Thanks for such positive reviews; I've never done anything like this before. Sorry Lavenderangel, there is no Theresa because they met when Ryan's family moved to Chino. Also many thanks to Mandy for the advice and editing.

Chapter Four

Ryan sat on the concrete porch, blinking from the hot afternoon sunshine. His head had begun to feel a little fuzzy and he couldn't work out why. He rubbed his eyes with the grubby sleeve of his shirt and padded barefoot across the street to the neighbor's house. Opening the screen door, he searched urgently for his mother. The room was crowded and stuffy, cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air. He located Dawn and sidled up to her side, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. He hated attention being drawn to himself. Ryan tugged at her shirtsleeve.

"Mom, I don't feel so good" he whispered.

"O.K. Honey, be there in a minute"

"But Mom, my head hurts real bad"

"Like I said Honey, I'll be one minute. Just got to finish up this game. I'm winning big Kiddo!"

She gave him a distracted smile and went back to the card game. A scruffy, unshaven man glanced at the source of the interruption, whilst taking a swig of beer.

"Beat it kid. We're busy"

Ryan cast his eyes sideways at the guy, and then, defeated, left quietly. He returned to the front porch and slumped down. He had begun to shiver despite the 90-degree heat. All he wanted to do was shut his sore eyes and sleep. He dragged himself up and into the house, stumbling wearily to the couch, where he fell into an uneasy slumber.

"Ryan? Ryan, wake up!"

Ryan felt his body being shaken roughly.

"Come on Ryan, what's with you?"

Trey noticed the flushed cheeks and the damp forehead. He shook his younger brother with more urgency now.

"Hey bro', wake up. You're scaring me now."

Ryan forced himself to open his eyes. The light from the table lamp forced him to close them again quickly. He moaned in pain.

"Feel real sick Trey.... eyes hurt...head hurts..."

"Its' OK Ry'. I'll get Mom"

He stroked Ryan's forehead reassuringly but looked around desperately. Where was his god damned mother anyway? She was never where she should be. Poor kid, how long had he been like this?

Thankfully for Trey, Jim arrived home at this point. Trey had never been so glad to see his father; this level of responsibility was distressing for him.

"Dad, Ryan's sick"

A quick glance at the child confirmed Trey's desperate words.

"Get your mother" Jim yelled grimly and raced into the bathroom.

Tearing everything from the cabinet, he searched desperately for some liquid Tylenol. He slammed the door in frustration when realizing his search was fruitless. What sort of family were they, with young kids in the house and no medication in stock for emergencies? He cursed his wife under his breath. He could guess where she'd been all day, drinking and playing Blackjack across the street. That woman really didn't deserve kids. Trey and Ryan didn't deserve her as a mother.

Jim put plan B into operation, running a lukewarm bath in a bid to try and bring Ryan's soaring body temperature down. He ran back into the living room and stripped his feverish son of his clothes. Gently, he carried him back to the bath and cradled him like a baby as he lifted him into the water. Ryan whimpered as the water engulfed his body. His frantic father sponged him down repeatedly.

Dawn and Trey raced through the house until they located Jim and Ryan.

"My God, he told me he was sick, I didn't think it was that serious."

She was frantic, wild eyed and disheveled, the alcohol on her breath noticeable to all. Jim looked at her with disgust but didn't reply. He knew, and she knew, Ryan never wasted words. If he told her he was sick, then he was sick.

Jim pushed past her rudely and grabbed a blanket from Ryan's bed.

"We need to get him to the hospital, and fast"

Between them Jim and Trey dried Ryan roughly and wrapped him in the blanket. Dawn looked on, becoming hysterical.

By the time they reached the Emergency Room, Ryan was ranting deliriously. He was rushed through the waiting crowd, the usual medley of sports injuries, vagrants and drunks, and was seen by a doctor immediately. The three older Atwood's looked on helplessly and waited.