Blah, blah legal-cakes.
Chapter Eight.
Sunday 2:05 PM
Sandy stepped back and admired his handiwork. He hesitated for a moment before bringing the hammer down on the strike plate one more time, finally satisfied that the piece of metal was sufficiently damaged so as not to allow the washroom door to lock or even close properly. He walked back to the garage, his footsteps echoing off the walls.
Seth had gone off to find solace in Alex's company. Kirsten had set up shop out on the patio. Worksheets were spread out on the table, largely ignored as she kept an eye on the pool house where Ryan had sequestered himself after his meeting with the FBI.
He had rebuffed their attempts to help bandage his bleeding knuckles, instead murmuring an apology for the broken mirror. Kirsten and Sandy stood by helplessly as Ryan moved past them and sought refuge in a house made of glass.
At least Sandy had the foresight to "fix" the locks in the pool house first. It was a good thing he had his legal career to fall back on.
Cohens and tools?
He was lucky he didn't lose an eye.
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Ryan lay back against a mound of pillows, burying the painful memories away in his mind.
Trey.
Falling.
The ocean.
Icy.
Puking on Sandy.
Those pictures were clear.
Fuck.
He hurled on Sandy. Not once, but twice. He hadn't done that since… well…
Alone in his room he lay curled on the floor.
Trey picking him up, telling him it would be okay.
Trey, trying to get him to the washroom when he said he didn't feel so good.
Trey, wearing partially digested Alpha-ghetti on his favourite shirt.
Trey, cleaning him up. Telling him again, it was okay. It would all be okay.
Trey was wrong.
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Caleb poured himself a bourbon, normally not his beverage of choice, but he'd be damned if he'd waste his Glenfidditch on the greasy reporter sitting in his office.
He handed Bob O'Reilly a glass.
"Thanks" nodded the reporter. "And thanks again for talking with me. You're daughter and her husband have that kid locked away in that house of theirs…"
"All the more reason why I'm giving this interview. Kirsten and Sandy have their hands full controlling the boy…"
O'Reilly adjusted the volume on his micro-recorder and picked up his pen and notebook. Caleb glared at the man. Bob smiled uneasily at the most powerful man in Newport.
"Don't worry… Everything said here will be attributed to an unnamed source… Your name will stay out of this…"
Caleb nodded and continued.
"The boy has been living off the kindness of my daughter and her husband after his mother threw him out. They've provided him with an education, a roof over his head, clothes, money… How does he repay my family? He burned down a showcase home for a new development. He trashed a car, was involved in a shooting where a good friend of my grandson was shot. He was responsible for the drug overdose of my step-daughter. He was caught breaking and entering into his school, suspended… Got a girl pregnant…"
Caleb drew a breath.
"He's taken everything my family has given him and thrown it back in their face. His brother escaped from jail. Ryan was helping him get away when the security guard found them…"
"The police report indicated Trey Atwood was unarmed and was going to turn himself in…"
Caleb gulped the last of his drink.
"That's the story the boy told…"
"You don't believe it?"
He leaned in, staring down the journalist.
"Ryan Atwood has been nothing but trouble since the day my son-in-law brought him home. He's a liar and a thief and has managed to con my family. The so called system has failed to protect them and the citizens of Newport Beach. He should be in jail… Where he belongs.."
As O'Reilly scribbled furiously on his yellow pad, Caleb smiled and poured himself another bourbon, enjoying the warmth as it slid down his throat.
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Ryan sipped from a bottle of water, holding the cold liquid in his mouth for a few moments before swallowing, trying to numb the burning sensation. The coughing had subsided somewhat. No longer was he held hostage to the wracking spasms that threatened to expel an inner organ. Now he only coughed sporadically.
Deep, wet coughs.
He paced, restlessly. The walls were closing in on him. The Cohens worried, always hovering nearby.
He could see Kirsten through the blinds… Watching… Pretending to work.
He didn't deserve their concern.
The feds were in the Cohen's house because of him.
Reporters staked out just beyond the gates leading into the community.
Kirsten and Sandy were trying to protect him.
Protect.
That was his job.
Fuck.
He had to get out of the hamster cage. The mental wheel he was running on was getting him nowhere.
Kirsten glanced at her watch. 2:30 and Ryan had yet to emerge from the pool house. She gathered up her paperwork and retreated to the kitchen. Opening a drawer, she quickly looked through it, pulling out what she needed.
This had gone on long enough.
She was going to fight dirty if she had too.
Dialing the phone, she tapped an unmanicured finger on the granite counter top.
"Under the Sombrero… How may I help you?"
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Ryan grabbed his grey zip hoodie and quickly scrawled a note. He'd seen Kirsten go into the house. He didn't want to worry them more and he knew he should talk to them, but he couldn't stand to see the look in their eyes.
The last thing he wanted was their sympathy.
He'd fucked up big time and it cost him his brother.
He didn't want to hear words of understanding.
No one could know what it felt like… Knowing he was responsible for Trey's death.
Closing the pool house door behind him, he followed the worn path to the private beach.
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Alex absently played with Seth's curls and she tried to follow the rabbit path of his monologue. She knew that he'd eventually have to come up for air.
"Soooo…. What do you think?"
Seth lifted his head from her shoulder.
"Alex…?"
Startled, she pulled a little too hard on his hair.
"Yeah, um, this part of the post-coital cuddling doesn't really work for me…"
"Sorry…"
Seth put his head back down.
"Like I was saying, Ryan and Trey weren't really all that close, so why is he so broken up…?"
Seth are you even listening to yourself? Do you know anything about Ryan and his brother?"
He sat up, surprised at the sharpness of Alex's voice.
"I know he got Ryan arrested… Talked him into delivering a stolen car to save his own ass… Got him beat up by the guys he delivered the car to…Came to our house after he escaped from jail… Nearly got his brother killed… So yeah, I do know something about Ryan and his brother… His other brother…"
"Is that what's bothering you? That Ryan has a brother?"
Alex was now sitting up as well.
"Yeah… I mean, no… I mean, I always knew he has a brother, had a brother… I just, you know, thought we were brothers…"
"So what? There's a one brother limit…A little full of yourself, aren't you? Seth, you're not making a lot of sense…"
"I'm just saying he's like "Stepford Ryan"… Pretending everything's okay. He won't talk to me… I don't know…"
Seth rolled off the bed and reached for his boxers. Alex looked at him before getting up herself, wrapping the sheet around her.
"You're being an idiot… It's not about you… It's about another member of his family leaving him… Trey is dead… Gone… As much as you're his new family, you can't just wish the old one didn't exist…" She paused and added gently, "Look, I have to grab a shower and go to work… You okay?"
She didn't need this drama in her life. Seth Cohen was supposed to be fun… A diversion. She had enough of her own crap to deal with.
"Yeah… I'll uh, lock the door on my way out…
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3:15 PM
Kirsten balanced a plate of chipotle chicken quesadillas and a glass of milk as she knocked on the glass door. Getting no answer, she pushed the door open with her hip, a feat made possible by Sandy's ability to wield a hammer.
"Ryan?"
Her eyes fell on a piece of paper placed in the middle of the bed.
Setting the plate down, she picked up the note, hands shaking as she read the 5 words.
Be back in a while.
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Ryan sat on the beach, his fingers absently digging in the sand. He watched as kids chased seagulls, sailboarders and surfers braved the water.
The ocean still held his brother.
One prison exchanged for another.
Only this one meant a life sentence.
No parole.
Kirsten frantically dialed Ryan's cell phone.
A digitally recorded voice.
The number was out of service.
She remembered his phone, lost in the Pacific.
She needed Sandy.
Despite the note left behind.
A nightmare revisited.
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Ryan was so focused on watching the waves roll back and forth, he didn't notice the group of boys coming up behind him.
Oblivious to the first insults hurled at him.
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Sandy had managed to calm Kirsten down. He had a good idea where Ryan was. As he neared the beach, he heard the unmistakable sounds of a brawl.
Running into the fray.
Separating bodies.
Pulling Ryan away from the mob.
Holding him.
Watching as bystanders subdued the other combatants.
Sandy recognized the swarm as the sons of friends, colleagues… Classmates of his sons.
His attention was drawn back to Ryan, his breathing erratic, punctuated by the damnable coughing.
The stitches above his eye, opened, a trail of blood joining with the flow from his nose.
Knuckles split, again.
Bruised, again.
Oozing.
Whispering softly he steered Ryan back to the house.
Sparing a quick glance backwards, he was grateful he found the boy when he did.
Who knows how much more damage Ryan would have inflicted on the others?
