"You were my constant, my touchstone."
"And you are mine."
-Agents Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, The X-Files.
XxX
Amor Vincit Omnia – Love conquers all things.
XxX
There shall be no lurkers.Its my new motto. NONE.
YOU guys are so awesome. Yes, there will be a 4th. Really. Please, you all must review, again. Please.
You know you love it. YOU guys make my day.
I know you're lurking out there.
I see you. Yeah, yeah you. Ya bum. Lol.
Get on the bandwagon, join the review club.
XxXxX
"I'll love you forever… you know that right?" Teasing blue eyes danced in the dark as they waited for her response.
"Forever? Forever is a long time," she remembers smiling at him, her voice gentle and tender, knowing that deep down, she'll love him forever too.
"It's not long enough. Forever isn't long enough when I'm with you," he insisted. "I love you so much, Kirsten. I'm never leaving you. Never." He kisses her temple gently, his embrace secure and safe.
"Promise?" her voice breaks and she doesn't know why.
"With all my heart," he grins lazily at her before kissing her.
XxXxX
'Forever.'
'I'll never leave you.'
'Never.'
Stop. Rewind. Play.
'Forever.'
'I'll never leave you. Never.'
'I love you.'
'Forever.'
Stop. Rewind. Play.
'Forever….'
Steam rolls off in great curtains of her drowsy, aching body. It's barely 7 in the morning, 7:02, a.m. if you want to be technical.
Tumbleweed Tuesday.
One hundred eleven hours and forty-two minutes since the RED Friday phone call.
One hundred eleven hours and forty-two minutes with twenty-two ridiculously long seconds since her world was ripped up from underneath her and she was dumped on her ass.
Hard.
Time's not getting any shorter.
'I love you, forever.'
She just couldn't sleep anymore. So she decides to take a shower. But she didn't bother standing, she just eased her somber body down and pulled her knees up to her chest. She put the hot water up as high as she could stand it.
Tylenol PM's didn't last forever.
'Nothing. Lasts. Forever,' her conscious is trying to be kind, but even it's tired and worn out and it is only Tuesday.
Then it paused, as if thinking about it's own thoughts…'Love, lasts forever.'
Her heart pounded slightly, as if agreeing.
When she had awoken at 6:38 in the morning she was disoriented, she didn't remember getting into Seth's bedroom, actually she didn't remember much. Monday, like the past few days, has turned into another big blur. Another day to mark on the calendar as finally passed. Another day to grimace and groan and pretend to enjoy living like she used too.
Another day without him.
It took her about twelve minutes to actually roll out of bed and stand up like the living.
She thought she would just throw a robe on and go downstairs, until she looked in the mirror. Her normally perfect blond hair was messy and greasy, her eyes have a hollow, desperate look. She looks like she hasn't slept in years, even though that's untrue.
To a point.
Her sleep isn't sleep anymore it's anything but relaxing. Constant memories, constant dreams, constant little sayings, it all swims through her thoughts at a spitfire pace that would make a thoroughbred pant.
Every fight, every kiss, every "I love you," every harsh thing they ever said to each other rattles her uncompromising, unyielding thoughts. Sandy used to say that they were meant to be, that he was made to love her.
"Honey, we're soulmates, face it. I was made to love you."
His little sayings keep her awake at night.
The raccoon rings are still there, still being defiant. Still purple, but today they seem to have taken to a darker bluish hue.
Depressing, more so.
At least she would have the, "Grieving widow's look," down to a tee.
She looks down at her platinum wedding bands. Even the diamonds shine is cheerless.
Or maybe it's just her.
Her body feels oily from being so nervous and sweaty because of Monday's events. Her head has the dull-I-slept-too-long thump to it. Her skin is sallow and pale, and she grimaces at the sight of herself.
"Walking Zombie," actually has a meaning. It's Kirsten Cohen.
That's when she decided to take a shower and join the real world. Showers had a tedious way of making things, "Okay," again. Just a little.
Sort of.
Nothing would ever actually be, "Okay."
Her glass shower is covered in steam and when she moves her arm from underneath the spray she can see little wispy clouds rising from the heated flesh. Her off-color ivory skin was painted and dappled pink from the scalding spray.
Her chin graces her knees before resting, as the steamy water continues it's daring trail down her back.
Sandy. Seth. Ryan.
Ryan. Seth. Sandy.
Seth.
Ryan.
Sandy.
They were her boys, her life. Everything revolved around these three human beings.
Now, one was gone.
She shuddered involuntarily.
She was being selfish, and she knew it.
She lost her husband, her best friend, her partner.
Seth and Ryan had lost a father, a mentor and in their eyes, a hero.
Devastation takes kindly to no one.
Sitting on the floor, in a steaming shower, Kirsten Cohen feels as cold as ice.
She sighs.
Glances at the chilly platinum bands on her left that shine gloomily as if solemnly awaiting his return.
Her hand goes to her chest where his wedding band now hangs from a solid gold chain. It feels heavy against the rise and fall of her chest, as if her body knows it belongs elsewhere.
She knows only one thing at this point and time.
She cannot afford to be weak, anymore. She cannot be afforded the luxury of sobbing every second even though that's all she wants to do. At least in front of them. When she's alone, well that's another story.
Booze, tears and drugs will help her overcome that bridge when she comes to it. Which will probably be Thursday and Friday and the rest of the week.
It was hard enough raising two teens with two parents. 2 x 2 - One for you, one for me.
Now one of the numbers was odd.
1 x 2.
And no, it does not make 3 - it makes it unfair, unkind, and most of all – fucked.
She sighs again.
Stop. Rewind. Play.
'I love you.'
XxXxX
Hate is such a strong, passionate angry word.
But that's the only word that could honestly say how Ryan felt.
He hated Sandy. He hates him and he loves him.
He loves him for everything he was, for the opportunity of a lifetime to join this family, to have a family, to actually know what love is.
If he was in Chino he would have undoubtedly read the papers, or watched the news while dodging a fist from Dawn's latest and greatest.
He wasn't dodging a fist by any means, but he was dodging things that couldn't be dodged, like time, memories, and anger.
Love.
'Fucking Sandy.'
He hates him for leaving.
For leaving the burden upon him that he isn't sure if he can hold up his end of the bargain.
A burden that could bring anyone to their knees if given enough time.
A burden of what ifs?
What if he couldn't handle Kirsten and her drinking? What if things got too far out of control? What if she became so tragically depressed that no one knew what to do?
Take care of my girl for me.
What if he couldn't ? What if he isn't everything Sandy thinks that he is?
He groans and rolls over in his bed, wishing for the solitude that the newly recently re-occupied pool house offers.
Seth was rejoicing in the comfort of friends and his girlfriend last night and while Ryan enjoyed all of his compadres affection and the friendships that he had lost, he needed time on his own. He and Seth varied there. Ryan enjoyed the solitude of being alone - Seth needed people, he needed the energy of his friends.
Ryan needed time to think.
I love you.
Time to remember.
Some "Me," time.
As if he hadn't had that enough already.
The empty silence throughout the house and the tension that laid deep within everyone's slump of shoulders or vacant, desolate gaze shown exactly how much quality, "Me!" time everyone had.
But that was it. He was so worried about Kirsten, about Seth, about the funeral, about the press, he realized he hadn't had any time to properly think about Sandy.
He realized he was working on Shock, Sugar, the pitiful, "I'm sorry – Thank You's," and nothing more.
Things never used to be this complicated.
Take care of my girl for me. I love you.
But then again, things like this weren't supposed to happen.
7:18 a.m. Tumbleweed Tuesday.
He rolled over and glared at his clock. Since attempting sleep in the wee hours of the morning – he hadn't succeeded in his mission. He listened as Seth and Summer snuck in room and tried to be quiet. He pretended to be sleeping. He listened as Seth babbled softly to Summer and listened as she offered her words of comfort and thoughts, including a few "Ass's!"
But Ryan was meddling and sleep didn't come easy for those who wrestled with time.
XxXxX
She wandered out of her own bathroom, entering the dismal room that she had darted in without looking around. The room that used to be a shelter and haven.
Now it was empty.
Cold.
Desolate.
His swimming trunks are hanging off the back of the doorknob just waiting for him to come home and go surfing. The book he had been reading was sitting there on the nightstand waiting for him. He had tossed his Berkeley sweatshirt on the floor haphazardly in the corner, and it was waiting for him.
Waiting for him to come pick them up. Waiting for his life to continue.
In truth, there were times that she even forgot – and she was still waiting for him to walk through that door too.
XxXxX
Handsome Tom opened the door to their limo.
Tom had met the wonderfully charming Sophie "The Nana" Cohen. He grimaced when she bitched that his shoe was untied and that she says this huge black stretch was "so unnecessary! And another way to show off!" She had one of the guest bedrooms, and the mothers' grieving attitude – which to certain strangers made her even more intolerable.
And then more recent guests. Anna, Luke, and Jimmy.
Anna had taken the last guest bedroom, Luke had stolen the couch. Ryan had fallen asleep in his bedroom while Seth and Summer bunked at the bottom on the air mattress.
Tom didn't know where Jimmy had spent the night – but he had a good idea.
Wonderful puppy-dog eyed Jimmy, who magically seemed to simply disappear last night like Houdini, Bam, after he lost three rounds of Ninja's to Luke and his cell phone sang a jingle.
A brand new, shiny, RED V8 mustang GT was rumbling patiently at the end of a driveway, with a woman who had the RED hair and lips to match.
A 2005 RED Mustang GT was hot by itself.
Throw in Julie Cooper-Nichol with those wicked blue eyes and it was considered the two U's.
Ultimately Undeniable.
Young Marissa Cooper had been left Momma's bright shiny black Benz convertible. The only reason if Mr. Nichol was on the prowl looking for Julie he would assume she was here.
Cool hands and quick-to-speak Julie insisted that Marissa's Stang' was to be taken into the shop the following day for an oil change and "things of that nature," and that she would do it, Marissa was too engrossed in watching Seth slice up Anna to care. She merely said with a roll of her amber-greens, "Whatever," and a small I-don't-care-wave. But she turned her head enough and gave a soft smile to her mom.
Chestnut eyebrow raising Julie understands – at home things were fine – around people it's a universal act to hate your parents.
As long as she had a way of getting home, Marissa doesn't care what she drives. "As long as it's not a beater." Summer smirks at that comment.
"Who the hell in Newport Beach even owns a beater Coop?"
She shrugs absentmindedly. Lindsay's clunker must be out of everyone's mind.
Julie nods.
She and Jimmy had "serious issue's" to discuss. In a hot red mustang.
Alone.
Uh huh.
Shaken from his reverie of the previous nights broken conversations, Tom watched as Kirsten slowly walked down the steps from the huge mansion. He wished that he could have known her before this. From the stories he's heard from Jimmy, and the kids - she was quite the woman.
Or had been, quite the woman.
Even her sunglasses couldn't hide those dark bluish rings.
XxXxX
Pulling up the funeral home is shocking. It's no longer a funeral home it's the press's field day. There are physical gates kept up so the family can get through. There are lines and lines of people waiting to get in.
Reporters with camera crews flocking around like wild birds.
It's more like a movie premier than a showing.
Kirsten is the last one out of the limo. She feels numb again, but her body and mind is at relative ease. Maybe because she took that sedative with a few shots of vodka earlier – when no one was looking.
"Mrs. Cohen! Over here!"
Flash, Flash!
"Mrs. Cohen! Did you see how your husband was shot?"
Flash!
"Mrs. Cohen, this way, how are you dealing with this crisis?"
Flash, flash, flash!
"Mrs. Cohen, what are your thoughts on John Riggotti?"
A huge NO COMMENT sign should be hung from her neck.
Tom escorts Kirsten in silently, her head down looking at the floor, his well-trained hand on her back, leading her into the funeral home.
She's ignoring them and doing a F-I-N-E job of it.
She joins the line and waits, sucking in her breath. Tom stands off away from her, but behind her should anyone try any funny business.
She feels wonderfully numb.
Seth, Kirsten, Ryan, Caleb, The Nana is the order this time.
It's like letting the flood gates open as people stream in with the proper grief mask, the proper colored clothing, the proper sunglasses, and yet the utmost curiosity. They look at everything, they whisper to each other, glancing back at Kirsten, the boys, they're all here to see another breakdown.
Nothing else.
Most of their voices are anything but silent and Tom escorts a few of them out before things even begins.
Mr. Blue eyes walks up to her, shakes her hand, beside her Seth is hugging the hazel eyed, brown haired stranger with nice teeth. Ryan is wrestling with a blond, Caleb is nodding to an elderly gray haired woman and Sophie Cohen is staring daggers at the fake blond with her brown roots showing, telling her about her son and how, "Oh my God, he was just like so fab!" California smile, California tan, and the perfect California attitude that The Nana hates.
Fab. Ha.
Sandy Cohen you've turned into FAB!
Mad props to you!
The strangers move down the line, which seems never ending.
Stranger number fifty-five is up.
"Mrs. Cohen," she begins, the woman's brown eyes soft and compassionate, her voice sincerely sympathetic, and its her voice that Kirsten draws her weary dark eyes up too.
The fair olive skinned woman passed up Seth and went straight to her. Seth is staring quizzingly at the boy who is the same age as him. His face looks oddly familiar, the features softened of someone that Kirsten thought she knew from a memory somewhere. Seth knows him. Ryan is staring too, a look of pure puzzlement appearing across his delicate features.
Either he doesn't know who he is or he is stunned that he is here.
"Mrs. Cohen, I'm so sorry about what my husband did to you and your family. I apologize with my all my heart but yet I know that it is not enough," her accent was slightly Spanish with a touch of elegance and yet a harmony that Kirsten did not understand.
This woman had gallantry and bravery well beyond her years.
Her dark blue eyes narrowed despite herself and there was a flicker of hatred that coursed through her now shaking body.
Husband. Riggotti. Mrs. John Riggotti.
John Riggotti, the third.
The man who killed Sandy. The man who shot her husband in cold blood in front of a judge, several police officers, security guards and civilians.
The man who made RED Friday exist.
The man, who was now going to spend the next year on death row, before being one of the first men to be executed in California by the death penalty in years.
The man who was going to die – rather then spend the six months in jail that Sandy had managed to plead him down too. Six months and a misdemeanor crime.
His young son was standing in front of her, a superior mix of his father and his mother, handsome and regal, yet filled with soft shy features. Intelligence wavered in his eyes along with sympathy and sorrow.
He was innocent and was in the same boat as Seth and Ryan.
A young kid, same age as Ryan and Seth.
Yet the hate in Kirsten could only see the killer lineage from him.
This was John Riggotti, the fourth.
Did he too carry the infuriated hostility gene that his father absurdly had? Would John Riggotti the fourth take the life of someone else as easy as his father had?
If someone were to cut him off in traffic would he pull a gun on the innocent soul and shoot them in a blind road rage? Could that person who cut him off be Ryan or Seth and would yet another John Riggotti take someone from her life in an instant?
Flip her world upside down again?
Kirsten gave a sickly half smile and licked her dry lips, gritting her teeth. Her pale features flushed with a heated maddening pink and her eyes flashed in feverish recognition at the family.
"Mrs. Cohen, I have not come here for sympathy from you. I have not come for forgiveness. I have just come to express my sincere condolences. I am deeply sorry and ashamed for what my husband has done."
Kirsten swallowed the enraged lump in her throat.
She took a step forward, raising an eyebrow of concern from Ryan and a questionable look from Seth.
Tom rocked on his heels knowing there was a motive for her bold move.
She was hugging their father's killer's wife? Her husband's killer's wife?
The press would kill for a photo of this.
She embraced the woman that she only knew as Mrs. Riggotti. She didn't know her first name, she didn't know where she lived offhand, she didn't even know if she had more children.
She didn't care.
She whispered so venomously, so softly in a tempered tone that only Mrs. Riggotti heard. Her flinch was visible to everyone upon hearing the icy wrath spoken softly.
"I hate your husband so much. You will never know what it's like to lose someone the way that we all have. You get to let go, slowly over time. You get to say goodbye."
She swallowed, her body tense and rigid, quivering.
"Do you know there are days that I don't even know if I can go on, that I don't even want too!? Your husband doesn't deserve the death penalty. He deserves to be shot out of the blue, in a courtroom, by the person he was defending and left to lay there bleeding on the floor. He deserves to tell someone to write a letter to you while withering in pain because he KNEW he wasn't going to make it. I was married to a good man. I feel almost sorry for whose last name you share," she raised her voice a little, letting the fake sympathy ooze out of it, "but thank you so much for your concern and sympathy in our time of loss."
She took another step towards her whispering again quietly but audible to others, "I pray to God that your son is nothing like his father, and I feel sorry for you if he is."
Kirsten's ice cold wrath grasped the other woman as they locked eyes. For the first time in four days Kirsten eyes were alight with color that isn't drug or alcohol induced.
Her ferocious blue met with the sorrowful and sincere, sadly understanding brown.
If the conversation had been anything but private many people would question it. Was Kirsten Cohen really losing it? Some would've taken her side and understand. Other's would call it a threat. Some would say it was a nice gesture that Vera Riggotti had shown up and offered condolences. Some might have said Kirsten was out of line. Some might have said Vera was out of line showing up like she did.
Some, might have been speechless.
But Kirsten Cohen is a family woman, and when something happened to her family – when someone else had ripped her family apart, a side of her that stays hidden – rears it's vehemency and does what is has to do.
Kirsten would hate John Riggotti the third until the day she dies. And Vera Riggotti can understand because if there had been a chance, should the circumstances have been reversed, she knows in her heart that she would have felt the exact same way.
But it isn't and her husband will be put to death and she can still say her good-byes.
Kirsten makes her look away and they both know the conversation is over. Vera watches with sad lingering eyes as the body of Kirsten Cohen shakes with rage and infuriation.
She watches as she twists the platinum rings around her hand.
Bands that once said, "I'm married."
Now they say, "I'm a widow."
Vera nods and bites her bottom lip before offering one last soft, empathetic smile and slowly walked away.
The young John Riggotti, the one that still had hope, still had a martial of innocence left to him swallowed nervously before surprising Kirsten and hugging her.
His voice was unsteady when he told her he was sorry. His hazel eyes held truth and heartfelt, unfeigned sorrow. In a hushed but unflinching voice he whispered while looking at her, "I promise you, I'll never be like him."
Kirsten realizes that he too, hates who his father has become.
His future is forever questionable, as he is known as the RED Friday killer's son.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, some say.
Kirsten nods and gives her first real smile, although soft and tight, to John Riggotti the fourth. "Keep the promise."
Her tone is still icy.
She holds his gaze until he too looks away, the emotion playing upon her face is too much for either Vera or John the fourth to look at anymore.
Kirsten's fiery blue eyes cloud over, the fog returning the colorless ashen color returns to dull her pink and flushed cheeks.
The line moves on.
The strangers keep coming.
The "I'm so sorry's," continue.
It's 1:12 p.m. Tumbleweed Tuesday. Four days after.
It feels like forever.
XxXxX
Tom escorts the family out, one by one into the limousine where the police wait around to keep the leeches that consider themselves people away.
The ride home was quiet, which is all it seemed to be like anymore. Everyone stares out the window as Newport zoomed by.
Home.
Which doesn't feel like home anymore.
She glances at her son, knowing he hasn't rambled to her since Friday.
She glances at Ryan, and can tell he hasn't been sleeping.
She hates sleeping alone. Especially in that bed.
She sweeps her dark blue eyes to Sophie and knows that it hasn't properly hit her yet, she might cry but she hasn't properly grieved. It shows on her pale face.
Her cancer was in remission for the time being.
But who knew for how long now.
After all, it was Sandy who helped convinced her to go in the first place.
XxXxX
Seth looks at his mother staring out the window, sunglasses high upon her face to hide the raccoon rings that she tried to hide with miserably with makeup.
He can't help but think how much she has changed. How much they have all changed. God bless Summer and the gang, for trying to take his mind off of everything.
Finally arriving at home he watches his Mom open the door before Tom can get there and watches as she climbs the steps into the house, taking her shoes off at the same time. She is on a mission for something.
He frowns at Ryan who shrugs his shoulders and walks into the house. Seth squints into the cloudy sky that was trying to let sun through its fluffy gray depths.
He sighs before following suit.
Tumbleweed Tuesday draws closer and closer to a close. 6:04 p.m.
XxXxX
Kirsten manages grab the bottle of vodka and takes it into the bedroom that she and Sandy shared. She needs to change her clothes.
Some sort of painkiller thing that Julie had smuggled over and a few shots of vodka and she would be as right as rain.
Until it wore off.
She can't help but glance around the room, where nearly a week ago Sandy was fighting with her. Wednesday. Two days before he left her - they had a fight.
She shakes her head and takes a long swig from the bottle, drinking until it burns and makes her gag.
"Sandy. No. I just don't like this!"
He rolled his eyes at her, running a hand through his longer hair, pausing at the graying temples to rub the pressure away.
"Honey. Friday, it will be over, and hopefully the judge will dismiss the case."
She stared at him blankly. "Sandy, he threatened your life!"
He smirked at her and waved her off, "No, he didn't. He was just very thorough with how he wanted things to go."
She rose from sitting at the foot of the bed to meet him face to face. Dark blue meeting blue-green eyes, an unfaltering fire in both pairs.
"'You had better pray I don't land in jail,' is a threat to me Sandy. Why did you take his case anyway, you know the Riggotti's are major drug lords."
'You know they're dangerous,' her unspoken words haunt him.
He sighed. He couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't tell her that John Riggotti's case was hopeless from the start and there was no way that he could ever hope a judge to dismiss it. There was no way he could tell her that Riggotti came to him and threatened his family's life if he didn't help him out.
"I told you, Kirsten! I had to help a friend…"
She clenched her jaw, his cloudy blue eyes roaming over her beautiful face and watched the muscle twitch in pure frustration.
She sighed and turned away from him, angered beyond the point of pissed off. "You ALWAYS have to help someone out! When is it going to be enough? You can't mess with these people Sandy! Endangering our family isn't enough? Do we not…"
"BECAUSE IF I DON'T DO IT – THEN SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN KIRSTEN!" He hung his head, defeated. He might as well give her an inkling of what may come. What might have happened if he hadn't taken the case in the first place.
He turned away. He couldn't let see her the doubt upon his face.
The fact that it might not be okay.
Because that's what he did – he made things okay.
She paused, stunned, looking at his back like a deer caught in the headlights.
Her beautiful features pale by the minute.
Then she understands.
"Sandy… No….You have to go to the police!"
He turned on his heel, spinning so quickly he surprised her.
"I can't. You just said it yourself, you can't mess with these people."
"Sandy, we have money…." He could see the worry on her face, watching as idea's swam through her head, anything, anything to help him.
He laughed. "So do they, Kirsten."
The simple truth.
"Then what are we going to do?"
"Nothing. WE are going to do nothing. You already know too much for your own good. Friday, I'M going to plead my whole life away and pray that I'm a good enough lawyer to get him off and it will go away. It'll go away," he mumbled, trying to convince himself.
Suddenly his problem became hers too. More so than he ever wanted to involve her.
"Sandy, no, I don't…" But he cut her off by kissing her.
"I don't want to talk anymore baby. Not about this...Do you know how much I love you?"
She looks into his tired eyes.
She smiles lightly, knowing that he's doing the best he can. "Maybe, just a little."
Only Sandy, always trying to make everything okay.
She plays his game, letting it drop for now.
He kisses her shoulder and she can feel his lips move up on her neckline, making her shiver.
Distracting her.
"I'll love you forever… you know that right?" Teasing blue eyes danced in the dark as they waited for her response.
"Forever? Forever is a long time."
"It's not long enough. Forever isn't long enough when I'm with you," he insisted. "I love you so much, Kirsten. I'm never leaving you. Never." He kisses her temple gently, his embrace secure and safe.
"Promise?" her voice breaks and she doesn't know why. She never wants him to leave.
"With all my heart," he grins lazily at her before kissing her.
"So you going to stand in the middle of the room all day with that open bottle or are you going to give me a hug?"
Kirsten smirks and turned around, the relief evident on her face.
She sits the bottle down, and somehow manages to walk over to her sister.
"Hey Hailey," her voice breaks as she hugs her tightly.
Her sister closes the gap, her arms opened as she embraces her sister as the tears begin to fall for the both of them.
Time stops once more for Kirsten that night.
XxXxX
Luke, Anna, Seth, Ryan, Summer and Marissa are sitting in the Cohen living room, bored.
"Cohen, dude, let's go out!" Luke looks enthusiastic about getting out of the house.
It just wasn't right without Mr. Cohen here.
Seth's face lit up. God he needed to get out of this fucking house. The -I'm-so-sorry's were running through his head right now.
"Yeah. Where?"
"There is a new club in L.A…"
"Mom won't say yes to that. God she had a conniption when we tried it with Dad," Seth winced as the memory was brought up.
He paused, before looking over the back of the couch.
Fuck it.
"Tom, would you drive us to L.A?"
Tom knew he shouldn't. He knew that he should say.
N.
O.
W.
A.
Y.
A RED flag should have shot up – something, anything.
But Tom looked at their faces, finally, for a brief second there was something other than depression, other than the gloom and the "I'm sorry's."
For a second they looked like teenagers again.
So good ol' handsome blond Tom, said. "Fine. But tell Kirsten we're just going cruising."
Kirsten. Tom called his Mom, Kirsten.
Seth nodded and even Ryan smiled as he followed Seth.
XxXxX
Tom warned them.
"A few drinks. That's it."
A few drinks turned into more drinks. More drinks turned into even more drinks.
More drinks turned them into shitfaced.
Giddy even.
Alcohol and death.
Bring on the shots.
Yeah baby!
Sweaty bodies, smoke, and loud distracting music is definitely what they needed. There was only so many "I'm so fucking sorry's," that Seth and Ryan could take.
And alcohol. We can't forget the alcohol, and lots of it. They needed more alcohol actually.
Whether the club bartender recognized Seth or not, he didn't have to pay for his drinks.
Which was odd, but Seth shrugged it off.
Another, "Fuck it," of the night.
Until they all heard the noise, the sound of a crowd "oohing" and "aweing."
Something was on fire over there.
Flaming Dr. Peppers normally caused such a sight that deemed the proper aweings.
This caused the group to look over. John Riggotti the fourth gave them a small courteous wave before walking over to them.
He reeked of rich, drug-money, arrogance.
Summer whined slurringly and Seth went up to the bar for more booze.
Tom watched over them carefully. His hawk eye never let any of them out of his sight.
"Your drinks are on me," Southern Spanish sounding John gave them a nod and a tight smile. "It's the least I can do." He didn't have to add that the whole reason they were all drinking was because of John Riggotti the third.
Daddy Riggotti.
Ryan tipped his shot to him.
Drug lord killer Riggotti.
Gulped it down.
'Fucker. Least you could do.' For some reason John Riggotti the fourth didn't give Ryan a good vibe.
He had to use the restroom and began to walk towards it, finding it completely filled, he couldn't wait and used the backdoor outside.
Apparently John couldn't wait either because he went on the other side of the dumpster to do the same.
Finishing the boys found themselves in an awkward silence until Johnny boy junior IV offered Ryan a smoke, which he gratefully took.
Mmm, the nicotine that was rushing through his body filled with alcohol. Increasing the buzz.
"Hey, man, I'm sorry about your Dad you know? That shits rough."
Ryan inhaled and nodded. He didn't give a shit if Johnny boy had just called Sandy his Dad.
He was tired of the sorry's.
"Thanks."
What else could he say? It was almost an automated response now.
Sorry.
Thank you.
So sorry Ryan.
Thank you.
"I wish my Dad wouldn't have done that. I wish he wouldn't have threatened him to make him take his case either."
Ryan's hardened blue eyes met John's in a fiery Kirsten-like blaze.
"Oh yeah?"
John exhaled and nodded. Smoke puffed around him, creating a halo like cloud. He looked at Ryan menacingly.
The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.
"Just cause you know, the rumors, my Dad's a drug lord yaddy yadda, no one would take it. So he had to. You know?" He inhaled.
No, Ryan didn't know.
Ryan smirked, his heart pounding in his chest, the nicotine rushing through his already shitfaced system.
"But your father killed Sandy. In court. And now he's going to die."
John laughed. Physically laughed.
He was laughing about Sandy.
Nobody pulls an "I'm-sorry," and then laughs about the person you're sorry about.
No-fucking-one.
Especially laugh about Sandy?
No way.
"My Dad will be out in a year. Nothing will happen to him." The promise that the kid whispered to Kirsten that Ryan had overheard had left.
He was a Riggotti, through and through.
Blood is thicker than water. Blood boils faster too.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Ryan doesn't remember much.
How do you shoot the devil in the back? What if you miss?
Ryan knows. Because you don't shoot the devil. You punch him.
He doesn't even remember punching the Riggotti kid in the side of his skull. He doesn't remember beating him until he is unconscious. He doesn't remember punching him well after he lost consciousness.
He doesn't remember Seth and Tom pulling him off of him, Ryan still struggling with all his might to hit him.
He does remember watching Tom take his pulse. He remembers the look on Tom and Seth's faces.
The shock, the pure horror on Seth's drunken childlike face.
Tom's face he couldn't read. It was blank.
"Ryan…he's dead."
He remembers watching Tom wiping away any fingerprints. He remembers Tom taking care of all of that. Tom knows how to make it look like an accident and cover it up.
"He was talking shit on Sandy. He was…" he mumbled softly – so they might understand why he did it.
Tom takes care of everything that night – which is all Ryan, remembers, including cleaning the blood off of his hand and icing it.
Tom knows.
Someone said something like, "Revenge is a dish best served cold."
Ryan doesn't remember saying that.
But he did.
He can only think clearly about Kirsten.
And Sandy.
And how there is no one to save him now.
And how that Riggotti kid got what he deserved.
XxXxX
Kirsten had changed her clothes before she and Hailey went to walk along the beaches, the blazing sun had set long ago and now the dark water lapped at their feet, setting the mood.
The water glistened in the moonlight as they quietly strolled along, the occasional chitchat breaking the silence.
"So, are you going to talk or are we going to walk all the way to Mexico?"
Kirsten gave a small shrug of her aching shoulders, and a smirk played upon her weary features. She had long ago finished the drink that she had fixed herself to take along on the small stroll.
"What is there to say?"
Hailey shrugged her boxy tan shoulders, inhaling the warm salt air. Kirsten noted that she looked good. "I don't know. You seem to be doing okay…"
Inside, Kirsten is screaming.
"I just miss him Hailey. I miss him so much," she sighs and wipes away the tears that managed to spill over.
Screaming at the top of her lungs, and no one can hear her.
"So much."
12:01 a.m. The beginning of Blue Wednesday.
The day of the funeral.
Five whole days since RED Friday.
One hundred and thirty-five hours and forty-two lonely seconds since he left her all alone.
135:42, tick tock, tick tock.
She missed him. And nothing could bring him back with her.
He is all she wants right now.
Her world has been upside down since Friday.
It doesn't look like it's going to level out anytime soon.
The dark ocean looks more inviting then Kirsten wants to admit.
XxXxX
They packed up all his buckles
And shipped his saddle to his dad
And by the way the house looked
She must have took it bad
The workers come on Monday
To fix the door and patch the wall
They say she just went crazy
The night she got the call
He was up in Wyoming
And drew a bull no man could ride
He promised her he'd turn out
Well it turned out that he lied
And their dreams that they'd been living'
In the California sand
Died right there beside him
In Cheyenne
They say she just went crazy
Screamin' out his name
She ran out into the ocean
And to this day they claim
That if you go down by the water
You'll see her footprints in the sand
'Cause every night she walks
the beaches of Cheyenne
They never found her body
Just her diary by the bed
It told about the fight they had
And the words that she had said
When he told her was ridin'
She said then I don't give a damn
If you never come back from Cheyenne
They say she just went crazy
Screamin' out his name
She ran out into the ocean
And to this day they claim
That you can go down by the water
And see her footprints in the sand
'Cause every night she walks the beaches of Cheyenne
Nobody can explain it
Some say she's still alive
They even claim they've seen her
On the shoreline late at night
So if you go down by the water
You'll see her footprints in the sand
'Cause every night she walks
the beaches of Cheyenne.
-Garth Brooks, Beaches of Cheyenne.
