Best Forgotten, Part 25

[chazper]

Almost there, I swear! But I (pant) couldn't quite (puff) make the finish line this month. I couldn't hurdle that damned writer's block. Who put it there anyway?

Disclaimer 1: The characters, as always, as ever, belong to Josh & company.

Disclaimer 2: This update may be riddled with errors. I refuse to proof/revise it because I'm afraid if I do I'll just toss the whole thing in the trash. But I promised not to Dawn this story, so . . .

Best Forgotten Part 25 *blushes* That's right. 25


“You! Orderly!” a voice barked.

Felix felt the words buffet his back. They clearly commanded him to stop, but without looking, he recognized the speaker-Mr. Nichol, “Brandon McConnell’s” supposed guardian--so he did not even pause. Instead Felix continued walking down the hall, his posture relaxed, his pace deliberately unhurried.

His brow, though, furrowed uneasily.

He had done what he could to fulfill his promise to Lucy-pushing his way to Ryan’s bedside, trying to sooth the blindly thrashing boy-but the whole experience troubled him. When Felix had bent over Ryan to deliver Lucy’s message, the boy’s half-open eyes had stared past him, blank and bottomless, and he had looked exactly like what Dr. Keller diagnosed him to be: the clinic’s worst case-frenzied and demented, less a whole person than a body containing broken pieces of a mind. Felix had felt a moment of doubt. Even if the boy wasn’t Brandon McConnell, even if nothing they had been told about him was true, perhaps the teenager in the bed, his mind and body both battered by drugs and isolation, had been irredeemably damaged.

Perhaps Ryan Atwood was already lost.

But then Felix murmured Lucy’s message, and it seemed to him that the boy’s face changed. A light flashed behind his eyes and for a moment they focused, lucid and intent, as if something deep inside him wanted to respond.

Certainly his body reacted. First he lay still, seeming to listen, and then he jerked into fury of movement-fighting, just as Felix had urged.

As if he had heard, maybe even understood.

Or . . . maybe not, Felix thought. Perhaps Ryan was simply convulsing again, and he had just imagined that flicker of comprehension.

It was so hard to be sure what reality, if any, the boy could grasp now.

Felix sighed and increased his pace. Either way, he reminded himself, Lucy was waiting. He had to hurry and let her in.

Mr. Nichol issued a louder, more irritated command. “Orderly, stop!” he snapped. “Now!”

Lost in thought, Felix scarcely heard the words, but a different voice finally penetrated his preoccupation.

“Felix!” Dr. Keller called, halting him just as he reached the stairs. “Where are you going? I need you here.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Felix turned around. He fumbled for an excuse, simultaneously composing his expression as he returned. “Sorry, Doctor,” he said. “Just thought I had time for a quick bathroom break.”

Dr. Keller waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t,” he said. “I need you to assist with the patient. We’re moving Brandon McConnell to the operating room.”

“Now?” Felix asked. He shook his head, startled. “But I was just with him. I thought--”

“Now,” Dr. Keller cut in curtly. He appeared tense and distracted, not even glancing at Felix as he spoke. A muscle in his jaw pulsed, and his fingers worked unconsciously, weaving around each other as if rehearsing some tiny, precise surgical move.

Automatically, Felix’s gaze darted to the two men next to him. The one he recognized from outside the clinic stood immobile, even bored, staring over his head, but Caleb Nichol returned Felix’s glare coolly. In contrast to the doctor, he appeared completely relaxed, and a satisfied smile played in the grim line of his lips. It only wavered when Felix turned back to Dr. Keller and demanded, “Shouldn’t the boy’s family be here? Do they know you’re going to operate now?”

He wasn’t sure what prompted the questions, but for just a moment, Mr. Nichol’s face clouded. Felix saw a faint shadow of doubt drift across his eyes. Then, as if a lock snapped shut, they cleared, blazing a sharp steel-gray again. “That’s hardly your concern, is it?” Caleb retorted, before Dr. Keller could reply. He inclined his head, and his assistant stepped aside, pointedly clearing the space in front of Ryan’s room. A contemptuous half-smile returned to Mr. Nichol’s face. “I believe you have your instructions--?” he said.

Felix sucked in a defiant breath, his fists clenching. He still didn’t move, but beside him Dr. Keller looked up, roused from his mental preparations. He gave a terse, decisive nod. “Now, orderly,” he demanded.

Without waiting for a response he strode down the corridor toward the surgery prep area. At the last minute he shot peered back, commanding, and Felix, resigned, turned and shouldered his way past Caleb Nichol into Ryan’s room. He took brief satisfaction in the man’s disgruntled huff, but it did not change the fact that Felix knew he had to deliver Ryan to surgery.

Now.

Before he’d gotten Lucy into the building.

Before the boy’s family had arrived.

For a long moment, Felix lingered, holding the door half open, staring at the patient inside that antiseptic room. Brandon-Ryan-looked different than he had just minutes ago. His features slack now, his eyes closed, he lay flat and uncannily still-as if, Felix thought, that sputtering light inside the boy had been extinguished. Along with his spirit.

Sighing heavily, Felix dropped his hand and let the door swing shut behind him. Just before it closed completely, Mr. Nichol’s voice cut through the air again.

“Finally!” he declared with icy triumphant. “All right, Grady, let’s see if we can find somewhere civilized where we can wait . . . The chairs in this place are damned uncomfortable.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know,” Seth declared glumly as he stared out the car window, “this trip is totally killing my enthusiasm for Mexico. It’s going to put a serious damper on the whole TJ experience.”

The abrupt announcement startled everyone, including Seth himself. His eyes widened in surprise at the sound of his own voice. Sandy and Kirsten both glanced back sharply, and even Charlie peered up from her computer, confused.

“TJ? What are you talking about, Seth?” Sandy demanded.

Shifting awkwardly, Seth fished for a reply.

What was he talking about anyway?

For several minutes, he had sat mute in the back seat, his gaze darting from the back of his father’s head to his mother’s profile, both of them frozen between fear and anguish. Nobody spoke. They just sat, focusing on the silence emanating from Sandy’s phone, hoping for some word from Lucy, some clue about what was happening at the clinic. None came, and the strain of waiting grew unbearable. It moved through the car like a vacuum, sucking up the air, filling the space with an empty soundless roar.

Twice Seth had opened his mouth, desperate to break the tension, only to clamp his lips shut again.

Words almost never failed him but for once Seth could not think of one thing to say. Every harmless subject that occurred to him sounded ridiculous.

Social commentary in graphic novels?

The artistic value of Japanese anime?

Indie-rock music versus Broadway show tunes?

No, no, and also no.

Frustrated, Seth placed the phone in his cup holder. He stared at it, unconsciously thumbing his window control, pushing it back and forth and making his window roll down an inch and then up again, over and over, so that outside noises spilled in like radio station static. His parents did not seem to notice, but Seth intercepted a compassionate smile from Charlie. Embarrassed, he closed the window one last time, leaned against it, and stared out at an endless stretch of dusty sunshine. That was when, without thinking at all, he blurted out his random comment about Tijuana.

Now, awkward and uncertain, Seth tried to explain.

“It’s just, okay, I had this plan,” he stammered. “See, at the end of the summer, pretty much everybody from Harbor goes down to TJ for a weekend. Just to party and you know, hang out, have a good time, dance--”

“Drink and carouse,” Sandy interjected dryly.

Seth sketched a small, sheepish grin. “Maybe that too, a little,” he conceded. “Although carouse, Dad? Who says that anymore? Besides you, obviously. Anyway, the trip is just a final chance to blow off some steam before school starts and we have to conjugate French verbs and analyze obscure poetry again. It’s just . . . fun. I’ve always wanted to go, but up till now . . . ” His voice thinned, and a thread of remembered loneliness ran through it. “A guy kind of needs a wingman, you know,” he mumbled. “And I never had one. But this year Ryan would be there so I figured--”

“What?” Kirsten demanded sharply. “You figured your father and I would let you boys go to Mexico on your own?”

Seth blinked and jerked upright, alerted by an unexpected note in his mother’s tone. She sounded upset, but upset in a way that Seth recognized. This was standard-issue Kirsten Cohen maternal response: familiar, almost comforting Mama Bear-type, anger-slash-disapproval over-protectiveness. He flushed, feeling a rush of triumph.

His unintentional mention of Tijuana had worked.

For a moment, at least, Seth had pulled his mother out of despair. Talking about TJ inspired less threatening emotions. It reminded them all of their normal lives.

Replaced the life-or-death tension with something more ordinary, more manageable.

Seth caught his father’s eye in the rearview mirror. Sandy’s eyebrows climbed, disappearing into his dark hair, and the strain in his face began to ease. He had noticed the change too, and his expression telegraphed a clear message to his son: keep the conversation alive. And keep it as ordinary as possible.

“Answer your mother, Seth,” he prompted. “Did you seriously think we’d approve you guys going for a wild, unsupervised weekend in a foreign country?”

Seth leaned forward, doodling invisibly on the back of Sandy’s seat. “Um, no,” he hedged. “Probably not, if I put it to you that way.”

“And exactly how did you intend to put it?”

“Well . . .”

Seth poked the upholstery harder, unable to produce an instant cover story yet instinctively reluctant to resort to the truth.

But why not? he chided himself. We’re never going to need the plan now. Once we finally get Ryan home, it’s not as if any of us will want to go back to Mexico.

He stopped himself from thinking “if we get Ryan home.”

“You see,” he began, deliberately rambling, “ as it happens, the trip to TJ is the same weekend as Comic Con-a trip you already approved, by the way-so I kind of thought Ryan and I might just, oh, take a little detour. Instead of stopping in San Diego,--”

“Seth Ezekiel Cohen! You lied to us about where you were going!” Kirsten exclaimed.

“Lie is a such an ugly word, Mom,” Seth protested. He offered his mother his most ingenuous grin. “I prefer to think of it as a fib. Or a fiction-you know, just a harmless, slightly less than factual, creative writing approach to the truth.”

“Harmless,” Sandy repeated ironically. “Right. And tell me son, was Ryan going along with this creative writing request of yours?”

Seth shrugged, and managed another weak smile. “Well, to be honest--”

“For a change.”

“Dad! Anyway, to be honest, I hadn’t run everything past Ryan yet. He’s not really big on the secret-plan-deceive-the-‘rents system and I kind of wanted the whole business with Donnie to die down first.” Seth stopped abruptly and his gaze fell. He hadn’t meant to mention Donnie. The name just slipped out, dragging painful memories with it. Staring down at his sneakers, Seth bit his lip. “That wasn’t his fault you know-Ryan’s, I mean,” he mumbled, his voice curdled with emotion. “I’m the one who thought it would be cool to hang out with Donnie. Ryan warned me about him, but I went ahead anyway and you know, everything that happened at the party-the gun and then Luke getting shot-Ryan was only involved because I called him, and he came to get me out of there. He tried to stop Donnie . . .”

Kirsten reached back to pat his knee. “Your father and I know that, Seth.”

Seth nodded bleakly, but he didn’t look up to meet his mother’s eyes. “I know you do-at least I know you do now-but I’m not sure Ryan does.” Swallowing hard he retrieved Sandy’s phone, holding it carefully, willing it to life, but its silence persisted, an ominous undercurrent to all their conversation. “I think,” Seth continued with an effort, “ . . . he keeps expecting you to believe the worst, just to give up on him if anything goes wrong. Even if it’s not his fault. At the hospital that night, while we were waiting for you guys, he was sure you’d send him away. Ryan said he was so gone . . .”

Seth stopped again. That was another thing he had not meant to say.

Gone.

Ryan.

He was so gone.

The phrase hung in the air like a balloon, over-inflated and filled with toxic gas. It was deadly. Seth knew it. Slumping back, he held his breath and waited for the poison to escape.

One second passed, and then two.

In the quiet all the Cohens could hear it clearly-the stubborn silence of Sandy’s phone, still cradled in loosely Seth’s hand.

“Disneyland!” Sandy blurted. He pounded the steering wheel with his palm, shooting a swift smile toward his wife and son, and snatching it back before they could sense its desperation.

His outburst was so abrupt, so wildly unexpected, that Seth jerked up and Kirsten spun around to face her husband.

“Sandy?” she demanded as Seth spluttered, “Wait, what now? Say again, Dad? Disneyland?”

Their voices, tangled in confusion, obliterated the echo of Seth’s last words. The air in the car slowly cleared again.

“You guys will not be going to Tijuana or to Comic Con,” Sandy explained. He swerved deftly into the left lane to pass the slow-moving bus in front of them. “And you definitely will not be going to Tijuana by way of Comic Con. Instead I’ve decided we’ll go somewhere together. All of us. We’re going to take a fun-filled family vacation to Disneyland.”

Seth’s forehead puckered beneath his matted curls. “Okay Dad, A, Ryan and I are not seven years old, and B, may I remind you what happened when I was seven years old? Disneyland was not exactly the happiest place on earth.”

“Oh sweetie,” Kirsten murmured. A wistful smile curved the corners of her mouth. “We had no idea you’d be afraid to meet Mickey, or that the ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ ride would scare you. You had been a pirate for Halloween. We thought you’d enjoy it.”

“Well, I didn’t. It was dark and long and claustraphobic and yo-horrible. Finding out I hate pirates should have warned me what a nightmare Harbor would turn out to be. Also, Mickey? Is a ginormous, manically smiling rodent. Any sane child would run screaming, Mom.”

“But you always like to watch him on TV.”

“On TV, he’s three inches tall, Mom. He’s two dimensional and safely trapped behind the screen. In person, wrapping those big gloved arms around you-and why is he wearing gloves anyway?” Seth shuddered. “Never mind. And I’m not even going to discuss ‘It’s a Small World,’ and its inane, endless song. Or the Mad Tea Party--”

Sandy held up his hand. “I promise we won’t make you go on the teacups again, Seth. Trust me, none of us want a repeat performance of that. In fact, maybe we should skip Fantasyland altogether. It might be a little young for you and Ryan. But we can check out the areas we missed before. Your mom and I always meant to take you back again. We just never got around to it. But better late than never, right?”

“Better never than late, Dad,” Seth countered. His hand slid, loose and sweaty, around his father’s phone, and he checked to make sure it was still safe in his grasp.

It was still there. But when Seth glanced down, no reassuring light winked back at him. The display screen was totally dark. Seth blinked hard and stared down again. His eyes widened with panic, and he jiggled the phone furtively, then pressed the on button, jabbing it again and again, trying to bring the device back to life again.

He couldn’t. Sometime--he had no idea when--the battery had died.

No wonder they had heard no word from Lucy.

Seth stifled a silent moan. He felt the way he had once when the Summer Breeze had capsized, trapping him briefly under its hull. His lungs burned, airless, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest. Sandy’s voice receded into a distant drone. All Seth could hear was his mother saying “Don’t lose the connection.”

But he had.

He had been given one job to do, one task that might help them save Ryan. And he had failed.

Desolate, Seth slumped down in his seat, still gripping the useless phone, wondering how to tell his parents that the phone was dead. It took him a moment to feel Charlie molding her hand gently over his fist.

“Not your fault, Seth” she mouthed when he finally glanced up. Then she lifted her chin, gesturing at Sandy who was still talking, oblivious. Seth swallowed hard, and she smiled, gently nudging him back into awareness.

He nodded slowly and took a deep breath. Okay, Cohen, he told himself. That much you can do: distract your mom with mindless chatter.

“-always kind of wanted to go to the Country Bear Jamboree,” his father was saying. “Of course I’d prefer it if they sang show tunes, but still, it sounds like fun, right Seth?”

Seth licked his dry lips. “Let’s see. Country? Bear? Jamboree? Yeah, dad, I can’t imagine enjoying an experience involving any of those words. Also? I admit we’ve never discussed it, but Ryan doesn’t seem like a bear or country or jamboree fan either.” The conversation was beginning to fray at the edges. Seth could feel himself straining to maintain their forced banter, but for his mother’s sake, he couldn’t let it unravel completely. Besides, he dreaded the laden quiet too. Especially now that he knew they would hear nothing from Lucy. Glancing over, met Seth met Charlie’s encouraging gaze, and cast about for something else to say. “Okay, here’s an idea,” he began, before he had any idea at all. “If we’re going to take a family vacation, how about, how about . . .? I’ve got it. Las Vegas! Seriously, guys, think about it. That’s practically a world tour in one stop. The Sphinx, showgirls, the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, showgirls, gondola rides. It would be a cultural experience. Plus, I hear there are showgirls.”

“Do you think Ryan has ever been there?” Kirsten asked abruptly. Her voice sounded distant and tight, wrapped around itself. She looked back at Seth, her eyes suspiciously moist. “Disneyland, I mean.”

Seth shook his head. “Yeah, since his childhood seems to have been pretty much all bruises and broken promises, I think that’s a safe bet no, Mom.”

“All the more reason that we should go,” Sandy insisted. His hands locked in a chokehold around the steering wheel, but his voice remained buoyant. “Every kid should have the theme park experience once. It will be fun, spending time together, relaxing, taking silly souvenir photos--

“Great,” Seth groaned. “I can see those pictures now. Me arm in arm with Goofy and Ryan surrounded by every single Disney princess. Nope. Not happening, Dad.”

Ignoring his son’s objections, Sandy continued blithely. “We could get a weekend pass and do the whole tourist bit. I’ll wear Bermuda shorts and sandals with socks, your mom can wear rhinestone sunglasses, and you guys can roll your eyes and pretend not to know us.”

“Yeah, no, Dad,” Seth said, wrinkling his nose. “I mean, I get the appeal of a family get-away, but somehow I just can’t picture Ryan strolling around the Magic Kingdom.”

Sandy’s tone changed. “But that’s the whole point, son,” he said gravely. “The kid could use some magic. We all could.” Reaching over, he clasped Kirsten’s hand. She answered the gesture with a faint, wistful smile.

“Yes, we could,” she whispered. “I think Disneyland is a wonderful idea, sweetheart.”

Sandy nodded. Then he glanced back at Charlie, who had followed the conversation in silence, her face flushed with sympathy. “What do you say, Charlie? Want to be an honorary Cohen for a couple days and come with us? The men in the family outnumber Kirsten three to one. She’d probably appreciate some female companionship.”

Taking a deep breath, Kirsten rallied, trying to keep up the charade of normalcy. “Definitely, Charlie. You should come along,” she urged.

“Sounds like fun. I haven’t been to Disneyland since--” Charlie’s voice broke off abruptly, then rose again, vibrating with excitement. “Sandy! Take the first right around the curve. That’s the entrance to the clinic. We’re there.”

She no sooner spoke than Sandy hit the horn and accelerated, wheeling through the turn in a tornado of dust. An instant later they could all see it.

The Santa Clara Clinic, looming bleached and innocuous in the late day sun.

They had arrived.

And this time they knew Ryan was inside.

But they had no idea exactly where to find him.

And they had no clue what was happening to him within those opaque white walls.

TBC