Sandy had never liked talking to police.
He recognized the duty they performed, the sacrifices they made, and Sandy respected them for that, but he always felt the familiar twinge of nervous discomfort whenever he was forced to deal with them personally. He'd tried to explain his anxiety to Kirsten once, but she hadn't understood. She'd grown up sheltered, safe in the suburbs of Newport Beach, and had never seen how cruel life could be. How easy it was to become a cold and distant person that didn't trust in anybody or anything but themselves. She hadn't know him in those days, hadn't seen how the Bronx had defined who he was.
New York had been a different place back then. Until Mayor Guiliani was elected, the streets had been crawling with crack addicts, mobsters, and, in the case of the Bronx, arsonists. He remembered watching the fires from his bedroom window as a child, remembered the fear that became an almost constant companion. He remembered watching people he'd known his whole life lose their homes because of the market crash and how, in their desperation, they burned their houses in order to get the insurance money that would offer them a new start. It rarely did. In those days, law enforcement was looked at the same way as the crack heads and the mobsters. 'Dirty cop' wasn't an unfamiliar term to hear on the streets or in whispered conversations between adults. Officers bought and sold protection like mothers bought groceries on Thanksgiving Day. If a criminal with connections wanted to put an end to an investigation or take out a key witness? Easy. Grease a few palms in the police department and the problem went away.
Of course, he wouldn't deny that there were good souls within the department. Men and women that set out to be cops because it gave them a chance to help others, to keep people safe from harm. The problem was…how do you know the difference between a good cop and a dirty cop? Both could make you feel safe, both could smile and insist that they were only doing what was best for the community, both could grant you promises of immunity and protection. But, while one was entirely sincere, the other was waiting for the right moment to blow your head off and passing it off to his superiors as a defensive shooting. Besides, even the good souls, the honest and virtuous, couldn't protect you from the monsters on the street, the demons lurking outside your windows that waited to pounce and devour snitches. The only solution was silence. The only way to stay alive was to stay away from cops.
Ryan would understand that. He would understand it in a way that Kirsten or Seth never could. He would understand it because he'd lived it. Sandy had seen the way Ryan's eyes shifted to follow the progress of a patrol car as it sped down the street, the way he would stare wearily at a cop if they passed while they were out and about. The way he tensed and only relaxed once he knew he was free and clear. There weren't very man dirty cops anymore. Mostly because many of them had no reason to be, but the fear of being called a snitch still ran rampant. Gangs killed snitches. So, Ryan and people like him, kept their mouths shut about anything and everything they may have been witness to.
Sandy often wondered what Ryan had been forced to witness over the years, but he was afraid to ask. He doubted the kid would answer him anyways. He'd become used to the look Ryan would give him if he asked something too personal, too close to the kid's heart. He would meet Sandy's eyes for a fleeting second before his gaze would shift away again, but Sandy could read the emotions there. Discomfort, pain, and a bone deep wariness that seemed entirely inappropriate to his age. Sandy recognized the look, but didn't push. Not the way Seth did. The way Seth needled and prodded until Ryan snapped and got angry. Never angry enough to cause physical harm, but enough to get Seth to back off…and quickly. The long deafening silences that would follow were so awkward that one of the boys usually left. If the altercation took place in Ryan's pool house, Seth would vacate the premises as fast as his legs could carry him. If it was in the main house Ryan would sigh, run a hand through his hair, and trudge out of the house like a reprimanded puppy.
Sandy stopped himself and shook the thoughts from his head. Thinking of Ryan hurt. Even now he could feel the tightening of his chest and the cocktail of worry, guilt, and sorrow rolling around in his belly. He shouldn't be here; shouldn't be talking to cops while his son lay comatose in a hospital bed three halls away from him. The only thing that was keeping him in his seat was the fact that Ryan wasn't alone. Seth was with him, for the moment anyway. The second his son came out of the electronic doors leading into the main hospital, Sandy would be up like a shot and be at Ryan's side in a matter of moments.
Sandy glanced up at the two cops sitting across from him and Kirsten. They'd introduced themselves as Officer Brody and Officer Ortega. Officer Brody was a grizzled veteran of a cop if Sandy had ever seen one. The man looked at least fifty, but Sandy had a hard time imagining him as anybody's grandfather. He filled out his uniform with a sort of leonine grace and his calculating eyes were hard and distant. When he spoke there was no warmth, no emotion at all. It was as if everyone he spoke with was a possible criminal. Guilty until proven innocent.
Ortega was the exact opposite. Sandy wondered how the two had ever ended up as partners. The young officer couldn't be more than thirty and still held the vivaciousness of youth that he would eventually lose as years passed. His chestnut colored eyes were warm and sincere and his tone was friendly. This man wanted to help them, wanted to help Ryan. Sandy liked him more than Brody and when he spoke he chose to spoke to him rather than his older partner.
"Mr. Cohen," Ortega said softly. "I'm sorry for the pain this must be causing you and your family. I promise we're going to do everything we can to catch the person behind this." He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "However, there are some questions we need to ask."
"Of course," Kirsten whispered. "Whatever you need."
"Thank you," Ortega told her. "We'll try and get through this as quickly as we can. I know you'll want to be with your son."
"Was Atwood involved in any criminal activity that you're aware of?" Brody asked gruffly.
"No," Sandy said instantly. "He wasn't."
"Are you positive?" Brody said slowly, turning his hard gaze on Sandy. "It seems Mr. Atwood has had a run-in with the law on a previous occasion."
"He's not involved with anything," Sandy growled stonily. "I would know."
"Would you?" Brody remarked thoughtfully.
Sandy was seething. Who was this bastard? What right did he have to talk about Ryan like he was some kind of criminal? He didn't know him, didn't know what the kid had been through. What he was going through. He didn't know what he had sacrificed, what he'd lost.
"I don't think I like what you're insinuating," Kirsten said, frowning. "My husband and I know our kids, Officer Brody. Ryan wasn't involved in anything."
"Mrs. Cohen," Brody asked softly. "You've had Mr. Atwood in your home for a total of five months. How could you possibly know what he is or isn't involved in? This is the same young man that helped his brother steal a car and burned your model home down, is he not?"
"That was an accident," Sandy snarled. "It has nothing to do with why my son is fighting for his life right now. Stick to the issue at hand, Officer Brody, or I assure you that you're commanding officer will be hearing about it."
If Brody was concerned with Sandy's threat, he didn't show it. He merely shrugged his shoulders and said, "In a way it is relevant, Mr. Cohen. I am simply inquiring as to whether or not there is the slightest possibility Mr. Atwood was involved in something and you didn't know it."
"Ryan," Kirsten said coldly. "His name is Ryan."
"Please," Ortega said softly. "Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, my partner didn't mean to offend you or your family. I am sure Ryan is a great kid, but we have to do our jobs." He swallowed and looked at Sandy pleadingly. "Please understand."
"Then tell your partner to stop treating my kid like he's the bad guy," Sandy seethed. "Ryan is the victim here, Officer Ortega."
"I know," Ortega told him. "Just bear with us a little longer."
"When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Atwood?" Brody asked, refusing to call Ryan by name.
"We spoke to him on the phone," Kirsten replied. "Before the paramedics showed up and—"
"And before that?" Brody interrupted, ignoring his partner's withering stare.
"Before he left to see his brother," Sandy said between grit teeth.
"The brother who is currently in prison?" Brody asked, glancing at Sandy with cold eyes. "The brother who talked Mr. Atwood into stealing a car in the first place, Mr. Cohen? That brother?"
"Where the hell are you going with this?" Sandy snapped.
"It's interesting that Mr. Atwood was visiting his brother on the same day he was shot," Brody said. "He is arrested because his brother talks him into stealing a car. He is shot after seeing his brother. Seems like bad things happen when the two are put together, Mr. Cohen. One might think the brother talked the kid into another crime."
"Jesus Christ," Ortega hissed suddenly, turning on his partner. "Brody, shut the fuck up and act like a human being for once in your miserable life. You think you've been around the block a time or two, but you don't know anything about what it means to grow up the way this kid did. So keep your opinions to yourself unless I ask for them."
Sandy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He wasn't sure which shocked him more: the way Ortega had shifted from calm and collected to a spitting cobra in a matter of seconds or the way Brody actually took his partner's advice. He looked closer at Ortega and noticed the tattoo that ran the length of his forearm. 'VNE' in swirled black letters was permanently etched into his olive toned skin. Ortega caught him looking and grinned softly.
"Varrio Nueva Estrada," he said in explanation. "I got involved with them when I was a kid."
"What's that?" Kirsten asked, glancing at Ortega's tattoo.
"It's a street gang," Sandy told her, looking at Ortega in a new light. "A pretty nasty one. What happened?"
"I got out," Ortega said simply. "Not much more to say than that. I became a cop to help kids that were stuck in similar situations. So, I get it, okay? I understand Ryan probably better than anyone at the moment. So, please, work with us and let me help him."
Sandy nodded once.
"Thank you," Ortega said to him before returning to business. "Did Ryan seem apprehensive at all when he was leaving? Did he say anything that might have suggested he was scared to see his brother?"
"Not really," Kirsten answered with a sidelong glance at her husband. "I mean, he had mixed feelings about it because Trey was the one who got him in trouble in the first place, but he didn't seem afraid of anything. I tried to tell him he didn't have to go, but…" She trailed off and shrugged her shoulders.
" With kids like Ryan family is everything," Ortega told her. "No matter what happens you stick with family. Those are the rules." He frowned. "Although, it seems that the relationship between Ryan and Trey is a complicated one."
"Do you think he's involved?" Kirsten asked, her hand resting on her heart.
"He's involved," Sandy said coldly. "I know he is."
"What makes you say that, Mr. Cohen?" Ortega asked.
"Because I know Ryan," Sandy explained. "Officer Ortega, what you said about family hit it right on the head. Ryan can't say no. Despite everything they have done to him, despite everything they put him through he's always ready to forgive and forget. He's not a dumb kid, Officer. He's smart as hell and resourceful, but he has a weakness for his family." Sandy broke off, trying hard to swallow the lump in his throat. "Ryan—Ryan wouldn't go looking for trouble, Officer Ortega. You have to believe that. He wants to be a good kid, to have a future. He tries so hard that sometimes it hurts watching him do it. But, Trey…Trey has some kind of hold on him. If anyone could get him in trouble like this it would be his older brother."
"We've talked to him," Brody said. "Questioned him."
"And?" Kirsten asked. "What did he say?"
"He said he didn't know a damn thing about it," Ortega whispered. "A five year-old could see he was lying, but he was adamant that he'd talked to Ryan and that was the end of it. He was upset and worried about his brother, but not enough to help us find his shooter."
Sandy cursed and Kirsten glanced up at him in surprise. She took his hand and he squeezed it gratefully. He was furious. Ortega had said that family was everything, but apparently Ryan and Trey didn't see eye to eye. Sandy would have to fix that. He had his methods and he wasn't about to feel guilty about using them on someone like Trey.
"What about Marissa?" Kirsten asked, watching her husband's face closely. "She was with Ryan during the shooting. She said so herself. Surely, she could tell you what happened."
"She could," Brody told them gruffly. "But, she won't."
"What?" Kirsten gasped. "Why the hell not?"
"She was going to," Ortega told her. "We got a little out of her, but before we got the full story her mother showed up and told her to keep her mouth shut."
"Julie," Kirsten hissed, narrowing her eyes. "This sounds exactly like something that bitch would do."
"I don't understand," Sandy said slowly. "Julie Cooper could stop you from questioning Marissa, but if Marissa comes forward on her own volition the police don't need a parent's consent. What's the hold up?"
"She won't come forward on her own," Ortega told him. "We don't know why, but until she does our hands are tied. With both Marissa and Trey keeping their mouths shut there is nowhere for us to go with this case, Mr. Cohen. The only definitive thing we know at the moment is that Ryan was bringing a car to a guy somewhere in Chino. That's as far as Marissa Cooper was able to get before her mother made an appearance."
"That's hardly anything at all," Kirsten whispered.
"I know," Ortega said.
"But," Kirsten ventured. "When Ryan wakes up he'll be able to tell you—" She broke off at Ortega's grimace and Brody's sigh.
"Mrs. Cohen," Ortega said gently. "Until Ryan regains consciousness we have nothing to go on. And, even if he does, his memory of the events might be scattered and confusing to follow. That's if he remembers them at all…or can even communicate them to us. Right now, Ryan isn't a reliable witness. And not just because he's comatose. A half-decent lawyer would tear him to bits, use his injuries against him." He shook his head. "How can a man that has suffered severe brain trauma be taken seriously as a witness if there is no guarantee that what he remembers is what actually happened? Without Trey and Miss Cooper, we're sunk. We don't even have a place to start looking."
"So, you're giving up?" Sandy asked softly. "Just like that?"
"Not at all," Ortega said. "We just need to regroup and see if we can't find anything in this mess. I'm hoping we can count on you to cooperate."
"Of course," Kirsten said. "We'll do whatever we can."
Ortega took out his card and placed it in Sandy's palm. There, written untidily in the top corner, was a phone number.
"Its my personal number," Ortega explained. "Call me if you think of anything. And let me know when he wakes up."
Sandy nodded and stared at the number a long time. He was aware of his wife standing and seeing the officers to the door of the waiting room, but he didn't get up. He just stared at the phone number until Kirsten came back to his side, trailing Seth along with her.
"They kicked me out," Seth explained, his face unusually pale.
"I should get up there then," Sandy whispered, pushing himself to his feet. "I don't want him alone."
"Sandy," Kirsten said to him. "Try and get some sleep, okay? You look like you're about to fall over?"
"I'll try," he said obediently. There was no chance he was going to sleep that night. The nurse had told them that the first 24 hours were critical and Sandy wasn't going to leave Ryan when he needed him most.
He hugged Seth and kissed Kirsten and before he'd even registered what happened he was back in the ICU, standing outside the door to Ryan's room. He took a deep steadying breath, wiped the grainy feeling from his eyes, and pushed the door open. Part of him was convinced he would see Ryan with his eyes open, sitting up in bed and waiting impatiently for him to arrive. He knew his hope was misguided, but it didn't stop his heart from breaking when Ryan hadn't woken.
Sandy pushed the door closed behind him and put his back against it, trying to get his emotions under control. He didn't want to cry in front of Ryan. He needed to be strong for him. Needed to show the kid that he believed with everything he had that Ryan would pull through. No doubt. No fear.
When the burning finally subsided from his eyes and the stinging from his nose, Sandy zombie walked over to the chair set out by Ryan's bedside. He didn't sit down, even though he was so exhausted his legs felt like they would collapse beneath him. Instead he put a steadying hand on the railing of Ryan's bed and watched the kid breathe, in and out, in steady rhythm. He reached his hand out and brushed a lock of blonde hair that the hospital vents had blown across his eyes. Ryan's skin was cool against the back of his fingers, but as his hand fell back to his side he grasped Ryan's hand in his own. He finally allowed himself to collapse back into the waiting chair, but his hand never let go of his son's.
"When we first met…," Sandy stopped and swallowed his tears. "When we first met I told you that we were cut from the same deck. I couldn't have been more wrong, Ryan. You are a much better man than I could ever hope to be, kid. You know that, right? I let myself get caught up in how angry I was, in how unfair life was, but you—you never did that. It seemed like you had, but now I realize that wasn't true. You gave and you gave and you gave, Ryan. Even when they tore you down, even when they abandoned you…you never stopped giving. You did what you had to in order to keep your family together and when I think about what that means…about what had to happen to you in order for that to happen…it makes me sick, kid."
"And then I come along," Sandy said, mindless of the tears streaking down his face. "I can imagine what you must of thought of me. You probably thought I was like everyone else, didn't you? An arrogant asshole who didn't give a damn about you or your wellbeing. I could see it in your eyes…the way you dismissed me the moment you sat down. To this day I don't know why you called me, kid. Why you decided to trust me. Maybe you didn't trust me at all. Maybe you simply had no other choice." Sandy leaned over and put his head on Ryan's bed. "I wanted to prove that I could help you…that you could have a future. I saw how smart you were, Ryan. How brave. I saw it from the moment I met you. I just never realized how good you are, how incredibly loyal and kind you could be. It wasn't until you came to stay with us that I realized what you really are. You're our savior, Ryan. My family was lost until you came along…until you adopted us. You protected Seth, you protected Kirsten, you protected me. And I—"
Sandy's shoulders shook with the force of his sobs. He couldn't stop them, no matter how hard he tried, and he watched through blurry eyes as his tears fell down and plopped against the tile floor.
"I failed you," Sandy rasped. "I swore I would protect you, but I failed. And now you're here, sitting in this hospital room, and I would give anything to trade places with you, kid. Anything. But, I can't, can I? Life doesn't work that way. You and I…we know that better than anyone." Sandy shook his head. "I should have been there for you, Ryan. You said you didn't need us, but I should have known better. I should have seen the signs and gone with you anyway. I guess I should have done a lot of things. We asked too much of you. I recognize that now. And now, in the moment that I should be taking care of everything, I have to ask something more of you."
Sandy looked up at his son and leaned over and put Ryan's palm against the spot where his heart beat within his chest.
"You feel that, Ryan? You feel how strong it is?" Sandy put his hand over Ryan's. "I want you to concentrate on that beat, kid. I want you to memorize it and keep it going. I know its unfair to ask this of you when it would be so much easier to keep sleeping. I can't promise you that life will be easy or that you'll be the same person you were, but I can promise that I'll be beside you every step of the way. Life is full of should haves, kid, full of things we can't change. I can't change what happened to you. No matter how much I wish I could. The only thing we can do is keep moving forward and I promise you'll never be alone again, Ryan. Not as long as my heart beats. Like its doing now. I need you to come back to us, kid." Sandy's tears dripped down on Ryan's hand and trailed down his arm. "Please, Ryan. I know its selfish of me to ask that of you. To ask you to endure that much pain and heartache, but I guess I've always been a selfish person. Just keep fighting. Don't give up, kid. I can't lose you now. I won't lose you."
"John," Sandy said. "The marine who helped you. He said something to Kirsten and I earlier. He said that you didn't understand why we were taking a chance on you. And I need you to know, kid. There is nobody in the entire world that deserves happiness as much as you do. I don't care what you've done in the past because I know that you are a good person. An incredible person. Its us who don't deserve you, Ryan. We are blessed because you chose to stay with us. We were people who happened to live in the same house but were on different paths. Then you came and finally made us a family. We are nothing without you, Ryan. You made us complete."
Sandy stood up once more and stared down at Ryan for a long time. There were so many things he wanted to tell him in that moment. So many things he wanted to say, but there were no words that did them justice. He wanted the kid to know how he felt, how determined he was to remain at his side.
"I'm going to find out who did this to you," Sandy told him suddenly. "I'm going to do anything I have to. I won't let them do this to anybody else, kid. I can promise you that. Tomorrow I'm going to visit Trey. I have no idea what I'm going to say to him. You would know his hot buttons better than I would, but I know he loves you. Maybe, if I tell him how bad things really are, he'll change his mind. I wish you could tell me what to do, Ryan. You are a wiser man than I could ever hope to be and you always seem to have the answer."
Sandy stopped and pressed the palms of his hands hard into his eyes to keep himself from crying again. This was harder than he thought it would be. How could he convey his feelings? How could he let Ryan know how much he needed him to pull through?
The answer suddenly hit him and Sandy's lips curled into a soft smile. His mother had never been an emotional woman and had been difficult to connect with. She and Ryan were a lot a like in that regards, but the kid would never be as mean as The Nana had been. Sometimes though, when Sandy had least expected it, his mother would do something that showed how much she truly cared about him. She would kiss his forehead, tell him that she loved him, and sing an old folk song in Hebrew.
Sandy closed his eyes and tried to recall the words to that song. He could see his mother sitting at the foot of his bed and hear her creaky voice crooning to him. The words began to come back to him and Sandy smiled. This was something he could give to Ryan. Something he could share with him and only him. He'd never done such a thing with Seth, had never shared that part of his life with him, but with Ryan—with Ryan it was different. He loved Seth, but there would be a part of Sandy that Seth would never understand. Not like Ryan would.
He leaned over Ryan and pressed his lips firmly against his forehead. It felt right, felt like something a father would do when his son was sick or in need. And he wanted Ryan to know that was how Sandy saw himself. As his father. As someone he could trust completely and who loved him unconditionally.
"I love you, kiddo," Sandy whispered, pulling back and sitting in the chair. He cleared his throat and sat back, making himself comfortable. "Now, don't judge me on this. I haven't sung in Hebrew in years and I sucked back then so this should be a real treat. If its too painful to listen to you'll just have to open up your eyes and tell me to shut-up."
Sandy sang. He knew he was butchering the entire song, but he didn't care. He just kept on singing. He sang when the nurses came in to change Ryan's I.V. bags. He sang when the doctor came in to check on him. He sang until he could see the sun's pale light peeking through the blinds in Ryan's room.
He was exhausted and his throat felt like he'd been gargling glass. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the chair, still singing.
If he hadn't closed his eyes he might have noticed the brief jump in brainwaves the machine in the corner was displaying. He might have seen the heart monitor pick up its pace for the briefest moment before settling back into its original rhythm.
If Sandy hadn't trailed off mid-verse, finally succumbing to sleep, he might have seen Ryan's hand clench, just once, before coming to rest once more on the bedsheets.