quillscribe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quillscribe) wrote2005-10-11 12:02 pm
quillscribe) wrote2005-10-11 12:02 pm
Entry tags:
Anther Chapter for Skeletons in the Closet
It's that time of year again. People are gearing up for NaNoWriMo, and alas... I think I might do the same. But most likely for HP and O.C. this time, instead of something original. Mr. B will kill me if I start another fanfic (have I mentioned I have another O.C. themed angst-o-rama journalled out that has Ryan institutionalized for anger management issues?)... But I'm not doing that. Really. I'll be plugging through ATLB and SitC...
Oh, and I want every day to be like Monday was! Talk about update city! *squees happily at awesome O.C. fics*
On another note, I spent last weekend watching ALL of Veronica Mars... Wow! That show just kept pulling me back in! Let's hope this next season does as good a job. The first season always seems to be the best, doesn't it? *sighs wistfully*
By the way, ATLB is coming along nicely, but as this is a bigger confrontation scene, it's taking a little longer. I haven't forgotten my beloved HP (and can I say how nice it is to finally be able to start reading post-HBP stories? *g*). Speaking of which, anyone have yarn colors (must be super soft yarn) and pattern suggestions for a novice with a keen desire to knit an HP scarf before GoF comes out? *g*
Well, on with the show. I'll be curious how you think I'm doing at keeping the O.C. spirit as I introduce the big turn of events. Enjoy!
Skeletons in the Closet - Chapter 3
They decided to give Ryan a week more to get settled before approaching him with their plans for counseling. The family dynamics between he and the rest of the family still felt fragile, and Kirsten wanted it clear when the topic was broached that it was something she and Sandy both thought would help, and not meant as a critique.
Sandy also contacted the private investigator he’d hired to locate Dawn and directed him to start looking more into Ryan’s past as well. After his discussion with Kirsten, he realized that there were still too many question marks from Ryan’s childhood - too many things that had gone unreported. It was time to put names, faces and pasts to Dawn’s long string of boyfriends. He only knew about AJ, although he suspected Seth might know a couple more, and was beginning to realize that at least having an idea about the players in Ryan’s life could be truly helpful.
As for Dawn, he and Kirsten were of mixed minds on whether or not to tell her about what had happened. One the one hand, they both felt an obligation to let her know about her sons, yet on the other… Would telling her help anyone? Trey had expressly said he didn’t want her to know, and Ryan just closed his eyes as if in pain when they’d accidentally mentioned her name in his presence.
In the end, Kirsten had voted that the investigator find out where Dawn was and what she was doing but to leave it at that, which sounded good to Sandy. What right did Dawn have to have input into her son’s lives when she’d chosen to remove herself from them?
Of course, Kirsten was making sense about a lot of things lately, Sandy had to admit. His wife’s initial reluctance to make direct decisions regarding Ryan was gone, leaving a mother bear of a woman fiercely committed to pulling Ryan into the Cohen family dynamic whether he was comfortable with it or not. Usually not.
Since Kirsten’s return, there seemed to be a calmness about her he hadn’t seen in a long time, and he kept finding himself torn between wanting to shelter her from his growing concerns about Ryan and allowing himself to rely on her the way he used to. He suspected she sensed his anxieties, since he often found himself caught up in surprise embraces, as if to reassure him; her arms wrapping around his waist and leaning against his back as he rinsed dishes or stared out absently at the ocean.
There was a brief break in the clouds at the moment, but the cold rain the wind had pelted against the French doors earlier left him with no inclinations to brave the surf. Granted, yesterday’s waves had been incredible, but it was just smarter not to go out, particularly since if he came down with anything, Kirsten would tease him mercilessly about it.
He liked this time of the morning, when the day still felt new and full of possibilities. Of course, he’d been so ridiculously cheerful lately he had to restrain himself from random bursts of whistling. Poor Ryan had nearly jumped out of his skin the first time Sandy started doing a pretty decent rendition of When the Saints Come Marching In.
“You’re not surfing today?” Kirsten asked as she crossed the room to join him at the counter, pulling the stool close enough that she could lean her head on his shoulder.
“It’s supposed to rain off and on all day today. I figured it’d be smarter to skip it,” he replied, smiling as she sipped coffee from his mug. “Hey, don’t Bogart my coffee!” he teased.
“That’s not all you used to Bogart,” she replied slyly.
“So that’s where Seth heard that. Quit planting rumors in our son’s ear, beast,” he said in mock indignation. She chuckled as she stood up to get a cup of her own.
“Hardly false rumors. While those days might be a bit hazy, I assure you they really happened, counselor,” she said then paused and quirked her head to the side as she looked out the kitchen window.
“What is it?” Sandy asked, immediately taking note of her expression.
“Ryan’s up early,” she observed.
“He seems to get up earlier by the day,” Sandy said with a sigh.
“That’s odd,” Kirsten murmured, prompting him to stand up and join her at the sink.
“What’s he doing?” she asked, giving Sandy a glance, but he directed her eyes back towards the pool with a nod of his head. Ryan was walking towards the water’s edge in swim trunks and a wife beater, a towel slung around his neck.
“He’s going to swim in this weather?” she asked in alarm.
“The pool’s heated, honey,” Sandy reassured. Ryan pulled off his shirt, facing away from house, revealing a back riddled with varying lengths of pink, raised scars from when he’d fallen through the glass coffee table with Trey.
“Oh my God,” Kirsten breathed, the mug slamming against the countertop loudly in the suddenly still kitchen. Thankfully she hadn’t poured the coffee yet.
“The doctors said that most of the scars would fade over time,” Sandy offered, but knew it was a meaningless thing to say. She’d already known how many stitches he’d gotten, but to see the damage firsthand… Ryan eased into the pool quietly rather than jumping in, and began swimming laps with only the tiniest amount of splash.
“Ryan’s doctor won’t let him do his normal exercise regime. Swimming is a lot gentler to his back, and seems to work out some of the stiffness that still seems to be bothering him,” Sandy continued.
“He even swims quietly,” Kirsten said sadly. Sandy gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.
“Ah, but it’s not for bad reasons; I asked him. He used to sneak into the community pool late at night with Theresa.” Kirsten snorted at that.
“I like that reason better, but wish I didn’t have such an active imagination,” she replied, blushing and turning away to pour the coffee.
“I happen to like that imagination of yours.”
“Can you two keep your minds out of the gutters for one second? Who needs sex education classes when I’ve got soft porn happening twenty-four seven in the kitchen? How is it I was an only child?” Seth asked dramatically as he joined them. With an impish smile he proceeded to tear apart Sandy’s pile of newspaper and begin sorting through the sections he wanted.
“Who says it’s soft porn?” Sandy asked, causing Seth to freeze and blink at both of his parents with a glazed expression.
“Dear lord... I’m going to leave this room and try to pretend this conversation never happened. If you don’t want to pay for my counseling for the next ten years, I suggest you never speak of it again,” Seth said, looking traumatized, and caused Kirsten to splutter as she sipped at her drink.
Sandy fought hard to suppress a grin as Seth eyed his mother suspiciously. To divert his attention, Sandy smoothed Kirsten’s hair to the side and kissed her neck, making Seth groan is if in pain and put a hand out to shield them from his view. Kirsten laughed and pulled away as their son marched outside to perch on the patio chaise and wait for Ryan to finish his laps.
“You nearly gave it away,” he said as Kirsten pulled out a plate and began to slice a bagel. It wasn’t just Ryan who was going to get a counselor.
“I know,” she said with wide eyes and a scandalized look, then smiled and left his side to grab some cream cheese from the kitchen island, where he’d set everything out.
Sandy continued to stand at the window and watched as Seth gestured with his arms dramatically as he spoke to Ryan, who had just pulled himself out of the water. His son was clearly recounting what had happened, and the smile that played on Ryan’s lips for just a moment caused Seth’s eyes to light up even as he scowled, re-immersing himself in the ‘indignant son’ role he was currently playing.
It was fun to watch his sons like this, guessing at what Seth was saying and having the opportunity to scrutinize Ryan’s reactions unobserved. When it began to drizzle, Seth’s eyes narrowed and he blinked at the sky in disapproval then scampered into the pool house to keep from getting wet. Ryan remained, absently drying his hair and seemingly oblivious to the weather. As he gathered up his shirt, Ryan glanced over his shoulder and caught Sandy watching him. He raised his hand in greeting then disappeared inside before Sandy could wave back.
“Earth to Sandy?” Kirsten teased as she pulled Seth’s sorted newspaper sections in front of her to read while nibbling delicately on her bagel.
“It seems like Seth’s a lot less awkward lately around Ryan,” he said, turning away from the wind and settling next to Kirsten.
“Now if only we could say the same,” she said wistfully.
“He’s starting to relax, I think. He’s just skittish,” Sandy replied after a moment’s consideration.
“If he keeps it up, I’m going to threaten to tie him to the chair when we watch movies,” Kirsten said and smiled wickedly.
“I thought that was reserved for me?”
“Sandy! That’s just… Oh, don’t say things like that! That’s just wrong,” she said, mortified, and Sandy laughed happily.
*******************************************************************
When the doorbell rang, Sandy didn’t think anything of it. No one was expected, and the boys were playing video games while he sat at the dining room table going through some paperwork for the Newport Group. Kirsten had agreed not to do any charities or parties for a while, which allowed him the luxury of commandeering the dining room table and spreading his work out rather than making an absolute mess of his office. He smirked as he listened to Seth stomp past on the way to answer the door.
“You realize you’re closer to the front door than I was?” Seth griped to his father as he walked by. The sound of the boy’s paused game suddenly coming back to life caused Seth to cry out, “Dude! No way! You’re supposed to wait!” Sandy was nearly positive he heard Ryan chuckle.
He listened to what sounded like men’s voices in a murmured conversation, and was already standing up when Seth ran into the dining room a second later. There was nothing playful in his expression.
“There’s someone here asking to see Ryan,” Seth said quietly but with panicked intensity.
“Who is it?” Sandy asked, immediately alarmed.
“They feel like police,” Seth replied, his whispered voice sounding constricted with anxiety. Sandy hoped the video game was drowning out his and Seth’s conversation. “I thought they were done with him?” Sandy took a deep breath and put on his game face.
“They are. Don’t say anything to Ryan yet,” he instructed, steering his son back towards the television room while he headed towards the front door.
The two men at the front entrance looked more like feds than policemen, Sandy immediately realized, and braced for battle. This can’t be good.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked politely.
“Yes sir. I’m Agent Harris and this is Agent Cardenas from the F.B.I. We’ve been told Ryan Atwood currently resides here?” a tall, bulky man in a blue business suit said. Both of the agents presented their badges for scrutiny. Sandy looked them both closely, automatically memorizing the badge numbers before handing them back.
“He does,” Sandy replied.
“Sir, we’d like to ask him some questions regarding an ongoing investigation.”
“I’m Sandy Cohen, Ryan’s legal guardian as well as his attorney. Let’s talk in my office for a moment before I get him, shall we?” Sandy said, phrasing it as a question but making it a demand. Both men tucked their badges away and nodded, following Sandy inside.
As he ushered the men into his office and pulled the door closed behind him, he caught a glimpse of Seth and Ryan. They could see the front entrance clearly from where they sat on the couch, and by the look on Ryan’s face, he’d already figured out something was wrong. Sandy closed the door softly behind them and took the opportunity to watch the two agents as they settled in their seats.
Agent William Harris was a tall bull of a man with broad shoulders that looked too bulky for his suit. He smelled of faint cigarette smoke and his buzzed haircut made it easy for Sandy to peg him as former military, and probably police as well. He was older, in his fifties, with graying temples and enough broken vessels around his nose to indicate he was most likely also a heavy drinker.
Agent Mathew Cardenas was younger than Sandy, with a lithe build that normally carried suits well, but at the moment looked rumpled and exhausted - as if he’d just gotten off a cross-country flight. However, there was nothing slow about him. His dark brown eyes took in Sandy’s office in just a few glances, cataloging and noting the pictures, the diplomas, the art, the file cabinet (that’s not reassuring) and finally resting on Sandy himself.
“So what can we do for you gentlemen?” Sandy began, watching as Agent Cardenas pulled out a briefcase and began to shuffle through it.
“Mr. Cohen, we have reason to believe that Mr. Atwood could have information regarding a case we’re currently working on,” Agent Harris began.
“What case?” Sandy asked.
“A murder investigation,” Agent Harris replied.
“What murder investigation? When was this?” Sandy asked, forcing his voice to remain calm. “Ryan’s been home for most of the summer.”
“What we are investigating occurred long before Mr. Atwood came into your custody, Mr. Cohen,” Agent Cardenas replied, and placed a folder on the desk, but gave no indication whether he could look at it yet or not.
“Could we speak to him now?” Agent Harris prompted. Sandy hated to do it, but knew he had to get him. He nodded and stood up.
“Certainly. Would you care for something to drink?” he offered.
“No, thank you,” Agent Cardenas said, and Agent Harris shook his head as well.
The moment he closed his office door on the agents, Kirsten appeared from around the corner. “Sandy? What’s going on? Seth came and got me.”
“They’re F.B.I. agents to see Ryan,” he replied and nodded to Ryan, who’d stood up. He’d lost all color, and his eyes seemed to dart everywhere as if to note all the exits. He approached Sandy like a man condemned, and when Sandy put his arm around Ryan’s shoulders, he realized the teenager was rigid with tension.
“They just want to ask some questions, Ryan. You aren’t in any trouble,” Sandy tried to reassure him.
“Okay,” Ryan said so softly Sandy could barely hear him. He locked eyes with Kirsten for a second and nodded towards Seth. As he and Ryan went back into his office, Kirsten grabbed Seth and steered him towards the kitchen.
“Oh no you don’t, Mr. Eavesdropper,” she said, and Sandy exchanged a tight grin with Ryan as they listened to Seth protest loudly while being led away.
He automatically pulled one of the chairs beside him for Ryan to sit in, which prompted a grateful glance his way.
“Mr. Atwood?” Agent Harris began.
“Yes,” Ryan replied quietly.
“My name is William Harris, and this is Mathew Cardenas. We’re with the F.B.I.,” the burly man began, and Sandy was pleased to note he’d dropped the ‘Agent’ for Ryan’s sake. “We wanted you to take a look at a couple of photos and see if you recognized anyone in them. Is that alright?”
Ryan nodded jerkily. As Mathew Cardenas began placing photos in front of Ryan, Sandy realized Ryan had gone utterly still.
“Ryan?” Sandy asked softly.
“Where did you get these?” Ryan asked.
“Do you know any of the names of the people in these photos?”
“Obviously I do. I’m in them,” Ryan replied, and Sandy’s eyes suddenly snapped to the blond little boy sitting on the couch, barely visible from behind the group of kids hamming for the camera in a darkened living room.
He couldn’t have been more than ten. God, he looked young. Even then, he seemed to be trying to be invisible - his shoulders were hunched defensively as the boy beside him, who looked to be about twelve or thirteen, pulled him nearly sideways to insure he’d show up in the picture.
“What are you investigating?” Ryan asked directly.
“We’re investigating a double homicide,” Harris replied.
“Was one of them one of these guys?” Ryan asked, nodding his head towards the photos. There was something to his voice that Sandy couldn’t quite track. A fragility that seemed out of place with the tough front he was showing the two agents. This was rattling him bad.
“Two of them were,” Cardenas said, and began pulling out another folder.
“Who?” Ryan asked, and his voice cracked.
“Ashley Laughlin and Josh Peters,” Cardenas replied.
“They kept in touch with each other?” Ryan asked so softly it was nearly a whisper. He almost sounded wistful.
“No, Ryan. Their skeletons were both found buried in the basement of 1029 Willow Lane.”
“No,” Ryan said, and was on his feet instantly, his chair flying back and thumping against the wall behind him. His eyes were looking everywhere as he backed away but at the photos Cardenas began to place side by side on Sandy’s desk facing toward Ryan.
“They’ve been dead over seven years, Ryan,” Harris said, staring at Ryan with an intensity that unnerved Sandy.
“It’s not them. They got out,” Ryan protested. Sandy stood up as well and reached out to put a hand on Ryan to steady him, but Ryan startled so badly he tripped partially over the chair he’d just pushed back. As he stumbled back to his feet, he began to backed towards the door.
“They didn’t, Ryan. Do you recognize any of these things? This was the jacket they found Josh wearing. This was in his back pocket,” Cardenas began saying, pointing first to a jean jacket with a bunch of patches on one arm, and to a pocket comb that opened like a switchblade. “This was in her purse – they’d buried it with her,” Cardenas continued, and Ryan stopped breathing entirely as his eyes widened in shock.
Sandy stared hard at the picture, trying to see what Ryan was reacting to, but nothing obvious jumped out. An old tube of Chapstick, a wallet with some money, a tiny faded green four leaf clover made out of what appeared to be felt, a mirror, and a leather address book with scratches all over it’s cover.
“They made it. They got out,” Ryan protested, but his eyes were bleak with despair as he backed against the door. Blindly he reached behind him for the doorknob and threw the door open, turning and running.
“Seth!” Sandy called urgently.
“Dad?” Seth asked with wide eyes. He’d never left the television room, so was on his feet the moment Ryan ran out.
“Don’t let him out of your site. Here’s my cell,” Sandy said and threw the phone he’d luckily still had in his pocket at his son. Surprisingly, Seth caught it.
“I’ll grab the keys for the Rover,” Seth said, his eyes glaring at the two agents for just a second before he turned on his heel and sprinted in the direction Ryan had gone.
“I think there could have been better ways for you to do that,” Sandy said angrily and slammed the door behind him as he re-entered his office. “I think it’s time we had a little chat before I let you anywhere near Ryan again,” he continued and sat back down expectantly. Neither agent looked apologetic, which made Sandy have to resist the urge to throw them bodily out of the house.
“Ten children lived in the group home at 1029 Willow Lane in Fresno, Mr. Cohen, from 1996 to 1998. Of those ten children, two were buried in the basement. Three others have since committed suicide. Two have died in car accidents, one of which occurred in the last year, and two have completely disappeared,” Agent Cardenas said as he pulled out several more folders and slid them around to face Sandy.
“That’s one hell of a mortality rate,” Sandy said as a shiver ran up his back. The need to find out about Ryan’s past had suddenly taken on a whole new dimension. What the hell had he gone through?
“We hunt down serial killers, Mr. Cohen, and we believe we may have finally found where it began,” Agent Harris explained.
“Where what began?” Sandy loathed asking.
“Where the Madera Murderers got their start.”
Oh God. Ryan.
Oh, and I want every day to be like Monday was! Talk about update city! *squees happily at awesome O.C. fics*
On another note, I spent last weekend watching ALL of Veronica Mars... Wow! That show just kept pulling me back in! Let's hope this next season does as good a job. The first season always seems to be the best, doesn't it? *sighs wistfully*
By the way, ATLB is coming along nicely, but as this is a bigger confrontation scene, it's taking a little longer. I haven't forgotten my beloved HP (and can I say how nice it is to finally be able to start reading post-HBP stories? *g*). Speaking of which, anyone have yarn colors (must be super soft yarn) and pattern suggestions for a novice with a keen desire to knit an HP scarf before GoF comes out? *g*
Well, on with the show. I'll be curious how you think I'm doing at keeping the O.C. spirit as I introduce the big turn of events. Enjoy!
Skeletons in the Closet - Chapter 3
They decided to give Ryan a week more to get settled before approaching him with their plans for counseling. The family dynamics between he and the rest of the family still felt fragile, and Kirsten wanted it clear when the topic was broached that it was something she and Sandy both thought would help, and not meant as a critique.
Sandy also contacted the private investigator he’d hired to locate Dawn and directed him to start looking more into Ryan’s past as well. After his discussion with Kirsten, he realized that there were still too many question marks from Ryan’s childhood - too many things that had gone unreported. It was time to put names, faces and pasts to Dawn’s long string of boyfriends. He only knew about AJ, although he suspected Seth might know a couple more, and was beginning to realize that at least having an idea about the players in Ryan’s life could be truly helpful.
As for Dawn, he and Kirsten were of mixed minds on whether or not to tell her about what had happened. One the one hand, they both felt an obligation to let her know about her sons, yet on the other… Would telling her help anyone? Trey had expressly said he didn’t want her to know, and Ryan just closed his eyes as if in pain when they’d accidentally mentioned her name in his presence.
In the end, Kirsten had voted that the investigator find out where Dawn was and what she was doing but to leave it at that, which sounded good to Sandy. What right did Dawn have to have input into her son’s lives when she’d chosen to remove herself from them?
Of course, Kirsten was making sense about a lot of things lately, Sandy had to admit. His wife’s initial reluctance to make direct decisions regarding Ryan was gone, leaving a mother bear of a woman fiercely committed to pulling Ryan into the Cohen family dynamic whether he was comfortable with it or not. Usually not.
Since Kirsten’s return, there seemed to be a calmness about her he hadn’t seen in a long time, and he kept finding himself torn between wanting to shelter her from his growing concerns about Ryan and allowing himself to rely on her the way he used to. He suspected she sensed his anxieties, since he often found himself caught up in surprise embraces, as if to reassure him; her arms wrapping around his waist and leaning against his back as he rinsed dishes or stared out absently at the ocean.
There was a brief break in the clouds at the moment, but the cold rain the wind had pelted against the French doors earlier left him with no inclinations to brave the surf. Granted, yesterday’s waves had been incredible, but it was just smarter not to go out, particularly since if he came down with anything, Kirsten would tease him mercilessly about it.
He liked this time of the morning, when the day still felt new and full of possibilities. Of course, he’d been so ridiculously cheerful lately he had to restrain himself from random bursts of whistling. Poor Ryan had nearly jumped out of his skin the first time Sandy started doing a pretty decent rendition of When the Saints Come Marching In.
“You’re not surfing today?” Kirsten asked as she crossed the room to join him at the counter, pulling the stool close enough that she could lean her head on his shoulder.
“It’s supposed to rain off and on all day today. I figured it’d be smarter to skip it,” he replied, smiling as she sipped coffee from his mug. “Hey, don’t Bogart my coffee!” he teased.
“That’s not all you used to Bogart,” she replied slyly.
“So that’s where Seth heard that. Quit planting rumors in our son’s ear, beast,” he said in mock indignation. She chuckled as she stood up to get a cup of her own.
“Hardly false rumors. While those days might be a bit hazy, I assure you they really happened, counselor,” she said then paused and quirked her head to the side as she looked out the kitchen window.
“What is it?” Sandy asked, immediately taking note of her expression.
“Ryan’s up early,” she observed.
“He seems to get up earlier by the day,” Sandy said with a sigh.
“That’s odd,” Kirsten murmured, prompting him to stand up and join her at the sink.
“What’s he doing?” she asked, giving Sandy a glance, but he directed her eyes back towards the pool with a nod of his head. Ryan was walking towards the water’s edge in swim trunks and a wife beater, a towel slung around his neck.
“He’s going to swim in this weather?” she asked in alarm.
“The pool’s heated, honey,” Sandy reassured. Ryan pulled off his shirt, facing away from house, revealing a back riddled with varying lengths of pink, raised scars from when he’d fallen through the glass coffee table with Trey.
“Oh my God,” Kirsten breathed, the mug slamming against the countertop loudly in the suddenly still kitchen. Thankfully she hadn’t poured the coffee yet.
“The doctors said that most of the scars would fade over time,” Sandy offered, but knew it was a meaningless thing to say. She’d already known how many stitches he’d gotten, but to see the damage firsthand… Ryan eased into the pool quietly rather than jumping in, and began swimming laps with only the tiniest amount of splash.
“Ryan’s doctor won’t let him do his normal exercise regime. Swimming is a lot gentler to his back, and seems to work out some of the stiffness that still seems to be bothering him,” Sandy continued.
“He even swims quietly,” Kirsten said sadly. Sandy gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.
“Ah, but it’s not for bad reasons; I asked him. He used to sneak into the community pool late at night with Theresa.” Kirsten snorted at that.
“I like that reason better, but wish I didn’t have such an active imagination,” she replied, blushing and turning away to pour the coffee.
“I happen to like that imagination of yours.”
“Can you two keep your minds out of the gutters for one second? Who needs sex education classes when I’ve got soft porn happening twenty-four seven in the kitchen? How is it I was an only child?” Seth asked dramatically as he joined them. With an impish smile he proceeded to tear apart Sandy’s pile of newspaper and begin sorting through the sections he wanted.
“Who says it’s soft porn?” Sandy asked, causing Seth to freeze and blink at both of his parents with a glazed expression.
“Dear lord... I’m going to leave this room and try to pretend this conversation never happened. If you don’t want to pay for my counseling for the next ten years, I suggest you never speak of it again,” Seth said, looking traumatized, and caused Kirsten to splutter as she sipped at her drink.
Sandy fought hard to suppress a grin as Seth eyed his mother suspiciously. To divert his attention, Sandy smoothed Kirsten’s hair to the side and kissed her neck, making Seth groan is if in pain and put a hand out to shield them from his view. Kirsten laughed and pulled away as their son marched outside to perch on the patio chaise and wait for Ryan to finish his laps.
“You nearly gave it away,” he said as Kirsten pulled out a plate and began to slice a bagel. It wasn’t just Ryan who was going to get a counselor.
“I know,” she said with wide eyes and a scandalized look, then smiled and left his side to grab some cream cheese from the kitchen island, where he’d set everything out.
Sandy continued to stand at the window and watched as Seth gestured with his arms dramatically as he spoke to Ryan, who had just pulled himself out of the water. His son was clearly recounting what had happened, and the smile that played on Ryan’s lips for just a moment caused Seth’s eyes to light up even as he scowled, re-immersing himself in the ‘indignant son’ role he was currently playing.
It was fun to watch his sons like this, guessing at what Seth was saying and having the opportunity to scrutinize Ryan’s reactions unobserved. When it began to drizzle, Seth’s eyes narrowed and he blinked at the sky in disapproval then scampered into the pool house to keep from getting wet. Ryan remained, absently drying his hair and seemingly oblivious to the weather. As he gathered up his shirt, Ryan glanced over his shoulder and caught Sandy watching him. He raised his hand in greeting then disappeared inside before Sandy could wave back.
“Earth to Sandy?” Kirsten teased as she pulled Seth’s sorted newspaper sections in front of her to read while nibbling delicately on her bagel.
“It seems like Seth’s a lot less awkward lately around Ryan,” he said, turning away from the wind and settling next to Kirsten.
“Now if only we could say the same,” she said wistfully.
“He’s starting to relax, I think. He’s just skittish,” Sandy replied after a moment’s consideration.
“If he keeps it up, I’m going to threaten to tie him to the chair when we watch movies,” Kirsten said and smiled wickedly.
“I thought that was reserved for me?”
“Sandy! That’s just… Oh, don’t say things like that! That’s just wrong,” she said, mortified, and Sandy laughed happily.
*******************************************************************
When the doorbell rang, Sandy didn’t think anything of it. No one was expected, and the boys were playing video games while he sat at the dining room table going through some paperwork for the Newport Group. Kirsten had agreed not to do any charities or parties for a while, which allowed him the luxury of commandeering the dining room table and spreading his work out rather than making an absolute mess of his office. He smirked as he listened to Seth stomp past on the way to answer the door.
“You realize you’re closer to the front door than I was?” Seth griped to his father as he walked by. The sound of the boy’s paused game suddenly coming back to life caused Seth to cry out, “Dude! No way! You’re supposed to wait!” Sandy was nearly positive he heard Ryan chuckle.
He listened to what sounded like men’s voices in a murmured conversation, and was already standing up when Seth ran into the dining room a second later. There was nothing playful in his expression.
“There’s someone here asking to see Ryan,” Seth said quietly but with panicked intensity.
“Who is it?” Sandy asked, immediately alarmed.
“They feel like police,” Seth replied, his whispered voice sounding constricted with anxiety. Sandy hoped the video game was drowning out his and Seth’s conversation. “I thought they were done with him?” Sandy took a deep breath and put on his game face.
“They are. Don’t say anything to Ryan yet,” he instructed, steering his son back towards the television room while he headed towards the front door.
The two men at the front entrance looked more like feds than policemen, Sandy immediately realized, and braced for battle. This can’t be good.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked politely.
“Yes sir. I’m Agent Harris and this is Agent Cardenas from the F.B.I. We’ve been told Ryan Atwood currently resides here?” a tall, bulky man in a blue business suit said. Both of the agents presented their badges for scrutiny. Sandy looked them both closely, automatically memorizing the badge numbers before handing them back.
“He does,” Sandy replied.
“Sir, we’d like to ask him some questions regarding an ongoing investigation.”
“I’m Sandy Cohen, Ryan’s legal guardian as well as his attorney. Let’s talk in my office for a moment before I get him, shall we?” Sandy said, phrasing it as a question but making it a demand. Both men tucked their badges away and nodded, following Sandy inside.
As he ushered the men into his office and pulled the door closed behind him, he caught a glimpse of Seth and Ryan. They could see the front entrance clearly from where they sat on the couch, and by the look on Ryan’s face, he’d already figured out something was wrong. Sandy closed the door softly behind them and took the opportunity to watch the two agents as they settled in their seats.
Agent William Harris was a tall bull of a man with broad shoulders that looked too bulky for his suit. He smelled of faint cigarette smoke and his buzzed haircut made it easy for Sandy to peg him as former military, and probably police as well. He was older, in his fifties, with graying temples and enough broken vessels around his nose to indicate he was most likely also a heavy drinker.
Agent Mathew Cardenas was younger than Sandy, with a lithe build that normally carried suits well, but at the moment looked rumpled and exhausted - as if he’d just gotten off a cross-country flight. However, there was nothing slow about him. His dark brown eyes took in Sandy’s office in just a few glances, cataloging and noting the pictures, the diplomas, the art, the file cabinet (that’s not reassuring) and finally resting on Sandy himself.
“So what can we do for you gentlemen?” Sandy began, watching as Agent Cardenas pulled out a briefcase and began to shuffle through it.
“Mr. Cohen, we have reason to believe that Mr. Atwood could have information regarding a case we’re currently working on,” Agent Harris began.
“What case?” Sandy asked.
“A murder investigation,” Agent Harris replied.
“What murder investigation? When was this?” Sandy asked, forcing his voice to remain calm. “Ryan’s been home for most of the summer.”
“What we are investigating occurred long before Mr. Atwood came into your custody, Mr. Cohen,” Agent Cardenas replied, and placed a folder on the desk, but gave no indication whether he could look at it yet or not.
“Could we speak to him now?” Agent Harris prompted. Sandy hated to do it, but knew he had to get him. He nodded and stood up.
“Certainly. Would you care for something to drink?” he offered.
“No, thank you,” Agent Cardenas said, and Agent Harris shook his head as well.
The moment he closed his office door on the agents, Kirsten appeared from around the corner. “Sandy? What’s going on? Seth came and got me.”
“They’re F.B.I. agents to see Ryan,” he replied and nodded to Ryan, who’d stood up. He’d lost all color, and his eyes seemed to dart everywhere as if to note all the exits. He approached Sandy like a man condemned, and when Sandy put his arm around Ryan’s shoulders, he realized the teenager was rigid with tension.
“They just want to ask some questions, Ryan. You aren’t in any trouble,” Sandy tried to reassure him.
“Okay,” Ryan said so softly Sandy could barely hear him. He locked eyes with Kirsten for a second and nodded towards Seth. As he and Ryan went back into his office, Kirsten grabbed Seth and steered him towards the kitchen.
“Oh no you don’t, Mr. Eavesdropper,” she said, and Sandy exchanged a tight grin with Ryan as they listened to Seth protest loudly while being led away.
He automatically pulled one of the chairs beside him for Ryan to sit in, which prompted a grateful glance his way.
“Mr. Atwood?” Agent Harris began.
“Yes,” Ryan replied quietly.
“My name is William Harris, and this is Mathew Cardenas. We’re with the F.B.I.,” the burly man began, and Sandy was pleased to note he’d dropped the ‘Agent’ for Ryan’s sake. “We wanted you to take a look at a couple of photos and see if you recognized anyone in them. Is that alright?”
Ryan nodded jerkily. As Mathew Cardenas began placing photos in front of Ryan, Sandy realized Ryan had gone utterly still.
“Ryan?” Sandy asked softly.
“Where did you get these?” Ryan asked.
“Do you know any of the names of the people in these photos?”
“Obviously I do. I’m in them,” Ryan replied, and Sandy’s eyes suddenly snapped to the blond little boy sitting on the couch, barely visible from behind the group of kids hamming for the camera in a darkened living room.
He couldn’t have been more than ten. God, he looked young. Even then, he seemed to be trying to be invisible - his shoulders were hunched defensively as the boy beside him, who looked to be about twelve or thirteen, pulled him nearly sideways to insure he’d show up in the picture.
“What are you investigating?” Ryan asked directly.
“We’re investigating a double homicide,” Harris replied.
“Was one of them one of these guys?” Ryan asked, nodding his head towards the photos. There was something to his voice that Sandy couldn’t quite track. A fragility that seemed out of place with the tough front he was showing the two agents. This was rattling him bad.
“Two of them were,” Cardenas said, and began pulling out another folder.
“Who?” Ryan asked, and his voice cracked.
“Ashley Laughlin and Josh Peters,” Cardenas replied.
“They kept in touch with each other?” Ryan asked so softly it was nearly a whisper. He almost sounded wistful.
“No, Ryan. Their skeletons were both found buried in the basement of 1029 Willow Lane.”
“No,” Ryan said, and was on his feet instantly, his chair flying back and thumping against the wall behind him. His eyes were looking everywhere as he backed away but at the photos Cardenas began to place side by side on Sandy’s desk facing toward Ryan.
“They’ve been dead over seven years, Ryan,” Harris said, staring at Ryan with an intensity that unnerved Sandy.
“It’s not them. They got out,” Ryan protested. Sandy stood up as well and reached out to put a hand on Ryan to steady him, but Ryan startled so badly he tripped partially over the chair he’d just pushed back. As he stumbled back to his feet, he began to backed towards the door.
“They didn’t, Ryan. Do you recognize any of these things? This was the jacket they found Josh wearing. This was in his back pocket,” Cardenas began saying, pointing first to a jean jacket with a bunch of patches on one arm, and to a pocket comb that opened like a switchblade. “This was in her purse – they’d buried it with her,” Cardenas continued, and Ryan stopped breathing entirely as his eyes widened in shock.
Sandy stared hard at the picture, trying to see what Ryan was reacting to, but nothing obvious jumped out. An old tube of Chapstick, a wallet with some money, a tiny faded green four leaf clover made out of what appeared to be felt, a mirror, and a leather address book with scratches all over it’s cover.
“They made it. They got out,” Ryan protested, but his eyes were bleak with despair as he backed against the door. Blindly he reached behind him for the doorknob and threw the door open, turning and running.
“Seth!” Sandy called urgently.
“Dad?” Seth asked with wide eyes. He’d never left the television room, so was on his feet the moment Ryan ran out.
“Don’t let him out of your site. Here’s my cell,” Sandy said and threw the phone he’d luckily still had in his pocket at his son. Surprisingly, Seth caught it.
“I’ll grab the keys for the Rover,” Seth said, his eyes glaring at the two agents for just a second before he turned on his heel and sprinted in the direction Ryan had gone.
“I think there could have been better ways for you to do that,” Sandy said angrily and slammed the door behind him as he re-entered his office. “I think it’s time we had a little chat before I let you anywhere near Ryan again,” he continued and sat back down expectantly. Neither agent looked apologetic, which made Sandy have to resist the urge to throw them bodily out of the house.
“Ten children lived in the group home at 1029 Willow Lane in Fresno, Mr. Cohen, from 1996 to 1998. Of those ten children, two were buried in the basement. Three others have since committed suicide. Two have died in car accidents, one of which occurred in the last year, and two have completely disappeared,” Agent Cardenas said as he pulled out several more folders and slid them around to face Sandy.
“That’s one hell of a mortality rate,” Sandy said as a shiver ran up his back. The need to find out about Ryan’s past had suddenly taken on a whole new dimension. What the hell had he gone through?
“We hunt down serial killers, Mr. Cohen, and we believe we may have finally found where it began,” Agent Harris explained.
“Where what began?” Sandy loathed asking.
“Where the Madera Murderers got their start.”
Oh God. Ryan.