A/N: Thanks to Maudgonne for the beta job.
Ryan walked the length of the bridge for the fourth time. It wasn't that he was chickening out. He'd made up his mind; he knew he had no other options. It was just that every time he got to the middle, to the point he needed to be, a car drove by and he had to keep walking. The last time, his third time across, the car had actually stopped to talk to him. He was more than a little spooked when he realized it was cops. He was never comfortable around cops, even when they were just warning him to make sure he walked facing traffic, as his dark jacket made it hard to see him and he wouldn't want to get hit.
Actually, Ryan wouldn't have minded being hit – it would take the decision out of his hands. The problem with that, though, was that it would bring someone else into it – make someone else responsible – and he didn't want that on anyone's shoulders but his own. This was his problem, his mess, his life and he had to be the one to deal with it.
This time, when he got to the middle of the bridge, all was clear. He couldn't see or hear any vehicles coming towards him – anything or one who could try to dissuade him from his task.
He climbed over the railing, stood on the three inch ledge, and looked down. Far below, he could see the dark water. He knew, from his physics class at Harbor, that from this height the water would not be yielding; the water would act like concrete, which was exactly what Ryan wanted. Looking down, he had no fear of the height. The fear of heights stemmed from a fear of falling and Ryan was planning on falling, so he had nothing to fear. Death would be a welcome relief from the spiraling mess his life had become – the spiraling mess that he could see no way out of.
Physics class at Harbor. That felt like a lifetime ago – a different lifetime, when he foolishly had hope for the future. Back when he had thought he could escape the Atwood luck. Atwood curse was more like it. Back before he had spent twenty months in prison, becoming someone he didn't want to be – someone he thought he would never become. There was no turning back now. No saving him.
If he hadn't spent time in Newport – hadn't had a chance to see how real people lived – he'd have been able to survive after prison. He'd have been able to subsist and get through the only way he knew how. But now he knew that this wasn't the life he wanted and he knew he could never be the person he wanted to be. He didn't want to be Ryan Atwood, son of Dave and Dawn Atwood; but he knew he didn't belong with the Cohens anymore, that he could never be the son of Sandy and Kirsten. Too much had happened. He'd done too much that couldn't be undone. It was too much to just put it behind him.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear anyone approaching him until a flashlight shone on him. Ryan looked behind him and saw the cop who had stopped earlier.
"Why don't you come in from there, and we can talk about it?" the cop said.
He panicked. He didn't want to be stopped; he didn't want to talk; he'd been weighing the pros and cons for weeks – he knew this was his best option. He was acutely aware of the cold steel railing his hands were holding onto – could feel the cold seeping through where his back was leaning against it. Suddenly, finally, he pushed forward and stepped off the bridge. He was expecting to plunge into the darkness below but instead, found himself dangling in the air. The cop had been closer than he'd thought, and he'd grabbed onto the back of Ryan's jacket, holding him up.
"Let me go!" he yelled. He didn't want to be saved. He wanted this to be over.
"Just hang on," the cop said. "I've got you and we'll pull you up."
"No!" Ryan said. He could feel the jacket riding up and he thought if he lifted his arms over his head, he could slip it off and end this. He hadn't want to involve the cop or anyone else but he just wanted everything to end. He lifted his arms and started to wriggle. He could feel himself slipping out of it - he was almost in control of his own destiny again – but then another set of hands wrapped around his wrists, first one and then the other, and he started going up instead of down.
He struggled against them, hoping they'd lose their grip and he'd fall. He fought and screamed even as they got a better grip on him and pulled him back up over the side. Once they had him on solid ground, he slumped down, defeated.
The cops pushed him onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back. "Are you done fighting us now?" one of them asked.
Ryan nodded slightly. He was completely exhausted – mentally, physically, emotionally. He'd spent so long thinking about this and planning it, and he'd expected it to be over tonight – needed it to be over.
One of them patted him down before hauling him to his feet. "You're not carrying any ID? What's your name?"
Ryan just stared off to the side, not wanting to look at the cop – not wanting human contact. He was still on parole and didn't want his name run through their system. They could figure it out on their own if they had to.
"You can't tell me your name?"
Ryan continued to stare into the dark night. He was supposed to be a part of the dark night by now.
"Okay. My name is Officer Mitchell. I am a peace officer with Orange County. You are not under criminal arrest, but I am taking you for examination by mental health professionals at Canyon Ridge Hospital. You will be told your rights by the mental health staff. Do you understand what I just said to you?"
Ryan narrowed his eyes at the officer. "I don't need to go to the loony bin."
"You tried to throw yourself off a bridge," the officer said. He attempted to move Ryan towards the squad car. "That doesn't sound to me like you're thinking clearly."
Ryan dug in his heels. "It was rationally thought out. I knew exactly what I was doing."
The other officer grabbed him under his other arm and they half-carried, half-dragged him to the car. They maneuvered him into the back seat and slammed the door. After they got in the front seat, Officer Mitchell turned around to him again. "If you can convince the doctors that you don't need to be there, they'll let you go. We have to take you in."
By the time the officer pulled up in front of the hospital, Ryan was quietly seething in the back. He was pissed off at the cops for thinking he was crazy and needed help, and he was pissed off at himself for getting caught. He'd had the whole thing worked out in his mind for weeks and he'd thought he'd made sure it was foolproof. Obviously not, and he was the fool. If only he'd jumped sooner.
Mitchell interrupted his thoughts when he opened the door and pulled him out. "Are you going to cooperate?" Mitchell asked as he hauled him to his feet. "Because if you're not, they've got drugs and straitjackets, and all sorts of things to make you cooperate."
Ryan glared at him, hating that he put himself in this situation, under control of the state again. He nodded slightly and stared at the door, indicating his agreement.
"Good," Mitchell said.
They walked through the door and were met by a woman with a blonde bob cut. "Hi there. I'm Monica, the intake nurse tonight. Come have a seat over here and we'll fill out some forms."
Officer Mitchell led him over to the desk she'd indicated and pushed him into the chair.
"So, um…" Monica looked at some forms she had in front of her. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't."
"He's been uncooperative in revealing his identity to us," the officer rejoined.
"It is easier if you give us a name?" the nurse prodded.
Ryan just stared at his shoes.
"Okay," the nurse said after a moment's silence. "The officer here says you tried to jump off a bridge tonight. Is that correct?"
Ryan shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her.
"Were you trying to kill yourself?" she asked.
When Ryan didn't answer, Mitchell spoke up. "He was dangling in the air and when we tried to pull him up, he fought against us and asked us to let him drop. That bridge is high and there's no way he was jumping for fun."
"Is the officer's version of the events correct, or do you have a better explanation for what happened?" Monica asked.
Ryan shrugged again and looked to the side.
"Okay," she said. "You are going to be placed in this psychiatric unit because it is our professional opinion that as a result of a mental disorder, you are likely to harm yourself."
"I don't have a mental disorder," Ryan said. "I'm not crazy."
"You tried to jump off a bridge and kill yourself, and you fought against the officers who were trying to help you. Under California Code 5150, that gives us the right to detain you for a period up to 72 hours. Since the 72 hours does not include weekends, and it is now Saturday night…" Monica stopped to consult her watch. "…Sunday morning, your 72 hours will begin Monday morning at 8 am."
"So you want me to leave and come back then?" Ryan asked. He knew what she was implying – he was just grasping at straws, looking for something that would mean he wasn't going to be trapped here.
"No." Monica looked at him with concern. "You will be held here until then."
"That's bullshit," Ryan said.
"I understand you're upset," Monica continued, "but it's the law. We're just concerned for your welfare."
"Right," he said.
"We'll need you to sign this form, that we informed you why you're here and how long you'll be staying. Officer Mitchell, can you remove his handcuffs, please?"
Officer Mitchell glanced behind them. Ryan looked too and that when he saw the large man looming behind them.
Monica noticed where they were both looking. "Yes, Marco's here to help with the intake procedure. And you're not going to cause us any problems, are you?"
Ryan didn't say anything; he just stared at the nurse with his jaw set. She took his silence for acquiescence. She nodded to the cop, who took the handcuffs off. Ryan brought his hands back in front of him and rubbed his wrists. No matter how many times he had them on, he never got used to the feel of them and he was always glad to get them off again.
Officer Mitchell turned to go. Ryan watched as Marco swiped his keycard to open the door for the officer. The heavy door swung shut behind him, and Ryan's head was buzzing with the knowledge that he was stuck here, with no chance of getting out.
He turned back around and saw that the nurse was holding a pen out as she pushed a piece of paper towards him. "If you're not going to tell us your name, you can just sign 'John Doe' and add your patient number after it. The number is here at the top of the page."
Ryan glanced at where her finger was pointing at the number, but made no move to take the pen from her.
"We need confirmation that you understand your rights under Code 5150."
Ryan was feeling more and more incensed at how his night was going. "What rights? I don't want to be here. You're making me stay against my will. I'm not signing your piece of paper to make you feel better."
Monica set her mouth in a thin line at his refusal. "That's fine for now. When the doctor comes on Monday, she'll be expecting you to sign."
Ryan didn't really care what the doctor expected or didn't expect.
"Marco is going to take you to catalogue your personal belongings and get you something to wear."
"The clothes I'm wearing are fine."
"You can't wear the same clothes for your stay here. If you didn't bring a change of clothes with you…"
"I was brought here in handcuffs against my will. Where would I get a change of clothes?"
"If you didn't bring a change of clothes with you," she continued as though she hadn't been interrupted, "you'll be issued hospital clothes that you can wear for your duration here."
Marco took him by the arm and led him through a set of double doors that led to a common area. There were two dingy sofas that each faced the TV and a bookshelf sparsely filled with books and videos. Marco turned left down a hallway and took Ryan into a small room. He opened a cupboard and took out some clothes and set them on the chair. He pointed to an empty bin that was sitting on the floor beside the chair. "You can put your clothes and boots and anything else you brought with you in there. I'll be back in five minutes."
With that, he shut the door behind him, leaving Ryan alone for the first time since his plans to kill himself had been thwarted. He stared at the bin, just like the ones used in juvie and jail. Once again, he was being stripped of who he was and being reduced to a box of belongings. He'd had enough of this. He didn't want to be here – he wasn't supposed to be here.
His skin started to itch beneath the surface as the buzzing in his ears grew louder. He circled the chair and bin, knowing he needed to change soon, before Marco came back, but unable to bring himself to do it. As soon as he changed, he was giving in to them, letting them take over again, submitting to them.
He kicked the box. He wasn't going to do this. He kicked it again, moving it farther across the room. He refused to let them reduce him to a box. He kicked it harder, sending it against the wall with a satisfying crash. He swept the clothes off the chair and then picked it up and threw it across the room.
Within seconds, Marco was in the room and had him in a half-nelson, trying to contain him. The buzzing in his head hadn't gone away, but he was suddenly exhausted. He collapsed back against the bigger man. Marco pushed him against the wall to restrain him and he became aware of other people in the room with them. He felt a sharp prick in his bicep and finally his head started to quiet down.
TBC