Smc's whining. She's already got Brandywine wrapped around her little finger.
I'm soooo her bitch.
Bet y'all thought I was dead, didn't you?
Don't own squat as far as The OC is concerned.
Chapter Fourteen.
Wednesday, 2:47 PM.
Sandy and Kirsten sat on the patio, lukewarm coffee untouched. Conversation had pretty much been non-existent since they returned home from the chapel, each lost in their own thoughts. As Kirsten stared into the unoccupied pool house, Sandy's mind was working overtime as he reviewed Roger Atwood's surprise attendance at Trey's memorial. The warden had been quite adamant that Roger would not be given permission to attend the service. He'd been at the center of several disturbances and had lost all privileges. Sandy could have argued for a compassionate furlough, but chose not too. The bits and pieces Ryan let slip from his childhood and the few paragraphs from his social services file left Sandy unmotivated to push the issue. Now Roger's appearance led….the trail led back to Caleb. The man had enough friends in high places to call in a few favours, but why? He was positive it wasn't done for altruistic reasons.
Cal didn't do anything that didn't benefit himself in some way.
Realization hit Sandy…
Hard.
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Kirsten ran her finger over the rim of her mug, absently tracing the shape of the ridiculously overpriced stoneware, reflecting on the morning. Her thoughts never strayed far from the boys except for the persistent feeling that there was more to Ryan's father, his… Roger's unexpected arrival that morning. Why had he shown up? He had no interest in the service. It seemed that his whole purpose was to disrupt the memorial.
What kind of father would do that?
She did know.
Her vision blurred as tears formed.
She refused to let them fall.
He did not deserve them.
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Ryan gazed out over the Pacific. The ocean now calm, but still refusing to release those held captive. Despite all that had happened in the past week Ryan felt a sense of peace. This is where he and Trey spent their last moments.
This is where he felt close.
Ryan sat in the crowded auditorium, trying not to fidget in his borrowed clothes. Mrs. Diaz had taken in the waist and hemmed the legs of Arturo's Confirmation pants. The pale blue shirt and matching tie were also too big, but Theresa told him he looked hot and had made him promise to save the first dance for her. When he heard his name called, he walked to the stage, searching the audience for his mother prior to addressing the crowd. The flash of a camera and a quick wave from Theresa's mom caused him to falter momentarily before he continued with a strong, clear voice. Ryan talked of hopes and dreams he didn't believe in but was expected to extol as the 8th grad valedictorian of F.D. Roosevelt Middle School graduating class of 2002. Ryan finished and then blushed furiously as Trey, 'Turo and Eddie began whistling and cheering loudly, chanting "Ry, Ry, Ry, Ry." He looked out into the sea of faces once more, swallowing disappointment as he left the stage.
Another promise broken.
Security guards removed the boys as Ryan made his way back to his seat. He felt the flush re-ignite up to his ears when he passed Theresa and her hand rubbed against his backside.
Trey was waiting outside for him after the ceremony and gave him a congratulatory high five before throwing his arms around Ryan's shoulders.
"I'm proud of you little bro…"
Trey slid a small package into his brother's hand and watched the smile that graced his face as he opened the paper, revealing a black cuff. The smooth leather wrapped loosely around Ryan's wrist.
"Thanks…"
Trey waited until Ryan looked back up at him before dispensing brotherly advice.
" 'Turo said he's gonna kick your ass if you don't bring his baby sister home on time…"
Again Ryan was assaulted with the growing redness in his face as the memory of Theresa's hand between his legs caused his dick to twitch. Actually, any time he thought of her his body would react like that. He had no doubt that 'Turo would kill him if he was anything but a caballero perfecto que trato a su herman como un a princessa…"
Then again, what Arturo didn't know wouldn't cause Ryan any bodily harm…
Seth watched as Ryan absently played with his wrist cuff and wondered what he was thinking about. Ryan had yet to utter a complete sentence.
A dipthong.
A dangling participle.
Hell, he'd even be satisfied with his name being used as a predicate adjective.
Silence golden?
Aluminum, maybe…
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Roger Atwood reclined on his bunk. He was one of the "special" inmates of the Lompoc Hilton that was the only resident in the 9x6 cell. A new lawyer, provided by a new benefactor watched as the blond man read through the papers. Wordlessly motioning for a pen, Roger signed the papers. Sitting up he glared at the other man.
"Money's been deposited…"
A statement, not a question.
Nervously the lawyer pulled out a copy of the deposit receipt, a rough hand snatching it. A predatory smile creeping across his face, Roger Atwood waved off his lawyer who wasted no time leaving.
Pocketing the slip, inmate number 91278 lay back again.
Let the games begin.
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8:16 PM
Lindsay ran her fingers over the glossy catalogue.
Westminster School.
23 AP courses and an average SAT score of 1220.
Teacher/student ratio of 1:5.
Enough varied extra-curriculars to pad her application to Yale.
Yale, her dream once she realized that being a fairy princess didn't have a lot of job security, not to mention tulle was highly flammable and didn't mix well with the junior chemistry set she received when she was 6 years old.
Westminster School.
An opportunity she could before only dream of was now within her grasp.
This decision should be a no-brainer.
A few months ago it would have been.
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Thursday, 6:40 AM
Eyes struggled to unlock, held hostage by a barrage of noise and colours. Indistinguishable shapes melding, strangling his sensed. Aware now of a gentle touch feathering through his hair.
Who did his hair piss off now?
"Mom…" Seth groaned, managing to pry one eye open. "The Smurfs were going to get me. Nasty, singing Smurfs. Nasty Smurfs singing bad country songs…"
Kirsten helped him sit up, pushing away the afghan that was tangled in his legs.
"Sweetie, you fell asleep during the movie. There weren't any Smurfs, just Sylvester Stallone and Dolly Parton…"
Seth waved his hands.
"No, please…. That's worse than nasty Smurfs yodeling Conway Twitty… Why do we let dad go to the video store alone? The man needs a leash…"
Before Kirsten had a chance to answer, another blanket shrouded figure awoke, this time from the couch.
" Morning…" A startling deep voice rasped out before breaking into a coughing spasm. Kirsten fought the urge to hover over Ryan, instead gripping Seth's shoulder tightly.
"Uh, Mom, the Vulcan nerve pinch? Um…Ow…"
She let go and rubbed his arm in apology. The coughing stopped and Ryan offered a weary smile as he maneuvered into an upright position.
Kirsten stood up and then leaned over to kiss Ryan's forehead.
"Good Morning. You two both look like you need coffee. I'll give you guys a few minutes to wake up and then I'll bring you some."
Seth pulled himself up on the couch and yawned. He closed his eyes and slid back against the cushions.
"Dude. You totally bailed on me last night." Off Ryan's look he continued. "You fell asleep or were rendered unconscious, either or, it doesn't really matter, let's just say I'm still dealing with the abandonment and it's going to take some serious Seth/Ryan time to make up for it, within the first 20 minutes of "Over the Top" you zoned out and left me to watch not only the rest of that movie but "Rhinestone" and "Oscar" as well. A triple shot of Stallone. Do you realize the amount of therapy I'm going to need?"
Ryan closed his eyes and listened to Seth's verbose monologue, his words oddly soothing.
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Sandy stood at the water's edge watching the waves. 6 foot swells, perfect for surfing. He'd left the house while the boys were still sleeping in the family room. He and Kirsten spent the night cocooned in each others arms. A quiet evening spent watching favourite movies and eating pizza, giving the family a sense of normalacy that had been missing. Now as he looked out over the water the next step for him was to take control of his fear before it overwhelmed him. The ocean nearly took something precious to him. It had already taken a piece of Ryan's heart and had threatened to take his own spirit as well. Ryan's loss was his loss as well. Kirsten's loss. Seth's loss. A loss that was a part of Ryan's family but not a part of theirs, yet they were all grieving. With time, they would all heal.
He tucked his board under his arm and walked out into the surf.
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Studying the papers spread out on the table, Caleb barely acknowledged the statuesque red head who shared his bed.
A natural red head.
Well paid for her nightly services, unaware of the contempt her employer held her in.
Dean Ackles nodded in appreciation of her assets as he passed her in the grand foyer. Walking into the kitchen he waited for Caleb to look up. He was used to the game and financial reward was well worth being treated like a mere pawn. Dean played his role well, his animosity for Caleb Nichol hidden beneath a professional mask. As powerful as the head of the Newport Group was, he didn't scare the lawyer. Ackles knew where some of the bodies were buried.
Roger Atwood?
He scared him.
To have to meet a "client" in a federal prison cell instead of the relative safety of the visitation room was unnerving. And a testimony to the power he held in the prison hierarchy. Despite the loss of so called "privileges", Roger was top dog.
"Did he sign the papers?"
Dean opened his brief case and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Caleb scanned them, searching for the signatures.
"How soon can these be served?"
"I have to file the motion this morning. You've talked to Judge Winchester?" Not waiting for the answer the lawyer finished. "24 hours…"
Cold eyes flickered.
"Get it done…"
Summarily dismissed, Dean Ackles took his leave, mentally previewing the events yet to be unleashed.
Caleb Nichol may be pulling the strings but Roger Atwood was definitely the puppet master.
