Ah hell, just make up your own disclaimers.
Chapter Five
Agent Fielding made sure his partner had the shooter under control and then ran to restrain Sandy. Struggling to keep the desperate man from jumping into the ocean.
"RYAN!" Sandy screamed as he fought off the FBI Agent. The men slid on the rain slicked pier, landing hard on the wooden walk way. Sandy twisted out of the man's grasp, running to the edge where Ryan and Trey had gone over. Fielding got to his feet just as Sandy plummeted.
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Kirsten watched as her husband and the two Agents made their way to where Ryan and his brother were.
Other brother.
Not Seth.
Trey.
One of the last ties to Ryan's past.
A past that didn't include them.
The past he didn't like to talk about and the one she hated to think about.
The sound of a gun.
It's discharge echoing back to where she waited. Breaking into a run towards the sound, she then stopped in horror as she saw first one, then another and then a third fall over the side of the pier.
A scream tore from her throat as she watched the scene that played out 900 feet from where she stood. Kirsten willed herself to move, changing directions and running to the beach instead.
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The force of slamming into the water left Ryan gasping for air as he surfaced from the churning water.
"TREY!" Was all he managed to yell before a wave sent him crashing into a piling. He ignored the pain on the right side of his head as he pushed himself away from the pillar, fighting with the liquid forces that kept him from finding his brother.
"TREY!" A scream of desperation, no louder than a whisper, the salty water filling his mouth and nose, dragging him beneath the frigid blanket.
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Seth read the note left for him on the counter. Quick and to the point.
Gone to pick up Ryan. Be home soon. Order pizza. Love Mom.
Pizza and parental wrath. Friday night fun at the Cohen's. Might as well run some PS2 before the party starts.
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Years of surfing and living by the ocean had not prepared Sandy for the battle it put forth. The rain pelted him. The wind roared. The waves tried to pull him under.
He tread water, listening, straining to hear a response to his frantic calling of Ryan's name.
The current pulled him further under the pier, into its maze of wooden posts. He stopped struggling against it, instead letting the force of the waves propel him forward.
"RYAN!" Sandy willed himself to stay calm. To listen hard, when every fiber of his being screamed for his son.
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Kirsten ran to the shore line, frantically scanning the frenzied swells for any sign of Sandy or Ryan. Sandy was a strong swimmer, but Ryan?
She didn't know. Just assumed he could swim well enough.
After a year and a half there were still too many unknowns about her new son. Things she should have known.
Kirsten was vaguely aware of the controlled chaos around her. Sirens growing louder. The sound of a rescue boat getting closer.
Voices surrounding her.
Reassuring.
Supportive.
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Ryan managed to break through the surface, simultaneously spitting sea water and fighting to draw a breath, choking as the brine re-entered his throat, filling his lungs.
"TREY!"
Lips moving silently.
Eyes closing.
Darkness calling.
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A strangled cough.
Sandy was sure that's what he heard. Turning his head just in time to see Ryan slip below the churning water.
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"Hey Seth…. How's Ryan? Can I talk to him?"
Lindsay….Shit… Oh yeah… He told her Ryan was sick…At least he hoped that's what he told her.
"Uh, Ryan's out with Mom and Dad…" Keep it ambiguous. The verbal equivalent of stealth. He was all about the subterfuge.
"Ooooo-kay. I guess he's feeling better. I'm going to come over later…"
"NO! You can't…" Seth spoke rapidly, his mouth working faster than his brain. "He's uh…. Going to be doing laundry. Yeah, uh… That's where he is now… Buying Tide… Lots of it … for the … for the …vortex of vomit. Yes, that's right… Puddles of puke all over the place. Not a pretty sight. I think tomorrow's little visit to Six Flags will have to be rescheduled, all righty then? Great. He'll call you Sunday. 'Bye Aunt Lindsay…"
Seth hung up. Leaving Lindsay wondering how much of her nephew's formative years were spent wearing a helmet.
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Sandy struggled to keep Ryan's head above the waves that battered them. He fought against the lifeguards, instead, locking his fingers, unwilling to relinquish the boy.
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Gentle hands kept Kirsten from running towards the bedraggled group that neared the sand. She jerked free and ran to Sandy, falling to her knees beside him as he collapsed on the beach.
"Ryan…" He mumbled, dragging himself to where the EMT's and life guards surrounded Ryan.
Mottled grey skin. Lips stained blue.
Kirsten held her husband.
A deafening silence from the one they needed to hear the most.
A chest compression.
A breath blown in.
Soundless.
A chest compression.
A chest compression.
A chest compression.
A breath blown in.
Motionless.
Another chest compression.
Another chest compression.
Another chest compression.
Another breath blown in.
Lifeless.
One more chest compression.
One more chest compression.
One more chest compression.
One more breath blown in.
A struggle for air.
A painful expulsion of salty liquid.
A ragged gasp.
Air. Expel. Gasp. Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
An anguished whisper.
"Trey…"
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8:01 PM.
Seth's eyes focused on the road. It had taken less than 90 seconds to pull out of the driveway after his mother called. He resisted the urge to drive faster than the posted speed limit.
Instead he counted.
First by 4's, then by 7's.
Two blocks from HOAG he started on the Jewish Holidays.
Rosh Hashana.
Yom Kippur.
Sukkoth.
Simhat Torah.
Hanukah.
Purim.
Pesach.
Lag b'Omer.
Shavuot.
Tishah b'Ab.
Parking.
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Kirsten rubbed Sandy's back and then smoothed the thermal blanket that covered his shoulders. Hospital issue pajamas replaced his wet clothes.
They sat in a hospital exam room.
Waiting. Again.
8:18 PM.
Seth found his parents and the waiting continued.
8:47 PM.
Dr. Connell cleared her throat before she drew back the curtains of the room where the Cohens sat, lost in thought.
"Mr. and Mrs. Cohen? I'm Dr. Connell… I've been treating Ryan…"
"How…?" Sandy's eyes were pleading.
She sat down in a chair.
"He's awake… Pretty banged up, though. He sustained a minor concussion, cuts, abrasions and some impressive bruises. We're monitoring Ryan for respiratory distress. He's experiencing some wheezing and the chest x-ray showed some fluid and silt in his lungs. Right now he's on supplemental 0/2. That being said, barring any complications, you should be able to take him home tomorrow afternoon, and yes… you can see him. Exam room 5. It'll be a few hours before we move him into a room…"
She smiled at the family before leaving them.
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Ryan had been conscious, semi-reclined, an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and over a dozen sensors attached to his chest when they saw him. Bruises started to colour his face, chest and arms. A bandage over his right eye hid the 15 stitches.
"Trey?" A painful, raspy voice asked. He wouldn't even look at the Cohens, keeping his head turned away, staring at the curtains that surrounded the cubicle.
"They're still looking for him…" Sandy said gently.
Ryan closed his eyes, unresponsive to everything around him.
10:43 PM.
Kirsten touched Ryan's hair. Hair stiffened by sea water. A reminder of the day's events. His eyes were closed but he still flinched at her touch. Sighing, she sat back in her chair.
She had finally convinced Sandy and Seth to go home. Sandy was exhausted mentally and physically. Kirsten hoped he'd be able to sleep. The fact that it could have easily been Ryan missing haunted her. Every time she closed her eyes she saw bodies falling into the ocean.
Seth's face had replaced Trey's.
All of them disappearing forever.
But it wasn't about her.
It was about the boy lying in a hospital bed.
Closing himself off.
Retreating.
Grieving for the loss of a brother.
Grief Kirsten knew he wouldn't share with them.
Listening to the harsh, ragged breathing.
Wishing she could hold Ryan in her arms.
Tell him it was okay, that she would make it better.
A kiss on his forehead to take the pain away.
If only it could be that simple.
