Twist of Fate: Chapter 17
Title: A Twist of Fate
Ratings/Warnings: No warnings
Beta: loracj2. Much thanks to her as always. She had a very good and valid suggestion that could have made this a better chapter. However, I have my limitations and I just couldn’t make it work. Perhaps, if I ever got any sleep....but I digress. Anyway, through no fault of her own, you are stuck with my inferior version of the chapter. I did a LOT of tinkering after she sent it back. I should have had her take another look, but like the last chapter I’m sick of this one, too. So all grammatical errors are mine and mine alone.
Special Thank You: I need to give special thanks and hugs to willwork4dean, and especially fredsmith518. Without them the last couple of paragraphs from Ryan’s point of view would have just plain stunk.
More hugs and thanks to themus_revenge. She read through this for me and petted my ego. Without her support, I would have deleted this whole chapter and started anew.
Disclaimers: I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine.
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
Twist of Fate: Chapter 17
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four flashes of the hotel vacancy sign across the street.
Ryan had managed to scrape away a large portion of the black paint that covered the window. His nails were now ragged and filthy and his fingers raw, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t feel them. He couldn’t feel much of anything any more...or at least he tried not to.
As the blinking message filled the room with a sickly neon glow, Ryan gazed out the window with glassy unfocused eyes. He counted to pass the time and fill the long hours. He counted so he wouldn’t have to think about his fever or how every movement he made caused his joints to cry out in pain. He counted so he wouldn’t have to think. He counted to forget.
Only it didn’t work.
No matter how many times the light flashed. No matter how high he counted. He couldn’t forget his betrayal of the Cohens.
But he still tried.
So he continued to stare out the window and count.
From his self-made rat-hole, Ryan had watched the sun set, rise and now . . . set once again. During all that time, he had neither seen nor heard from Art.
Slowly, painfully, he turned his head toward the door and away from the light. He tried to remember if he’d heard the soft click of the lock after Art had so swiftly exited the room the previous day.
He could recall no such sound.
For the briefest of moments, he considered the idea of simply walking out the door.
He could run. He could hide. He could finally be free. Or . . . more likely . . . he could be caught. He could be punished. He could be killed.
Ryan closed his eyes and dropped his head
What was the point? Art would come for him. He would find him. He always did. Today would be no different.
Nothing in his whole life had been easy. Why would it? He didn’t deserve even the slightest bit of happiness.
A sudden noise outside the door brought him back into the present. He started. Listening carefully, he could discern a dull thick tread that seemed to coincide and merge with the flashing of the light.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four footsteps came closer to the door and each heavy thud echoed the pounding of his heart.
cocococococococococococococococo
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four quick thumps from the corner of the Country Club’s banquet hall.
Seth counted each time his knee bounced and collided with the underside of the table.
He counted because he was bored and had nothing better to do. This was the longest evening of his life and he just wanted to go home.
With an exaggerated roll of his head, he surveyed the other occupants of the table...correction, the kiddy table. A place to which he had been banished to long ago and had never managed to escape.
Staring back at him was a row of preteen boys, each at least two or three years younger than he. To make matters worse, they were all water-polo-playing-jerks-in-the-making. And they had the blatant nerve to be looking at him with a mixture aversion and disgust.
Adding insult to injury, one boy leaned over and stole his dessert. With false bravado, Seth scoffed at him and told the boy to go ahead and take it, he didn’t care. Adding that “the ladies” aren’t impressed by fat kids in a Speedo.
If only Ryan were here. He’d have someone to talk to and confide in.
If Ryan were here he’d graduate from the company of evil middle schoolers. They could sit together at an actual table with other teenagers. Teenagers who could drive, or at least ones who had their permission slips. Seth thought of how he would mock the jocks while Ryan sat beside him quietly laughing. Seth wouldn’t be afraid of them anymore. With Ryan around, no one would dare tease him or pee in his shoes. At long last, he would have an ally against the pod people of Newport.
Yes, if Ryan were here things would be different. Things would be better.
But Ryan wasn’t here.
He was alone.
So he counted some more.
As long as he was counting he could ignore the intense loneliness he felt. When his knee became sore, he bounced the other. When that one began to hurt, he counted the number of times he could tap his fingers in a single minute. Then he started counting the minutes, the seconds, the milliseconds until the blessed moment arrived; the moment when he could finally leave this prison disguised as a banquet hall, disguised as a Casino.
A noise floated across the room. It filled his ears with it’s sweet sound and for a moment it rescued him from his private hell.
It was a soft twinkling laughter. He knew exactly who it belonged to before he ever turned around. Summer was near. Quickly, so that no one would see him, he dared to take a forbidden longing glance over his shoulder. She was in the midst of a group of Harbor’s most elite young men.
The light from the spinning disco ball above shone around her, casting her in an angelic glow. His breath caught in his throat. Leaning her head back so that her long dark tresses danced upon her bare shoulders, she laughed once again. She reached out and playfully swatted the arm of one of her many admirers. The boy gave a wide, bright toothy grin, and looked triumphantly at his cohorts. Too preoccupied with how she so amply filled out the low neckline of her dress, none returned the smile.
Seth gazed at her for a just a second longer. Finally, knowing the fruitlessness of it all he sighed and dropped his head to rest on the table. He had no friend. He had no girlfriend. He was alone and he was pathetic.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four bangs of his head on the top of the table, each whack sending a sharp pain through his skull, echoing the stinging ache of loneliness in his heart.
ococococococococococococococococo
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four twists of Kirsten’s thumb and her platinum wedding band circled her finger.
For the past two hours, Kirsten had surrounded herself with the most Newpsiest of Newpsies, making the smallest of small talk.
She had pretended to listen as those around her prattled on about who was sleeping with whom, and who had just been nipped and tucked. But in reality she was twisting and counting.
She counted to help her get through yet another charity event that consisted mainly of malicious gossip. She counted to take her mind off her ever intensifying headache. She counted to forget the reason why she had the headache in the first place.
She glanced down at her finger and counted the motion once again.
Twisting her ring had been a nervous habit she had picked up when she had been a young girl attending Harbor, but back then it had been a boy’s class ring. She had received it when she was fifteen, almost sixteen. She allowed herself a slight smile at the memory. The boy had been close to her age, only a few months older, and from one of Newport’s finest families. They spent their remaining years of high school as Harbor’s most perfect couple. Even her father had approved of him.
Her expression soured. Still furious with him, she had successfully avoided her father all evening. It hadn’t been a difficult task. It was one of the reasons she now stood in the midst of the Newpsies. He hated the women almost as much as he hated cilantro and colored lights.
Pushing thoughts of her father from her mind, Kirsten allowed herself to wander back in time once again.
It was the boy who had first noticed her new mannerism. They had been studying for mid-terms and he caught her counting softy to herself while the ring snaked her finger. She hadn’t even realized she had been doing it until he had pointed it out. He had teased her only that one time. It embarrassed her. She supposed it was because she knew her father would disapprove, thinking it a sign of weakness.
Her father. What was it about him that managed to reduce her back to that same fifteen year old girl? She shook her head as if it were possible to physically remove him from her subconscious.
She returned to reminiscing. The boy had dark blond shaggy hair. As far as high school boys went, he wasn’t very tall. Standing just shy of two inches over her. She stopped. She could have been describing....her stomach knotted....Ryan.
Ryan.
Where was he? Was he all right? Would they ever find him? She knew the answer to the second and feared the third. A week was a long time to be missing. He could be lost from them forever.
Suddenly, she had to know where Seth was. She needed to see for herself that he was here, close to her. She needed the reassurance that she had managed to keep at least one boy safe this evening. As if by instinct, her eyes were instantly drawn to him. He was alone, sitting at a corner table, rubbing his forehead, looking absolutely miserable.
For the life of her, she couldn’t remember why it had seemed so important to attend yet another inane Newport function. She wanted nothing more in this world than to go home.
Home...with her family of three...soon to be four...hopefully.
A questioning voice, laced with annoyance called her name and broke her into her thoughts. Stealing her concentration. She looked up seeing the beautiful faces of her peers.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four sets of eyes stared at her, each pair perfect without flaw or wrinkles. But looking into them Kirsten could see that they were hollow. That there was something missing, that echoed the emptiness in her heart.
ococococococococococococococococo
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four circular massaging motions, fingers firmly planted in his temple.
Sandy rubbed his forehead once again, hoping to relieve the pain in his head.
It didn’t work.
He reached down and picked up his drink from the bar. With a quick turn of his wrist, he stirred the drink, watching as the ice clinked against the side of the glass and mixed with the alcohol making a miniature whirlpool.
He stared into the glass until it stilled. Slowly, he raised it to his lips and drained its contents. With a soft clunk, the glass found a spot on the bar. It was where three previous drinks had also met their final resting place.
Two hours. Four drinks. Not that he was counting.
The bartender motioned to the empty glass, asking him if he’d like another. Sandy gave the man a curt shake of his head. Opening his wallet, he threw the remaining bills on the countertop.
He didn’t count them either.
There was no need.
He was rich.
He looked around the room. They were all rich. And it didn’t do anyone one damn bit of good. He couldn’t keep the bitterness and disdain from his thoughts.
Everyone there was miserable in one way or another and he was no exception.
There had been times throughout his marriage to Kirsten that he felt like a hypocrite. He was so quick to look down upon Newport’s elite and insult all that they held dear. But yet he drove a BMW and lived in a McMansion that his wife’s father built for them.
He tried to justify his life, by thinking of all the good he did by working at the P.D.’s office. He had told himself that as long as he still worked there, he hadn’t sold out. Not really. But his belief had been tested and his opinion had changed this past week after Ryan.
His stomach knotted at the thought of the boy. The chances of finding him were becoming bleaker with each passing day.
He sighed rubbed his forehead once again and searched the room for his family. He had to restrain himself from grabbing them and running for the door. But he had promised Kirsten.
Two hours down, one to go. And he was counting every second.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four rings of his cell phone, each ring and vibration echoing the racing of his heart.
tbc
Author’s note: Okay, so a lot of you are probably thinking What the....? ? It took her almost four months to write this To be honest, this isn’t the chapter I had planned on writing. I had planned on a real chapter with dialogue, action, and events that would actually move the plot along. Sorry, didn’t happen. I promise these things will take place next chapter. I have it all planned out in my little tiny brain. Until then thank you for your continuing support and patience with this story. And because you all have been so nice to me, I thought that I’d treat this like a real episode of The O.C. Meaning that there should be a teaser at the end.
So imagine if you will.....
Next time on Twist of Fate:
-Art kicks the door to Ryan’s room open. You’re looking up at him as if seeing him from Ryan’s viewpoint on the floor. The room is darkly lit and Art stands in the open door, filling it’s frame with his massive bulk, an ominous light shines around him.
-Ryan driving and old black utility van, seemingly alone. He approaches the gated entrance. The security guard waves him on.
-Sandy bursting through the front door of the house, calling out Ryan’s name.
-Police sirens sound in the distance. Cut to a shot of a handgun. An unidentified hand is wrapped around the barrel. It’s finger resting on the trigger.
-Fade to black.
Ratings/Warnings: No warnings
Beta: loracj2. Much thanks to her as always. She had a very good and valid suggestion that could have made this a better chapter. However, I have my limitations and I just couldn’t make it work. Perhaps, if I ever got any sleep....but I digress. Anyway, through no fault of her own, you are stuck with my inferior version of the chapter. I did a LOT of tinkering after she sent it back. I should have had her take another look, but like the last chapter I’m sick of this one, too. So all grammatical errors are mine and mine alone.
Special Thank You: I need to give special thanks and hugs to willwork4dean, and especially fredsmith518. Without them the last couple of paragraphs from Ryan’s point of view would have just plain stunk.
More hugs and thanks to themus_revenge. She read through this for me and petted my ego. Without her support, I would have deleted this whole chapter and started anew.
Disclaimers: I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine.
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
Twist of Fate: Chapter 17
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four flashes of the hotel vacancy sign across the street.
Ryan had managed to scrape away a large portion of the black paint that covered the window. His nails were now ragged and filthy and his fingers raw, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t feel them. He couldn’t feel much of anything any more...or at least he tried not to.
As the blinking message filled the room with a sickly neon glow, Ryan gazed out the window with glassy unfocused eyes. He counted to pass the time and fill the long hours. He counted so he wouldn’t have to think about his fever or how every movement he made caused his joints to cry out in pain. He counted so he wouldn’t have to think. He counted to forget.
Only it didn’t work.
No matter how many times the light flashed. No matter how high he counted. He couldn’t forget his betrayal of the Cohens.
But he still tried.
So he continued to stare out the window and count.
From his self-made rat-hole, Ryan had watched the sun set, rise and now . . . set once again. During all that time, he had neither seen nor heard from Art.
Slowly, painfully, he turned his head toward the door and away from the light. He tried to remember if he’d heard the soft click of the lock after Art had so swiftly exited the room the previous day.
He could recall no such sound.
For the briefest of moments, he considered the idea of simply walking out the door.
He could run. He could hide. He could finally be free. Or . . . more likely . . . he could be caught. He could be punished. He could be killed.
Ryan closed his eyes and dropped his head
What was the point? Art would come for him. He would find him. He always did. Today would be no different.
Nothing in his whole life had been easy. Why would it? He didn’t deserve even the slightest bit of happiness.
A sudden noise outside the door brought him back into the present. He started. Listening carefully, he could discern a dull thick tread that seemed to coincide and merge with the flashing of the light.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four footsteps came closer to the door and each heavy thud echoed the pounding of his heart.
cocococococococococococococococo
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four quick thumps from the corner of the Country Club’s banquet hall.
Seth counted each time his knee bounced and collided with the underside of the table.
He counted because he was bored and had nothing better to do. This was the longest evening of his life and he just wanted to go home.
With an exaggerated roll of his head, he surveyed the other occupants of the table...correction, the kiddy table. A place to which he had been banished to long ago and had never managed to escape.
Staring back at him was a row of preteen boys, each at least two or three years younger than he. To make matters worse, they were all water-polo-playing-jerks-in-the-making. And they had the blatant nerve to be looking at him with a mixture aversion and disgust.
Adding insult to injury, one boy leaned over and stole his dessert. With false bravado, Seth scoffed at him and told the boy to go ahead and take it, he didn’t care. Adding that “the ladies” aren’t impressed by fat kids in a Speedo.
If only Ryan were here. He’d have someone to talk to and confide in.
If Ryan were here he’d graduate from the company of evil middle schoolers. They could sit together at an actual table with other teenagers. Teenagers who could drive, or at least ones who had their permission slips. Seth thought of how he would mock the jocks while Ryan sat beside him quietly laughing. Seth wouldn’t be afraid of them anymore. With Ryan around, no one would dare tease him or pee in his shoes. At long last, he would have an ally against the pod people of Newport.
Yes, if Ryan were here things would be different. Things would be better.
But Ryan wasn’t here.
He was alone.
So he counted some more.
As long as he was counting he could ignore the intense loneliness he felt. When his knee became sore, he bounced the other. When that one began to hurt, he counted the number of times he could tap his fingers in a single minute. Then he started counting the minutes, the seconds, the milliseconds until the blessed moment arrived; the moment when he could finally leave this prison disguised as a banquet hall, disguised as a Casino.
A noise floated across the room. It filled his ears with it’s sweet sound and for a moment it rescued him from his private hell.
It was a soft twinkling laughter. He knew exactly who it belonged to before he ever turned around. Summer was near. Quickly, so that no one would see him, he dared to take a forbidden longing glance over his shoulder. She was in the midst of a group of Harbor’s most elite young men.
The light from the spinning disco ball above shone around her, casting her in an angelic glow. His breath caught in his throat. Leaning her head back so that her long dark tresses danced upon her bare shoulders, she laughed once again. She reached out and playfully swatted the arm of one of her many admirers. The boy gave a wide, bright toothy grin, and looked triumphantly at his cohorts. Too preoccupied with how she so amply filled out the low neckline of her dress, none returned the smile.
Seth gazed at her for a just a second longer. Finally, knowing the fruitlessness of it all he sighed and dropped his head to rest on the table. He had no friend. He had no girlfriend. He was alone and he was pathetic.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four bangs of his head on the top of the table, each whack sending a sharp pain through his skull, echoing the stinging ache of loneliness in his heart.
ococococococococococococococococo
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four twists of Kirsten’s thumb and her platinum wedding band circled her finger.
For the past two hours, Kirsten had surrounded herself with the most Newpsiest of Newpsies, making the smallest of small talk.
She had pretended to listen as those around her prattled on about who was sleeping with whom, and who had just been nipped and tucked. But in reality she was twisting and counting.
She counted to help her get through yet another charity event that consisted mainly of malicious gossip. She counted to take her mind off her ever intensifying headache. She counted to forget the reason why she had the headache in the first place.
She glanced down at her finger and counted the motion once again.
Twisting her ring had been a nervous habit she had picked up when she had been a young girl attending Harbor, but back then it had been a boy’s class ring. She had received it when she was fifteen, almost sixteen. She allowed herself a slight smile at the memory. The boy had been close to her age, only a few months older, and from one of Newport’s finest families. They spent their remaining years of high school as Harbor’s most perfect couple. Even her father had approved of him.
Her expression soured. Still furious with him, she had successfully avoided her father all evening. It hadn’t been a difficult task. It was one of the reasons she now stood in the midst of the Newpsies. He hated the women almost as much as he hated cilantro and colored lights.
Pushing thoughts of her father from her mind, Kirsten allowed herself to wander back in time once again.
It was the boy who had first noticed her new mannerism. They had been studying for mid-terms and he caught her counting softy to herself while the ring snaked her finger. She hadn’t even realized she had been doing it until he had pointed it out. He had teased her only that one time. It embarrassed her. She supposed it was because she knew her father would disapprove, thinking it a sign of weakness.
Her father. What was it about him that managed to reduce her back to that same fifteen year old girl? She shook her head as if it were possible to physically remove him from her subconscious.
She returned to reminiscing. The boy had dark blond shaggy hair. As far as high school boys went, he wasn’t very tall. Standing just shy of two inches over her. She stopped. She could have been describing....her stomach knotted....Ryan.
Ryan.
Where was he? Was he all right? Would they ever find him? She knew the answer to the second and feared the third. A week was a long time to be missing. He could be lost from them forever.
Suddenly, she had to know where Seth was. She needed to see for herself that he was here, close to her. She needed the reassurance that she had managed to keep at least one boy safe this evening. As if by instinct, her eyes were instantly drawn to him. He was alone, sitting at a corner table, rubbing his forehead, looking absolutely miserable.
For the life of her, she couldn’t remember why it had seemed so important to attend yet another inane Newport function. She wanted nothing more in this world than to go home.
Home...with her family of three...soon to be four...hopefully.
A questioning voice, laced with annoyance called her name and broke her into her thoughts. Stealing her concentration. She looked up seeing the beautiful faces of her peers.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four sets of eyes stared at her, each pair perfect without flaw or wrinkles. But looking into them Kirsten could see that they were hollow. That there was something missing, that echoed the emptiness in her heart.
ococococococococococococococococo
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four circular massaging motions, fingers firmly planted in his temple.
Sandy rubbed his forehead once again, hoping to relieve the pain in his head.
It didn’t work.
He reached down and picked up his drink from the bar. With a quick turn of his wrist, he stirred the drink, watching as the ice clinked against the side of the glass and mixed with the alcohol making a miniature whirlpool.
He stared into the glass until it stilled. Slowly, he raised it to his lips and drained its contents. With a soft clunk, the glass found a spot on the bar. It was where three previous drinks had also met their final resting place.
Two hours. Four drinks. Not that he was counting.
The bartender motioned to the empty glass, asking him if he’d like another. Sandy gave the man a curt shake of his head. Opening his wallet, he threw the remaining bills on the countertop.
He didn’t count them either.
There was no need.
He was rich.
He looked around the room. They were all rich. And it didn’t do anyone one damn bit of good. He couldn’t keep the bitterness and disdain from his thoughts.
Everyone there was miserable in one way or another and he was no exception.
There had been times throughout his marriage to Kirsten that he felt like a hypocrite. He was so quick to look down upon Newport’s elite and insult all that they held dear. But yet he drove a BMW and lived in a McMansion that his wife’s father built for them.
He tried to justify his life, by thinking of all the good he did by working at the P.D.’s office. He had told himself that as long as he still worked there, he hadn’t sold out. Not really. But his belief had been tested and his opinion had changed this past week after Ryan.
His stomach knotted at the thought of the boy. The chances of finding him were becoming bleaker with each passing day.
He sighed rubbed his forehead once again and searched the room for his family. He had to restrain himself from grabbing them and running for the door. But he had promised Kirsten.
Two hours down, one to go. And he was counting every second.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four
Four rings of his cell phone, each ring and vibration echoing the racing of his heart.
tbc
Author’s note: Okay, so a lot of you are probably thinking What the....? ? It took her almost four months to write this To be honest, this isn’t the chapter I had planned on writing. I had planned on a real chapter with dialogue, action, and events that would actually move the plot along. Sorry, didn’t happen. I promise these things will take place next chapter. I have it all planned out in my little tiny brain. Until then thank you for your continuing support and patience with this story. And because you all have been so nice to me, I thought that I’d treat this like a real episode of The O.C. Meaning that there should be a teaser at the end.
So imagine if you will.....
Next time on Twist of Fate:
-Art kicks the door to Ryan’s room open. You’re looking up at him as if seeing him from Ryan’s viewpoint on the floor. The room is darkly lit and Art stands in the open door, filling it’s frame with his massive bulk, an ominous light shines around him.
-Ryan driving and old black utility van, seemingly alone. He approaches the gated entrance. The security guard waves him on.
-Sandy bursting through the front door of the house, calling out Ryan’s name.
-Police sirens sound in the distance. Cut to a shot of a handgun. An unidentified hand is wrapped around the barrel. It’s finger resting on the trigger.
-Fade to black.