Here's the deal. I've got 2 weeks to update as much as possible before I
enter the 7th circle of hell until Labour Day. By the way muchtvs, camping
is not, I repeat not, a vacation. Especially with kids. Especially with
kids that want their medicated mother to make crafts with them. Especially
with kids that want their medicated mother to make crafts with them and
their friends. Especially with kids that want their medicated mother to
make crafts with them and their friends in between cooking gourmet meals
that does not include Kraft Dinner. This is my fault though, I bring a
waffle iron when I camp.
Josh, be nice or I'll make you go camping with me. I have ownership over my behaviour only. Everything else belongs to someone other than me.
Chapter 12
Jim Matthews studied the paper on his desk. He compared the pictures.
One black and white.
A police mug shot.
A teenaged boy, a bruised face, a lost, vacant look.
The second one, full colour.
A teenaged boy, no bruises, a smile on his face.
Two pictures. Two different boys but one and the same. Ryan Atwood, not Marty Nevis. 17, not 21.
Missing...
Last seen...
Contact Newport Beach Police Department.
Contact John Rueben Investigations.
Contact Sandford Cohen.
Jim remembered the quiet young man he met almost a month ago. A young man that would barely look him in the eyes. A boy who tried to remain invisible.
Jim was torn. He knew he should call the Newport P.D.. Ryan/Marty was a minor Someone was looking for him, but someone had hurt him. He looked at the picture of a smiling blond haired, blue-eyed boy once again. He closed his eyes and bowed his head as he prayed for wisdom.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ryan watched impassively as the medical resident examined his hand.
"I think you got pretty lucky... There doesn't seem to be any nerve damage. I'm just going to get the boss to double check your hand before I stitch you up..."
Ryan nodded, not taking his eyes from his hand which still bled sluggishly. The doctor pressed a wad of gauze in his palm.
45 minutes, 22 stitches, a tetanus shot and a prescription for Tylenol 3's later, Ryan was discharged. He was surprised to see Roger still there.
"You didn't have to stay..."
Roger shrugged.
"Maybe, but I wanted to... You okay?"
Ryan held up his bandaged hand.
"Still attached... still works..."
"I'll take you home..."
Ryan shook his head.
"I need to stop by billing and get this settled..."
"I took care of it Marty... It was just paperwork."
"I can't let you..."
Roger cut him off.
"Look, all employees are covered by insurance." He held out a plastic card. "This is yours... I forgot to give it to you last week when it came in."
Ryan took the card with his good hand. A Blue Cross card in the name of Marty Nevis.
"Thanks."
Roger smiled. "Let's get you back to your place before you fall over on me..."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sandy's mind wandered as he, Seth and Summer drove to another social agency. They had already gone to two different shelters. Ryan hadn't been there. He didn't want to think of how the boy was supporting himself. The thought of his son selling himself made him sick. Sandy knew it wouldn't have been the first time Ryan had been used.
Did the boy think he was just a commodity? Goods to be bought and sold?
He tried to keep the tears from falling. Sandy pushed those thoughts into the dark recesses of his mind. It was too painful. He could hear his mistress calling to him. Seth's voice was a grateful distraction.
"There's a youth center 4 blocks from here. We can check it out before we head back to the hotel."
"Okay..." Sandy answered softly. "You navigate."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ryan was relieved the Murrays weren't home. He couldn't deal with their concern for him right now. Roger climbed the stairs behind him, taking the keys from his shaky hand and unlocked the door.
"I don't want to see your face for the next couple of days. Take it easy and I'll call you Wednesday to see how you're doing..."
Ryan looked down at the floor, the brown carpet seemed mesmerizing.
"Marty?"
Ryan lifted his head.
"...Sorry... Thanks for everything..."
"Take your pills. Get some sleep. I've got night duty at the mission, so if you need anything, you can get a hold of me there."
Roger knew he wouldn't get a phone call. The kid's hair could be on fire and he wouldn't ask for help.
Ryan nodded, too tired to do anything else.
As Roger closed the door behind him, Ryan bent down to untie his boots, swallowing back the dizziness. After 2 pills and half a glass of water, he dialed 9 digits of a 10 digit phone number, not finding the courage to complete the call. He couldn't even bear to listen to the messages that now filled the voice mail box. He didn't want to hear how he fucked everything up and that the Cohen's were glad he was no longer their problem.
His last bit of energy was spent struggling to remove his dirty clothes and to throw on a pair of sweats. His last conscious thoughts were of the throbbing in his left hand reminding him to add another mark to the fuck up scorecard and that he should really get his ass off the bed to lock the door. Yeah, right.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Roger put the papers back down on Jim's desk. He didn't know what to say. He looked at the mission director.
"So now what?"
Jim shook his head.
"I know I have to call either the police, the investigator or this Sandford Cohen, but you saw Marty, uh, Ryan when he got here... Someone did a number on his face." Jim picked up the black and white report. "It's not the first time he's been used for target practice... How was he when you left?"
Roger smiled.
"He was ready to drop. If he took his pills, which I have no doubt he did, he'll probably sleep for the next 12 hours... He cut himself pretty good." Roger straightened up. "Enough stalling. You have a phone call to make..."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sandy picked at his chicken parmesan. Normally he was a big fan of the parm, but eating was the last thing on his mind. The youth center was a dead end, but at least Ryan's picture and information was posted in the office.
He was fed up of the sympathetic looks and the platitudes. He wanted his kid. Seth was withdrawing into himself more each day, despite Summer's presence. His normally exuberant son was now becoming more like his silent one. He watched as Seth took a piece of chicken for a ride around the plate. Summer just moved her food from one side of the plate to the other. Maybe it was time to send both of them home. This whole thing was tearing Seth apart. Hell, it was killing all of them.
The sound of Sandy's cell phone brought annoyed looks from the other diners. He quickly lowered the volume of the ring and left the table, stepping outside the restaurant.
"Sandy Cohen..."
"Mr. Cohen, I'm Jim Matthews, Chaplain with the Salvation Army Citadel in Carmichael. I received the missing persons report on Ryan Atwood..."
"Do you know where he is...? How is he?" Sandy asked anxiously, pacing back and forth. "We've been looking for weeks..."
"Mr. Cohen, please... let me finish..."
Sandy didn't want to let him finish. He wanted answers. He wanted to reach through the phone and shake the information out of the man. He put his hand over his own moth to keep it from moving. The Chaplain took the silence as permission to continue.
"I received the missing persons report today. Who are you in relationship to Ryan?"
Sandy removed his hand from his mouth.
"I'm Ryan's law...lawyer..." he stammered and then regained control of himself."And I'm his guardian. Is he alright? Where is he...?"
"Mr. Cohen," Jim could hear the concern in Sandy's voice. "Marty, uh, Ryan is fine. He's in Carmichael..."
"Is he really okay?" Sandy's frustration grew. He wasn't getting the information fast enough. "Have you seen him?"
"Maybe we should meet first. Where are you?"
Sandy swallowed hard. He didn't want a fucking meeting.
He just wanted his kid.
To see him.
Hold him.
Tell him how sorry he was.
"I'm in Sacramento. We've been looking for him for the last month..."
"Okay look... Carmichael is about 12 miles from Sacramento. Head north on 80, take the first exit after Rancho Cordova, turn left, straight through the next set of lights, make a right on Griffith, another right on Lazlo. There's a Rosie's Café across from the mission. I'll meet you there... What time works for you?"
Sandy looked at his watch.
"I'll be there in half an hour..."
He snapped his phone shut. His heart was racing, his brain was on the verge of overload. He hurried back into the restaurant. The table had been cleared. He looked around and saw Seth waiting by the entrance.
"I took care of the bill... What's next?"
"Where's your other half?"
"She went pee..."
"Seth, don't say pee."
"I'm sorry dad. Summer felt the need to empty her bladder. To eliminate the urine her kidneys produced..."
Summer came out of the washroom, shaking her still wet hands.
"Ew... There's no paper towels in the ladies room."
Seth put his arm around her shoulder.
"Summer, please tell my dad where you were..."
Summer raised an eyebrow in his direction.
"Cohen, I told you. I had to pee."
Seth looked at his father.
"I rest my case. So, what's up?"
There was no mistaking the hope in Sandy's voice.
"Road trip..."
Josh, be nice or I'll make you go camping with me. I have ownership over my behaviour only. Everything else belongs to someone other than me.
Chapter 12
Jim Matthews studied the paper on his desk. He compared the pictures.
One black and white.
A police mug shot.
A teenaged boy, a bruised face, a lost, vacant look.
The second one, full colour.
A teenaged boy, no bruises, a smile on his face.
Two pictures. Two different boys but one and the same. Ryan Atwood, not Marty Nevis. 17, not 21.
Missing...
Last seen...
Contact Newport Beach Police Department.
Contact John Rueben Investigations.
Contact Sandford Cohen.
Jim remembered the quiet young man he met almost a month ago. A young man that would barely look him in the eyes. A boy who tried to remain invisible.
Jim was torn. He knew he should call the Newport P.D.. Ryan/Marty was a minor Someone was looking for him, but someone had hurt him. He looked at the picture of a smiling blond haired, blue-eyed boy once again. He closed his eyes and bowed his head as he prayed for wisdom.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ryan watched impassively as the medical resident examined his hand.
"I think you got pretty lucky... There doesn't seem to be any nerve damage. I'm just going to get the boss to double check your hand before I stitch you up..."
Ryan nodded, not taking his eyes from his hand which still bled sluggishly. The doctor pressed a wad of gauze in his palm.
45 minutes, 22 stitches, a tetanus shot and a prescription for Tylenol 3's later, Ryan was discharged. He was surprised to see Roger still there.
"You didn't have to stay..."
Roger shrugged.
"Maybe, but I wanted to... You okay?"
Ryan held up his bandaged hand.
"Still attached... still works..."
"I'll take you home..."
Ryan shook his head.
"I need to stop by billing and get this settled..."
"I took care of it Marty... It was just paperwork."
"I can't let you..."
Roger cut him off.
"Look, all employees are covered by insurance." He held out a plastic card. "This is yours... I forgot to give it to you last week when it came in."
Ryan took the card with his good hand. A Blue Cross card in the name of Marty Nevis.
"Thanks."
Roger smiled. "Let's get you back to your place before you fall over on me..."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sandy's mind wandered as he, Seth and Summer drove to another social agency. They had already gone to two different shelters. Ryan hadn't been there. He didn't want to think of how the boy was supporting himself. The thought of his son selling himself made him sick. Sandy knew it wouldn't have been the first time Ryan had been used.
Did the boy think he was just a commodity? Goods to be bought and sold?
He tried to keep the tears from falling. Sandy pushed those thoughts into the dark recesses of his mind. It was too painful. He could hear his mistress calling to him. Seth's voice was a grateful distraction.
"There's a youth center 4 blocks from here. We can check it out before we head back to the hotel."
"Okay..." Sandy answered softly. "You navigate."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ryan was relieved the Murrays weren't home. He couldn't deal with their concern for him right now. Roger climbed the stairs behind him, taking the keys from his shaky hand and unlocked the door.
"I don't want to see your face for the next couple of days. Take it easy and I'll call you Wednesday to see how you're doing..."
Ryan looked down at the floor, the brown carpet seemed mesmerizing.
"Marty?"
Ryan lifted his head.
"...Sorry... Thanks for everything..."
"Take your pills. Get some sleep. I've got night duty at the mission, so if you need anything, you can get a hold of me there."
Roger knew he wouldn't get a phone call. The kid's hair could be on fire and he wouldn't ask for help.
Ryan nodded, too tired to do anything else.
As Roger closed the door behind him, Ryan bent down to untie his boots, swallowing back the dizziness. After 2 pills and half a glass of water, he dialed 9 digits of a 10 digit phone number, not finding the courage to complete the call. He couldn't even bear to listen to the messages that now filled the voice mail box. He didn't want to hear how he fucked everything up and that the Cohen's were glad he was no longer their problem.
His last bit of energy was spent struggling to remove his dirty clothes and to throw on a pair of sweats. His last conscious thoughts were of the throbbing in his left hand reminding him to add another mark to the fuck up scorecard and that he should really get his ass off the bed to lock the door. Yeah, right.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Roger put the papers back down on Jim's desk. He didn't know what to say. He looked at the mission director.
"So now what?"
Jim shook his head.
"I know I have to call either the police, the investigator or this Sandford Cohen, but you saw Marty, uh, Ryan when he got here... Someone did a number on his face." Jim picked up the black and white report. "It's not the first time he's been used for target practice... How was he when you left?"
Roger smiled.
"He was ready to drop. If he took his pills, which I have no doubt he did, he'll probably sleep for the next 12 hours... He cut himself pretty good." Roger straightened up. "Enough stalling. You have a phone call to make..."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sandy picked at his chicken parmesan. Normally he was a big fan of the parm, but eating was the last thing on his mind. The youth center was a dead end, but at least Ryan's picture and information was posted in the office.
He was fed up of the sympathetic looks and the platitudes. He wanted his kid. Seth was withdrawing into himself more each day, despite Summer's presence. His normally exuberant son was now becoming more like his silent one. He watched as Seth took a piece of chicken for a ride around the plate. Summer just moved her food from one side of the plate to the other. Maybe it was time to send both of them home. This whole thing was tearing Seth apart. Hell, it was killing all of them.
The sound of Sandy's cell phone brought annoyed looks from the other diners. He quickly lowered the volume of the ring and left the table, stepping outside the restaurant.
"Sandy Cohen..."
"Mr. Cohen, I'm Jim Matthews, Chaplain with the Salvation Army Citadel in Carmichael. I received the missing persons report on Ryan Atwood..."
"Do you know where he is...? How is he?" Sandy asked anxiously, pacing back and forth. "We've been looking for weeks..."
"Mr. Cohen, please... let me finish..."
Sandy didn't want to let him finish. He wanted answers. He wanted to reach through the phone and shake the information out of the man. He put his hand over his own moth to keep it from moving. The Chaplain took the silence as permission to continue.
"I received the missing persons report today. Who are you in relationship to Ryan?"
Sandy removed his hand from his mouth.
"I'm Ryan's law...lawyer..." he stammered and then regained control of himself."And I'm his guardian. Is he alright? Where is he...?"
"Mr. Cohen," Jim could hear the concern in Sandy's voice. "Marty, uh, Ryan is fine. He's in Carmichael..."
"Is he really okay?" Sandy's frustration grew. He wasn't getting the information fast enough. "Have you seen him?"
"Maybe we should meet first. Where are you?"
Sandy swallowed hard. He didn't want a fucking meeting.
He just wanted his kid.
To see him.
Hold him.
Tell him how sorry he was.
"I'm in Sacramento. We've been looking for him for the last month..."
"Okay look... Carmichael is about 12 miles from Sacramento. Head north on 80, take the first exit after Rancho Cordova, turn left, straight through the next set of lights, make a right on Griffith, another right on Lazlo. There's a Rosie's Café across from the mission. I'll meet you there... What time works for you?"
Sandy looked at his watch.
"I'll be there in half an hour..."
He snapped his phone shut. His heart was racing, his brain was on the verge of overload. He hurried back into the restaurant. The table had been cleared. He looked around and saw Seth waiting by the entrance.
"I took care of the bill... What's next?"
"Where's your other half?"
"She went pee..."
"Seth, don't say pee."
"I'm sorry dad. Summer felt the need to empty her bladder. To eliminate the urine her kidneys produced..."
Summer came out of the washroom, shaking her still wet hands.
"Ew... There's no paper towels in the ladies room."
Seth put his arm around her shoulder.
"Summer, please tell my dad where you were..."
Summer raised an eyebrow in his direction.
"Cohen, I told you. I had to pee."
Seth looked at his father.
"I rest my case. So, what's up?"
There was no mistaking the hope in Sandy's voice.
"Road trip..."