, and smiles a little despite the ghastly news they've just received. "Let's just find Ryan for now, okay?"
Theresa nods her head and lies back down on her pillow, suddenly drained of energy again. Kirsten clucks her tongue, though not as sternly as Dolores, and tucks the comforter around Theresa so she's snug and cozy.
"Get some rest," Kirsten orders, kissing Theresa on the head. Ryan was lucky to have a woman like Kirsten caring for him, Theresa decides. She's friendly and sweet, and, quite frankly, not like the fakes that populate Newport.
"Thank you," whispers Theresa, as Kirsten turns the lights off and shuts the door. It's dark and warm in the room now, although not stifling, and Theresa drifts off to sleep in a matter of minutes.
--
Theresa walks down the stairs and hears Sandy and Kirsten talking animatedly.
"But Sandy, the girl deserves to be there with us. She's family to Ryan, don't you forget that!"
"The baby, Kirsten. The baby. All I'm saying is, I don't think it would be healthy for her to see the body, if it is Ryan's…in that state. Come on, we'll leave a note for her. It's not that I don't think she should be there, but she could…go into shock or something."
Theresa pokes her head timidly around the doorpost into the living room, where Kirsten is curled up in a ball against Sandy. She smiles wanly.
"Oh, hi, sweetie." Kirsten looks surprised to see Theresa awake and shoots Sandy eye daggers.
"I couldn't help but overhear…" Theresa says softly, averting her eyes from Kirsten's motherly gaze. "And, with all due respect, Mr. Cohen, I'd like to be there. I can handle it, I promise you."
Sandy shrugs. "I don't think it's a good idea," says he, "If you get agitated—well, just think of the baby, Theresa. All I'm saying is—"
"I know, Mr. Cohen," Theresa interrupts, "But honestly, I'll likely be more upset if you don't bring me along."
"See, Sandy?" Kirsten smiles at Theresa and glares at her husband. "I told you she'd want to go. It'll be fine…besides, it's not like we have to see the body if we don't want to, right?"
"Well, identification…" Sandy considers this, "Never mind. Fine, you can come. I want to take a look at the body after the autopsy and DNA tests, but you don't have to." He stands up and walks out of the room, saying, "Sheesh. Women. I liked it better when the men outnumbered the women around here."
"Come sit down." Kirsten invitingly pats the sofa cushion next to her. Theresa is more than happy to oblige; her legs are leaden and she feels like her body is bogged down with weights.
"How long does it take to run the DNA test?" Theresa asks.
Kirsten laughs quietly, but it is really more a smile. "Beats me. We're going to leave after dinner, drive to Corona—it's right by Rialto—and stay in a hotel for the night. Tomorrow, Mr. Corrigan's getting the autopsy and DNA test done, if they can be done in the same day. And I guess we'll stay up there, if Sandy wants to, until the results are in. But personally I don't want to be there too long." Kirsten shudders at the mere thought of staying nearby Rialto, quite the shady town with a constantly sky-rocketing crime rate.
Theresa nods. Personally she's not too scared; all of these towns aren't half as bad as people make them out to be. People like Kirsten, although it's how she was brought up, and she's at the bottom of the offending ladder.
"I hope Ryan and I can be more open with each other when he's back. Oh, what I wouldn't do to be holding him in my arms right now." Kirsten sighs and tilts her head back, hoping to force the newly sprouted tears back into her tear ducts. It doesn't work.
Same here, thinks Theresa. She wishes she were in her bed in the house she grew up in, Ryan in her arms and the faint hum of the refrigerator lulling them to sleep. Of course she's not back in her bed and Ryan's not safe in her arms but Theresa considers herself an optimist. It's hard not to be pessimistic at times like these though.
Theresa wills herself to stay strong. For Ryan. She has to muster up the courage and resolve he would have in this same situation, because he is not here and there's no one to take his place.
She closes her eyes and lets the tears fall silently onto her lap, welts of misery darkening the cloth on her legs. Theresa shivers, feeling, remembering Ryan as he was around her. A tiny sob escapes her firmly closed lips, and Theresa wants to cry for her tears. Kirsten doesn't need this right now. Theresa doesn't want to be such a burden on the poor woman, who has so much to worry about herself.
Ears suddenly perk, and Theresa can hear, can feel the faint sound and vibrations of Kirsten trying to bawl softly. She opens her eyes and sees Kirsten's eyes squinted shut with the encumbrance of tears and trying to stifle them. The older woman's eyes stretch open, meeting Theresa's.
And then the two of them collapse into a new bout of sobbing.
Sandy peers into the living room, sees Kirsten and Theresa holding each other for dear life, crying freely. He walks over to them, sits down next to Kirsten and wraps his arms around her.
"Shh…it's going to be okay," soothes Sandy, for what else is there to do? "You don't have to cry."
But of course they do. Ryan wouldn't have it any other way now, would he? Sandy's lip begins to tremble in spite of himself, and soon there are three people holding each other close, bawling.
Sandy manages to compose himself temporarily. "You'll see," he tells Kirsten and Theresa, "We're going to find Ryan—alive. And we're going to hear from Seth soon, I just know it."
Seth. Almost guiltily, Sandy realizes that he hasn't thought of his son, his biological son at least, for at least a few hours. And that's not right. It sickens Sandy, for how could he forget that curly-haired comic; his offspring?
What would Seth do if he were here, Sandy asks himself. The tall, skinny boy would probably make a completely inappropriate joke that would no doubt cast a few rays through the dense cloud resting over the Cohens' and Theresa's heads.
"Seth always knew how to cheer people up," says Sandy forlornly.
"Seth," whispers Kirsten, whimpering.
