Twist of Fate: Chapter Fifteen

[anne35]

For those of you reading, I have updated Twist of Fate. It's the AU version of the pilot where Ryan is living with his evil stepfather Art, who is forcing Ryan to stay with the Cohens in an attempt to steal from them.

Title: A Twist of Fate
Ratings/Warnings: This chapter is definitely a R. Lots of angst, swearing. Art has a bit of a potty mouth. Anne frowns at him in disapproval. Descriptions of child abuse-Art is cruel and sadistic.
*See additional warning below*
Beta: loracj2
Disclaimers: I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine, including any errors in the direction and distance between locations mentioned in this chapter.
Summary: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy “What if this is all a scam? What if he’s just using you to case the house?” In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan’s choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey
Note: I know I said I was going to try and get this up a lot sooner. But it just didn’t happen. I’m sorry.
Additional Warning: Previously, I have talked about a chapter where I would be rather mean to Ryan (yes, I’m talking to you, Chic). This is it. There is no Seth sarcasm or humor to lighten the load, no Kandy banter to distract from the harshness of Ryan’s life. This chapter contains nothing but Ryan and Art, and Art is evil personified. If you don’t want to read about the abuse Ryan endures in the hands of his stepfather, I suggest you stop reading after the first section. Until the first set of ocococococ, the chapter backtracks just a little and begins right before Ryan ran away, and focuses on why he made that decision. For those of you who don’t want to read the chapter, but still want an idea of what happened, I have written a one paragraph summary for you that can be found at the end of the chapter.
Special Thanks: Big hugs to Themus_revenge. She got a sneak peak at this chapter and found some critical errors. Hopefully, my changes and additions are to her liking and have made this a better chapter.

Twist of Fate: Chapter Fifteen

Ryan never meant to lie to Seth. When he left the other boy sitting on the couch, he truly hadn’t planned on running away. He just needed some time alone to think things over.

He appreciated Seth’s efforts to be quiet, but knew the silence wouldn’t last, and he simply wasn’t up to another marathon of Seth-talk.

As he walked to the bathroom, Ryan began to mull over his options. He quickly came to the conclusion that they were severely limited.

He could betray the Cohens’ trust and run...not exactly an appealing choice.

Or, he could do what they wanted. He could tell the cops everything he knew about Art, and let his reward be a one-way ticket to foster care and a never-ending stream of group homes...an even less appealing choice.

With each step he took, more doubt crept into his mind.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t believe the Cohens. On the contrary, for the first time in a long time, perhaps forever, he was actually willing to put his trust in someone.

But how long would their trust and belief in him last?

He gave it a week.

Ryan felt an unfamiliar knot in his chest at the thought of disappointing the Cohens. He should have never gotten so close to them. In spite of his best efforts, he had become attached to this family. He had tried to keep his distance, tried to stay focused on the job he had been sent to do. But he had failed, and failed miserably. Every time he accidentally let his guard down, the Cohens were right there, chipping away at all of his defenses, finding a way into his heart. It was only going to make things harder when they didn’t want to see him anymore.

He’d screw up somehow. He always did. The Cohens would find out the truth about him, and realize he wasn’t worth their time, their patience, or their kindness. Then, despite all of their promises, they would leave him.

How could they not?

After all, hadn’t his whole life been about people leaving him?

His father had never wanted him. He had told Ryan so every chance he got. And even though Dawn had tried to hide the truth from him, one night in a drunken stupor, she had confessed that Frank had disowned him. It hadn’t exactly been a surprise, but it had still hurt.

And then there was his mother.

Even though it had been three years, he still had a hard time dealing with her suicide. How could she leave him all alone with Art? Had he really meant so little to her? If only she had left a note. She could have explained why she felt the need to kill herself or at least said good-bye. But she couldn’t even be bothered to do that one last thing for him. Barely a day went by that Art didn’t remind him that Dawn had chosen death over being his mother. The worse part was it was the truth. What did that say about him?

He reached the bathroom and shut the door, leaning heavily against it. As he stared at the small window, just large enough to crawl through, it suddenly became very clear what he needed to do. No, what he had to do. The Cohens would be better off without him. They didn’t need him messing up their lives, and he didn’t need any more rejection in his.

He climbed on the stool and opened the window, giving the room one last look before leaving. He thought back to the day before, and how Mrs. Cohen had taken care of the cut on his hand. She had been so nice to him this past weekend. They had all been so nice to him. His one regret was that he couldn’t tell them goodbye and thank them for everything they had done for him. He couldn’t even leave a note explaining why he felt he had to go.

Perhaps he wasn’t so different from his mother, after all.

ococococococococococ

Ryan lost his footing when he hit the pavement. Landing squarely on his backside, he looked up at the window. It had been higher than he had thought. A fact he was glad he hadn’t known before deciding to climb out. He had an intense fear of heights that stemmed back to Dawn’s first boyfriend.

He picked himself up and dusted off the seat of his pants. He was itching to run, but he knew it would serve only to draw attention. Instead, Ryan forced himself to walk slowly down the driveway and onto the street leading to the front gates.

He didn’t know much about clothes, but it was obvious that his worn jeans and cheap leather jacket sorely stood out in this neighborhood. He could only imagine what some of Mr. Cohen’s Newpsies’ reactions would be if they saw a kid dressed like him running down the street. They’d be calling the police in a matter of seconds, right after they locked up their teenage daughters and checked to make sure their jewelry wasn’t missing.

Even though it was only a few feet, it seemed like he had been walking for miles when he finally reached the iron gates. He shifted uncomfortably in his jacket and wiped his brow. Between the unnatural heat and humidity of the morning and his nerves, he couldn’t seem to stop the sweat that dripped off his forehead.

He paused just outside the view of the guard, hoping that a car would drive by or there would be a changing of shifts. Anything to distract the man long enough for Ryan to sneak by. Unfortunately, the Atwood luck held strong. The majority of residents with jobs had already left for the day, and those without must have thought it too early for their daily yogalates class. As for the changing of the guards, Ryan had missed it by fifteen minutes.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Any minute now, Mr. Cohen could come bounding down the road and stop him.

He started searching through his pockets for his pack of Marlboros. He hadn’t had a cigarette all weekend, and he hadn’t missed them. Mr. Cohen had warned him not to smoke when he picked him up in Chino, but Ryan wouldn’t have tried anyway. He couldn’t imagine smoking here. The houses were too perfect, the lawns too immaculate. Ryan didn’t even see so much as a stray leaf in the street’s gutters let alone a discarded cigarette butt.

He found the almost empty pack and waved it at the guard as he walked past him. Ryan hoped the man would think he was just stepping outside for a smoke. He was prepared to run, but the guard smiled and nodded his head in apparent understanding.

Once outside the gates, Ryan began to notice his chest hurt. He hadn’t even been aware that he’d been holding his breath until his lungs had begun to burn. He allowed himself the luxury of letting out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but he had overcome the first obstacle.

He looked to his left and then to his right, trying to decide which way he should go. Jumping slightly at the sound of distant thunder, he realized that he didn’t have long before the rain began. The sky was becoming darker and more ominous by the minute.

Not wasting any more time, he chose left and started walking. He looked back at the guard. Thankfully, the man was paying no attention to him.

Ryan made it less than six feet beyond the beyond the gates when seemingly out of nowhere, an all too familiar red pickup truck pulled up beside him.

ococococococococococ

The door opened to reveal an extremely angry looking Art.

“Get in,” he ordered.

Ryan took a step backwards. It had only been a few days since he had last seen the man, but he could have sworn in that time he had grown even bigger. He appeared more menacing, more threatening, and definitely more dangerous.

This time when he looked back, the guard, who had no doubt heard the roar of Art’s truck, was eyeing him curiously. Ryan wondered why the man wasn’t calling the Cohens. Didn’t Mr. Cohen tell the guards to keep an eye out for him? Even if he had bought the cigarette excuse, surely Art’s truck should have sent up some kind of warning signal. Vehicles that were as old and as loud as Art’s could not be a common sight in Newport.

It was ironic. A few minutes ago, Ryan wanted nothing more than to get past the man without being noticed and now he was seriously considering calling out to him for help. The guard must have noticed Ryan’s look or sensed something was off, because he left his post and started approaching the truck.

“Shit,” Art hissed, when he saw the guard in the rearview mirror. “Get in the truck. I’ll handle this.”

Ryan hesitated, his hand resting on the open door.

“Boy, I’m warning you. You do not want to piss me off anymore than I already am. Now, get in.”

He reluctantly climbed in the truck.

“Morning, folks,” the guard greeted and looked inside the truck. “Is there a problem here?”

“Problem?” Art asked. “No. No problem at all,” he glanced at the guard’s name tag, “Mitch.”

Mitch studied Ryan.

“Aren’t you the boy Mr. Cohen had with him Friday night?”

Ryan was confused. The guard didn’t seem to know anything about alerting the Cohens. Not knowing what else to do at the moment, he looked at Art.

“Don’t be rude. Answer the man.” Art shook his head in mock frustration. “Teenagers,” he said with an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, sir. That was me,” Ryan answered dutifully.

“You spent the whole weekend with them? Are you friends with their son?”

“Yep,” said Art, answering for Ryan. “The boys are good buddies. They go to school together.”

“Your son goes to Harbor?” The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing him.

“He’s on scholarship. Couldn’t afford it otherwise. Not on a working man’s salary. If you know what I mean. Lucky for the boy, he got my brains and his mother’s looks instead of the other way around.” Art barked out a forced laugh.

The guard still didn’t look convinced.

“Are you sure you’re all right? You didn’t look very happy to see your father.”

Art laughed again.

“Don’t have any teenagers, do you Mitch? They’re never happy to see their parents. Most of the time they go around pretending they don’t have any.” He clapped his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Why this one here barely acknowledges me back home. You can only imagine his reaction to me in this place. I don’t exactly fit in with the suit and tie crowd. Can’t say as I can blame him for not wanting to leave, though. It’s not every day a kid from our neighborhood gets to stay in a place this nice. Makes our house look like a real dump.”

“I bet,” Mitch muttered under his breath, before looking at Ryan for confirmation. “Is that right?”

Art squeezed his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but Ryan got the message.

He was tempted to ignore Art’s silent warning. He desperately wanted to get out of the truck, and tell the guard everything. But he looked at Mitch and knew he couldn’t. This guy wasn’t a cop. He was just a security guard and like so many of them, hours of sitting in one spot day after day had done little for his physical health. If Ryan said anything that made the man try and stop them, Art would attack, and Mitch was obviously not capable of taking on a man like Art. Ryan didn’t want to be the cause of anyone else getting hurt.

“Yes, sir. I just wasn’t ready to go home. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

“Don’t worry about it, son.” Satisfied with Ryan’s response, he backed away from the truck and looked at Art. “I won’t keep you any longer.” He stopped for a moment, and made eye contact with Ryan, causing his hopes to rise. “The Cohen boy is a nice kid, but he doesn’t seem to have too many friends. I hope you can visit again.”

Ryan tried to keep the disappointment from his face, while Art shifted gears.

“Don’t worry about that,” Art said. “I’ll make sure he comes back real soon.” And this time the laugh that followed was genuine.

ococococococococococ

As they drove out of sight, Ryan couldn’t help but stare at Art. He could hardly believe it. He had been so close to finally being free of the man only to find himself trapped once again.

“Where did you...How did you know...”

Now that they were alone Ryan couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence.

Art sneered at him. “What? You don’t think I would leave a job this important to a little fuck-up like you, did you?”

He didn’t even give Ryan a chance to respond before smacking him on the side of his face.

Ryan shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. He was amazed that the man could deliver a blow that could send his head spinning, and still not miss a beat driving.

“I asked you a question,” Art demanded.

“No...no, of course not.”

“Damn straight. I knew you’d fuck it up, just like you do everything else. That’s why I decided I better keep an eye on you while you were gone.”

Ryan remembered thinking he had heard Art’s truck the previous morning.

“So that was you yesterday?”

“That’s right, boy. I’ve been watching you since Saturday afternoon. Pretty cozy life you’ve been leading these past few days...sailing, eating at nice restaurants, staying in a big house. You better not have gotten any fancy ideas in that head of yours. After a taste of the sweet life, you don’t think you’re too good for me, do you, boy?”

Ryan shook his head frantically.

“No, sir. I’d never think that.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m going to bring you back down where you belong first chance I get.”

Ryan moved a little closer to the door.

“Oh.” Art turned toward the already frightened boy. “And don’t think I don’t know about that guy your lawyer hired to snoop around.”

Ryan felt his blood run cold.

“I swear I didn’t know anything about it until it was too late. You’ve got to believe me.”

“I don’t got to do anything, boy.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant....”

“Save it. I’m not in the mood to hear some pathetic story on how and why you fucked up this time. I’m tired of listening to one lame excuse after another. I gotta tell you, when the boys first told me about it, I thought it was the final straw. You’d made one too many mistakes. I just didn’t see how I could let this one go. You know how I value my privacy. I planned on killing you just as soon as I got my hands on you. But then...” Art paused. “Then, I realized that I still needed you to help me with this job. I mean, you have been there all weekend. You best have enough information to make this one hell-uv-a easy heist”.

Ryan didn’t say a word.

“Plus, it has taken me three long years to train you. If I killed you now, I would have wasted all that valuable time. The way I figure it, you owe me several more years of service to repay me for all the trouble I’ve gone through with you.”

Any small measure of relief Ryan felt was cut short by Art’s next sentence.

“You’re still going to have to pay for sicking that P.I. after me. I can’t let that go unpunished, but I’m not planning on killing you anymore.”

Just then a streak of lightening flashed across the sky, followed by a boom of thunder, signaling the beginning of the storm that had been threatening all morning. Sheets of rain pelted the earth, making it almost impossible to see the road.

“Son of a bitch.” Art pounded on the steering wheel. “This is just fucking great. Every time we get one damn drop of rain the fucking idiots around here forget how to drive.”

For the moment, Art seemed to forget about Ryan. He turned his full attention to the road. Ryan was grateful for the reprieve. He sat silently, staring out the window, watching the rain come down.

ococococococococococ

The first time Art drove by an exit that would take them back to Chino, Ryan said nothing. He assumed that Art had missed it due to the rain, and Ryan wasn’t about to point out the mistake. But when Art passed the second exit, Ryan couldn’t help but glance over at him. From the determined look on his face, Art appeared to know exactly where he was going. He had purposely driven by the exits. A feeling of dread washed over Ryan. They were not heading back to Chino.

Torn between the safety of being ignored and his desire to know where they were going, Ryan remained quiet, trying to decide what to do. In the end, Ryan had to ask. As much as he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, he felt he should try and find out where Art was taking him.

“Um,” he began haltingly. “Where are we going? Chino’s back that way.” He motioned behind them with a nod of his head.

He should have followed his first instinct. For the second time in thirty minutes, he was the recipient of a blow that sent his head spinning.

“You do not question me, boy. Not now, not ever. You just sit there on your lazy good-for-nothing ass and keep your mouth shut. Understand?.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said rubbing his cheek.

“You damn well better be. And just so you know, dumb ass, we can’t very well go back to Chino, now can we? Thanks to you, I can’t take the chance that the house might be crawling with cops. You’re just lucky I was renting the joint.” He glared at Ryan. “I had to call in a few favors to find someplace to stay. A friend of mine knows a place in Long Beach where we can crash for a few days, just until we can pull off this job and unload the goods. I figure the haul we should get off of that rich bastard Cohen and his family should be more than enough to relocate somewhere nice and safe. Someplace no one will ever be able to find us, including your new friend the lawyer and his private investigator.”

Ryan wasn’t quite sure why, but that information made him very nervous. Perhaps it was the idea of being so completely alone. He may not have gone to school in Chino, and certainly didn’t have any friends, but he knew that Mrs. Garcia was watching from a distance. He always derived a small amount of comfort from that knowledge.

Or, more likely, the idea scared him because he had yet to work up the nerve to tell Art that he wasn’t going to help him rob the Cohens. Ryan shivered with raw terror at the thought of Art’s reaction to the news.

ococococococococococ

Ryan bided his time. He tried to sit as still and as silent as possible. He waited until Art approached the next intersection and slowed for the light. They hadn’t even come to a complete stop when Ryan threw open the truck’s door and started running for his life.

He didn’t know if the area was normally deserted, or if it was just because of the rain, but there was no one else in sight. The empty streets and sidewalks were a mixed blessing. It made it easier to run, but it also meant he couldn’t lose Art in a crowd.

Ryan could hear Art’s heavy breathing getting closer. He had no idea the man could run so fast. He felt Art’s large, meaty hands grab the back of his jacket. Ryan managed to wriggle out of it and keep running, quickening his pace.

He ran blindly, not knowing or caring which direction he took. Without thinking, he rounded a corner and darted into the street. He heard the blaring of a car horn and the screeching of brakes, and looked up just in time to see a pair of headlights shining directly at him.

He stood paralyzed, staring at the oncoming lights. At the last second he tried to dodge out of the car’s path. He almost made it. The car skidded to a stop as its front fender clipped him on the side, knocking him off his feet.

Dazed, he lay on the cold wet pavement, not quite comprehending what had happened. When his senses returned, he attempted to assess his injuries. His side and hip ached from the blow, and he would probably have a nasty bruise, but nothing seemed to be broken.

He looked around, Art was nowhere to be seen, but no doubt he would be here any second. Ryan had to keep moving. As he attempted to stand, a woman, somewhere in her late fifties, suddenly appeared over him, her face frantic. She waved her arms in front chest, seemingly to stop him from rising.

“Don’t move, young man,” she commanded. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry. I’m not used to driving in this kind of weather. I didn’t see you.”

“It’s okay. I’m not hurt. You don’t need to worry. I’ll just be on my way.” Once more, he tried standing, but the woman leaned down and put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him down again.

“I told you not to move. I watch a lot of television, especially hospital shows, and I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to stay still until after the paramedics arrive. You just lie there while I go call 911.”

“Don’t bother, ma’am. He’s fine. Aren’t you, boy?”

Shit, was the only thing Ryan could think as he felt himself being roughly hauled to his feet.

“Are you this boy’s father? I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t see him. I don’t think he’s hurt. You know, I don’t mean to tell you how to raise your son, but you really should teach him to watch where he’s going. It’s simply not safe to be running out into the streets, especially in this kind of weather. You’d think a boy of his age would know better.”

“He’s not my father,” Ryan stated vehemently. He clamped his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he couldn’t stomach another person referring to Art as his father. Still, he shouldn’t have said anything. Thanks to his carelessness, this woman could get hurt. Ryan knew for a fact that Art was not above hitting a woman.

Art shook Ryan by the arm. “You keep your mouth shut.”

Just as Ryan feared the woman started to look suspicious. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. She backed away slowly, her expression turning frightened and unsure.

“What’s going on here? Who are you? What are you two up to?”

“Now, ma’am,” Art said condescendingly. “There’s no need to worry.” He smiled at the woman. “I’m a cop.”

“You are?” She looked him up and down, frowning at his rough appearance.

“I don’t blame you for not believing me. You see, I work undercover and I’m afraid I have to look this way to blend in with the lowlifes I have to deal with. Why, even my own wife won’t kiss me goodbye when I’m all decked out in this disguise. ”

She nodded her head as if she understood completely. Ryan thought it was almost odd how relieved he was that the woman was buying Art’s story. As much as he wanted to tell her the truth, it would be pointless. She could do nothing to help him and he had already put her in enough danger as it was.

“I really should be thanking you,” Art continued.

“Me?” She put her hand up to her chest. “What on earth for?”

“Why, for helping me catch this little punk. I’ve been after him for weeks. You’re actually very lucky.”

“How?”

“Pretending to get hit by a car is all part of his little scam.”
“Pretending? Scam?” She sounded shocked. “You mean I didn’t really hit him?”
“No, ma’am. He just wanted you to think you did so you’d stop and get out of your car.”

“You know,” she said pointing her finger in the air, like she had just thought of something very important, “now that I think about it, I don’t remember actually hitting him. I was positive the car stopped before he fell down. I mean, one minute he was nowhere to be seen and the next he was lying on the ground in front of my car.”

She looked at Ryan accusingly. He bowed his head, ashamed, even though he had done nothing wrong.

“You’re right, ma’am. You never touched him. That’s just the way he lures his victims away from their cars. While you’re standing over him, fawning all over him, showing concern and compassion like the decent upstanding citizen you are, his buddies crawl out of their hiding places, like street rats, and strip your car clean in five minutes.”

Ryan looked up at him. He was amazed at Art’s ability to think so quickly on his feet. He had just described the same scam he had pulled when he was young. He had told Ryan about it one time when trying to come up with new ways for Ryan to earn money. Art had dismissed the idea, saying that nowadays no one would probably stop to help, especially for a kid as worthless as Ryan.

Art nodded in the direction of the woman’s car. “I bet you left your purse sitting on the front passenger seat, didn’t you?”

“Why yes, yes I did,” she answered her eyes wide.

“It’d be gone too. And as soon as you turned your back on this one...” He tightened his grip on Ryan’s arm and pulled him closer. “He’d be up and running. You’d never be able to catch him. No offense, ma’am, but you’re making yourself an easy target. You really need to be more careful. I might not be around next time. This good-for-nothing little thief won’t be around to bother you again, but there are plenty more where he came from.”

“Thank you, officer,” she said sincerely looking at Art warmly before giving Ryan an icy glare. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Preying on innocent women like that.”

He found himself apologizing.

“You should be sorry,” she scolded. “I hope they lock you up and throw away the key.”

“Don’t you worry about that, ma’am.” Art smiled smugly at Ryan. “I’ll personally make sure he gets everything he deserves.”

He jerked Ryan’s arm and started pulling him away. “Come on. You’ve taken up enough of this nice lady’s time.”

Keeping a tight grip on Ryan, he walked quickly back to the truck. Ryan was surprised to see that Art took the time to pick up his discarded jacket off the ground.

“I don’t want to leave anymore of a trail than we already have,” Art explained.

As soon as they reached the truck, Art gave one quick look around before slamming Ryan into the front fender and pounding his fist into Ryan’s ribs just above the spot where the car had struck him. His entire left side exploded in agony.

“That’s for trying to run away.”

Ryan didn’t think his side could hurt any worse. He was wrong. Art hit him again in almost the exact same spot and he doubled over. .

“That’s for making me run after you.”

Art drove his knee into Ryan’s abdomen. He felt a blinding white pain suck every last bit of air from his lungs, causing every breath to come out in short choking gasps. He couldn’t stop the tears from stinging his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

“And that’s for making me get wet.”

He cradled his throbbing stomach with both arms and began falling to his knees. Art yanked him up by his hair.

“Listen to me good, you fucking little bastard. If you even think of pulling a stunt like that again, I will not hesitate to rev this truck up and run your sorry ass down.” He moved in closer, his face a mere inch away from Ryan’s. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Ryan barely managed to choke out.

“Good.” Art released his hair, and shoved him in the truck. “I better not so much as see you breathe on this door until I tell you it’s time to get out,” he threatened as he shut the door.

ococococococococococ

Ryan wasn’t sure how much longer they drove before Art turned down a deserted dead end alley. He reached over, causing Ryan to flinch. Art noticed and snickered as he opened the glove compartment to remove a pair of license plates.

“Get out,” Art ordered.

He motioned for Ryan to follow him. He stopped at the front of the truck and gave the plates to Ryan.

“Here, you switch the plates while I keep a look out. They’re not in my name , but that cop wanna-be at the gates probably wrote the number down.”

Ryan glanced at the end of the alley. The only thing blocking it was an old chain link fence. He’d scaled dozens just like it.

Art read his mind. “Go ahead and try it. I’d love to see how far up you’d make it before I plowed you down.”

Ryan quickly dropped his head, knelt down, and started removing the original license plate. He finished switching the front plates, then moved to the back, with Art never letting him get more than a foot away. When Ryan was done, Art grabbed a hold of him with one arm, and reached in the back of the truck to retrieve a duffle bag with the other. They walked for another four blocks, until Art stopped in front of an abandoned store building. It looked like an old pawn shop.

“Home sweet home,” Art mumbled as he unlocked a side door, and dragged Ryan up a flight of stairs.

At the top of the steps, there was a single door that opened to a small apartment. The walls were cracked and peeling. Hunks of plaster lay on the bare wood floor. They may have been painted white at one time, but were now a dingy yellow from age and cigarette smoke. The room was sparsely finished with a broken down couch, television, and a small table and chairs in the kitchen area, still littered with empty fast food containers from the last tenants who had needed a place to lay low for a few days.

Art pushed Ryan towards the chairs.

“Sit down,” he ordered as he threw the duffel bag onto the table and started sorting through it. “Here.” He handed Ryan a pencil and a pad of paper. “You can start drawing the layout of the house while you tell me how we’re going to get in without setting off any alarms.”

Ryan picked up the pencil. He was no artist, but he could certainly make a rough outline of the Cohen’s house. Yet, the pencil remained hovering above the paper. Something was stopping him from drawing.

He had never wanted to do this. From the very beginning, this had always felt so wrong to him. When he had first arrived at the Cohens’, he had managed to push the nagging guilt that never quite left him to the back of his mind. It wasn’t too difficult. Every time he felt his resolve weakening, he would conjure up thoughts of Art and what he would do to him if he disobeyed. However, as time passed and the longer he stayed and got to know them, the more he could not ignore his conscience.

At the last when so many other thoughts and doubts plagued his mind, the one thing he was sure of was that he could not hurt the Cohens in any way. That’s why he tried to run away. To protect them. But that was then. Now, with his face stinging and his ribs aching from Art’s blows, things were different. His world had returned to the shade of grey in which he normally lived. Where stealing was wrong, but necessary to survive.

He glanced at Art out of the corner of his eye. How could he say no to him? It didn’t matter that Mr. Cohen had told him that legally Art wasn’t his guardian, the man still owned him. He dictated his every move, his every action, almost his every thought. From the moment he had walked through the door, Ryan’s life had been one long nightmare. He lived in a constant state of fear. He had never been able to defend himself against Art. He couldn’t stand up to him. He just...couldn’t.

“What are you waiting for?” Art smacked Ryan in the back of the head, causing it to jerk forward. “Draw, damn it.”

“Sorry,” Ryan mumbled and rubbed his now sore neck. He didn’t need or want any more reminders of what disobedience would bring.

He started drawing.

It was just a line. It was going to be the living room. He saw it in his mind, and he could think of were thoughts of eating pizza and watching bad action movies with Mr. Cohen and playing video games with Seth.

He started over. It would make more sense to begin with the kitchen. Once again, he stopped after drawing a solitary line. It had been the place where he had eaten his first family dinner. Where Seth and his father had teased Mrs. Cohen about her cooking. Where she had wrapped his hand and tried to make him feel at ease about the coming talk with Mr. Cohen.

How could he let a man like Art destroy their home? Home. That was it. That was the one word that kept running through his mind. They didn’t have a house. They had a home and for a very short time Ryan had been a part of it.

And just like that, he knew he couldn’t do it.

“No.” Ryan dropped the pencil and pushed the paper back at Art.

“What the fuck do you mean by no? You were there for three days. Don’t tell me that you didn’t get a good look at the place. I saw you coming and going, they sure as hell didn’t keep you locked up. Now draw.” He shoved the paper back at Ryan.

Ryan closed his eyes, tried to take a deep as breath as his sore ribs would allow and gathered his courage, before pushing it back once more.

“I told you before I ever left Chino that I didn’t want to do this. The family, they’re decent people. They were good to me. They don’t deserve to be ripped off for doing something nice.”

Art slammed his fist down on the table. Ryan tried to scoot back, but Art grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“Good to you?!?” he screamed. “They had you for three fucking days. I’ve had to put up with your shit for three long years. What about what I deserve?”

“I pay for my keep.”

Art hauled him to his feet. He was practically snarling. “You haven’t begun to pay, boy.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Ryan lied. He had never seen Art so enraged.

Still holding on to Ryan, he removed his belt.

“Apparently, your little time in the lap of luxury has made you forget what happens when you disobey me.

Ryan didn’t know where the courage came from, but he held strong.

“I don’t care what you do to me. I won’t help you. I will not hurt that family.”

ococococococococococ

Ryan woke to almost total darkness. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the lack of light before attempting to stand. Almost immediately, he fell back to the floor, every bone and muscle in his body weeping with agony and pain at the unwelcome movement.

He lay there for a few minutes, trying to work up the strength to stand. The cold hard surface offered no comfort. He rose slowly and began to make his way to the only small source of light in the room, a window that had long ago been painted black for reasons unknown. In a few places, tiny pinpoints of light from the streets below managed to sneak their way through the chipped paint.

Ryan tried to open the window to no avail. It was either painted or nailed shut. He supposed it didn’t really matter. They were on the second story and there was no way he could risk jumping.

Using the walls for guidance and support, he began exploring the rest of the room. On the far wall, he discovered a door. He tried it without expecting it to open. To his surprise, the knob turned with ease. From what he could make out it looked to be a bathroom. Ryan felt the wall, flicked the switch, and found himself squinting into the mirror above the sink. His own reflection made him want to return to the darkness. He looked horrible.
Whatever small amount of healing that his face had accomplished over the weekend was long gone with Art’s latest handiwork.

His eyes had previously been blackened by Art and the fight with the Harbor School jocks. But now his left eye, which had always been the worst, was completely swollen shut. In fact, the whole left side of his face was one giant bruise and the right wasn’t much better. He leaned over the sink to get a better look. The movement triggered a new wave of pain and nausea. Lifting his shirt, he discovered that between the car and Art hitting him, his left side matched his face. He turned slightly and there on his lower back, he found an outline of Art’s boot from a kick he didn’t remember receiving.

Ryan turned on the water, letting it run until the water turned a lesser shade of rust. He splashed his face, and ran his hands through his hair, before allowing himself a drink. It could be worse, he thought. At least he was trapped where he had access to a bathroom with running water.

Feeling only slightly better, he stepped back outside. With the light from the bathroom allowing a better look, he surveyed the room that was to be his prison. He assumed it to be the apartment’s sole bedroom, even though it had no furniture. He stared at the only other door in the room. That one would be locked. He was sure of it. No point in even trying it. But still...it wouldn’t hurt to check, just in case. He gave in to temptation. He walked over to the door and reached out his hand.

The door flung open, and Ryan jumped back. Art’s massive frame filled the entire doorway.

“I see you’re awake. It’s about damn time.” He looked Ryan up and down and smiled maliciously. “Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson for the day. Now, get in there and start drawing those plans, like I told you.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the other room.

Despite his aching side, Ryan attempted to stand up straight. He no longer wanted to cower before this man.

“No, I already told you, there’s nothing you can do to me to make me change my mind.”

Art kicked the door shut and advanced on Ryan, his hands already forming into fists.

“This is going to get really old really quick, boy.”

ococococococococococ

The next day held more of the same for Ryan. Throughout the day and into the early evening, Art would periodically unlock the door and demand that Ryan do as he was told. Each time Ryan would manage to lift himself off the floor, muster every ounce of courage and strength he had and refuse. And each time he would pay dearly for his defiance.

It was during Ryan’s second night of captivity that he realized he was getting sick. At first he had been in too much pain to notice, but sometime in the night, when Art had either left or had been sleeping, granting Ryan a few hours of reprieve, Ryan’s body began to let itself feel the fever. Whether the chills that now shook his body were from the constant beatings or from the fact that his clothes had never fully dried from Monday, or from a combination of both he didn’t know...or care. He did know that the deep, wet cough he was developing would do nothing but further agitate Art.

When dawn broke, Ryan had his first bout of coughing that he couldn’t control. Art barged in and slapped him across the mouth telling him to keep quiet. Ryan was lucky, that was all Art did to him...that one time.

On Wednesday, the third day, Art began to change his tactics. He started to attack Ryan mentally as well as physically. He would tell Ryan how stupid he was to protect the Cohens. That they had already forgotten all about him, and that they didn’t care about him. He would bring up Ryan’s mother, reminding him of how she never loved him, and telling him that if his own mother hadn’t given a damn about him, why did he think anyone else would?

It was during these times that Ryan tried to find escape within in his own mind. He would think back over his life, searching for happier times. Once he found a memory, he held on tight. He would take himself to a place where Art and the pain he inflicted couldn’t reach him. Ironically, during these times, the only memories Ryan could recall in his entire life were the moments he had so recently spent with the Cohens.

By Thursday, Ryan was ashamed and disgusted to realize that his life had been reduced to that of a cockroach. Every time Art opened the door the room would flood with light, sending Ryan scurrying to the nearest corner to hide. By mid-afternoon, he stopped leaving his corner. He stayed there with his knees pulled tight to his chest and his head buried in the crook of his arm. He never even bothered looking up when he heard the lock on the door click open.

ococococococococococ

WHACK!!!

The spot on the wall just above Ryan’s head vibrated. He tried to pull his legs in tighter, but felt something cool and hard underneath his chin, pushing his head up. Ryan found himself looking up the barrel of a baseball bat.

Over the years, Art had slapped him, hit him with his fists, kicked him and beat him with a belt, but he had never used anything else. He hadn’t had to. Ryan’s eyes slowly traced the bat following its handle to Art’s arm and up to his face. There was a look of pure evil shining from his eyes. Ryan’s heart began pumping so fast and hard he thought his chest would explode.

“Now that I’ve got your attention,” Art began. “Let’s say we cut to the chase. I’m getting sick and tired of all this shit. We both know that sooner or later you’re going to give in.”

Ryan was going to deny it, but Art pushed the end of the bat into his throat, making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone speak.

“Uh huh. I’m talking. You’re listening. I”m running out of time and patience. So here’s the deal. Either you tell me everything I want to know about that rich lawyer’s house, or I break every bone in your body with this bat.” He knelt down, careful not to relieve any of the pressure from Ryan’s throat. “Before I’m done, you’ll be begging me to kill you, but I’m not letting you off that easy. When I’m through with you up here, I’m going to drag what’s left of your broken, pathetic body down the stairs, making sure you feel every last step, take you out back, and throw you in the dumpster. I figure it will take about fifteen minutes before the rats find you.”

Ryan was consumed with a feeling he had never before experienced. It was deeper than fear, and somewhere beyond even terror

Art removed the bat from Ryan’s throat, using it as support to help him stand.

“They’ll slowly tear you to shreds, their sharp pointy teeth ripping the flesh from your bones, and you won’t even be able to scream. I’ll make sure of that. Sounds like an awful way to die, doesn’t it?”

Ryan stared at the figure towering over him. He couldn’t even find it within himself to speak.

“I hate the thought of doing it to you, boy. You’ve been like a son to me these past three years. But you’ve left me no choice. That is....unless you have something you’d like to say.”

He leaned forward, resting his weight on the bat, smiling maliciously at the terrified boy.

Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Yes?” Art asked.

“My...my jacket,” he was finally able to say.

“Damn it. I didn’t fuckin’ ask if you had any last requests.” He straightened himself and raised the bat high into the air. “You really are too stupid to live,” he said shaking his head.

“No...please.” Ryan raised his arms above his head. “You don’t understand. There’s something I need to show you. I need my jacket...please.”

His voice was thick with desperation.

Art lowered the bat and gave Ryan a hard look.

“You better not be shittin’ me, boy,” he warned and went to get the jacket.

“Here.” He threw it at Ryan. “This better be good. I ain’t going to give you a second chance.”

Ryan searched the jacket, hoping that it hadn’t been lost when Art had torn the jacket off him during their chase through the streets. He almost cried with relief when he found what he was looking for.

“I found it.” Ryan held out a shaking hand.

“A keychain?!? You think a fucking keychain is going to save your miserable hide?”

“It’s not a keychain. It’s the alarm to the house. I swiped it from their son. All we have to do is press one button and the alarms won’t go off. We’ll be in the house with no problems.”

Art snatched it from his hand.

“You know, if you had given this to me on Monday, I would have been pretty impressed. But not now. I’ve had time to think things over. And this...” he spun the keychain in circles around his index finger, “just ain’t enough. You should have pocketed this little gadget before noon on Saturday. What’d you do the rest of the time, sit on your worthless ass, eating Bon Bons and watching t.v? Nope, I’m afraid I’m going to need more, unless of course, you want to become rat chow.”

“I can get us past the guards,” Ryan said quickly.

Art looked slightly interested.

“How?”

“Seth, their kid, he’s kind of a loner. The other kids pick on him.” Ryan looked down, ashamed for talking about Seth that way. “He thinks...I mean, I let him think...” Ryan choked on the words, “that we were friends. He’s going to put my name down on a pass list.”

“He thinks you’re friends?” Art snorted. “He must be a bigger loser than you. No wonder you two got along.”

Ryan ignored Art’s last comment.

“I can get us past the gate, the guards and into the house. That’s pretty good, right?”

Ryan hated the way his voice cracked. He was pathetic.

“It’s not bad.” Art tilted his head to the side. “But it’s not great either. I think you might have played your ace a little too soon. I get that I need you to get past the guard. So I can’t kill you...yet. But that doesn’t mean me and Old Lucky here,” he said as he tapped the barrel of the bat into the palm of his hand, “can’t break your arm, or maybe your leg. We just can’t decide which would be more fun. I guess we’ll just have to do both.” He started to raise the bat again, but stopped. “I might reconsider... if you could tell me when exactly it would be a good time to use this new-found information.”

Ryan stared at the bat.

“Friday night,” he offered. He only prayed that somewhere between the pain and fever, he hadn’t lost a day. “They’ve got some charity function. They’ll be gone all night. We’ll have the place to ourselves for hours.”

“Tomorrow night, huh? That doesn’t leave us a lot of time, but at least we’re getting somewhere.” Art smiled down at Ryan for just a second, before his features turned hard once more. “Tell me about the house.”

The thoughts and feelings associated with their home returned. It was foolish and pointless to refuse, he knew that. He had already betrayed the Cohens. Withholding this last bit of information from Art would make no difference. But it was the only thing he had left. If he could hold out, if he could keep this one piece of the Cohens from Art he would have done something. The last few days would not have been completely in vain. He found himself shaking his head no.

“I sure as hell wish I knew what they did to you, boy. I never thought I’d see the day that you would defy me so blatantly. I’ve had it, and I won’t put up with it any longer.” Art was breathing hard now, nostrils flaring with anger. “Everything you’ve just told me would have gotten you off the hook four, maybe even three days ago, but not now. Do you think I’ve enjoyed these past few days? I haven’t. I’ve had to come in here time and time again and each time you’ve refused to do what you’re told. My arms are sore, my knuckles are raw, and that infernal coughing and hacking of yours is keeping me awake at night. I’m fucking sick to death of all this shit.” Art jabbed the end of the bat into Ryan’s chest and held it there. “I will not tolerate you disrespecting me anymore. No more games. No more prying information out of you. I’m tired and I’m this close,” he held his thumb and index finger a fraction of a centimeter apart, “to killing you right here and now. If I have to, I’ll prop your lifeless body against the truck’s door to get past the guards. And don’t think I won’t do it, because I just don’t give a shit anymore. Or...” he relieved some of the pressure off Ryan’s chest, “you can start talking. The choice is yours. You’ve got five seconds.”

Ryan talked.

He told Art everything he remembered, down to the smallest detail. Ryan described each room and where it was located in the house. He told about the furniture, the pictures on the walls, the electronics, the silverware, anything he could think of that could be sold or pawned. If Art had wanted to know, Ryan would have told him the number of light bulbs in each room. With each word he spoke, Ryan’s hatred of himself grew.

Finally, he could think of no more.

“That’s it. That’s everything. I swear it.” His voice was just above a whisper.

He put his head down, resting it on his knees, fearing that it still wouldn’t be enough. He waited, not daring to move or even breathe. He waited for what seemed an eternity. The only sound in the room came from Art, bouncing the end of the bat on the floor over and over again.

Finally, the noise stopped, and was replaced by Art’s footsteps and the closing of the door.

After a few minutes, Ryan heard the door open and felt a warm paper sack hit him in the shins.

“You don’t deserve to eat, but you’ll need your strength for tomorrow night.”

The door shut, leaving Ryan alone once again.

Ryan’s stomach rumbled and growled when the aroma of burgers, fries, and grease hit his senses. But he didn’t move. He remained huddled in the corner...cursing his smallness, his weakness, and the day he was born.

tbc

Chapter Summary: Ryan decides it’s in everyone’s best interest if he runs away, but Art has been watching him, and is waiting for him. He tells Ryan that he taking him to an abandoned store building in Long Beach to hide out until the time is right to rob the Cohens. On the way there, Ryan attempts to get away, but Art quickly catches him. Once at the hide-out, Art demands that Ryan tell him everything he’s learned while staying with the Cohens. Ryan refuses. Art is furious and does his worst. Ryan fights the good fight, but after three and a half days of constant abuse, Ryan can take no more. When Art threatens to beat him to death with a baseball bat, he tells him everything.