Best Forgotten: A fic for Brandy (pt. 2)

[chazper]

I don't know if anybody is in the mood for fic, especially this bizarre one, but this update is done so . . .

For you again, brandy. I hope you feel better.

Also again, the standard disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. They still belong to Josh--well, except the obviously AU ones, that is.

Best Forgotten, Part 2

Flashback: Three days earlier

“It just doesn’t make any sense, Dad.”

Caleb shrugged away his daughter’s concern. He took a leisurely sip of his iced tea before replying. “It makes perfect sense,” he said coolly. “He ran away once before. He’s done it again. I fail to understand why you’re so upset, Kiki. Sanford-well, of course he’d react strongly; this boy was his pet project, and I know Seth latched onto him. But you . . . I thought you at least would have realized that something like this was inevitable.”

“Ryan is nobody’s pet project, Dad,” Kirsten snapped. She turned from the window, where she had been staring out at the pool house and leaned wearily against the sink. Without realizing it, she began to twist her rings. “And yes, I admit I had doubts about him when Sandy first brought him home, but since then I’ve gotten to know him better. We made Ryan part of our family--”

“Please!” Caleb scoffed. “The boy has been here what, a couple of months? How well could you know him, really?” He waved a dismissive hand, preempting Kirsten’s argument. “And don’t bring up that nonsense about family. Ryan was staying in your house, living off your generosity-and mine-that’s all. I think his note makes that very clear.”

Kirsten shook her head. “No,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t just leave.”

Only a fleeting grimace betrayed Caleb’s irritation. When he spoke, his tone remained dispassionate. “It appears that he did. Face it, Kiki: the boy has been nothing but trouble since he arrived. Obviously he realized that staying here would only--”

“Mom?”

The front door slammed, and footsteps echoed from the foyer.

“They’re back!” Kirsten exclaimed. Almost knocking over his drink, she pushed past her father to greet Sandy and Seth. Their faces, glum and defeated, answered her question before she could even ask. “You didn’t find him,” she concluded flatly.

Sandy dropped his car keys on the counter. “No,” he admitted grimly. He raked his hair off his forehead. “We talked to everyone at the Crab Shack, we checked with people at the pier and the diner-everywhere the boys hung out. Seth called Marissa, Summer, even Luke. We showed Ryan’s picture at the bus station--”

“And then we drove to Chino,” Seth added. “Which, by the way, is a place you run from, not to.” He collapsed onto a stool. Unconsciously mimicking his father, he ran a hand through his matted curls. “Nobody has seen Ryan. Nobody’s even heard from him . . . He didn’t call here either, right?”

Kirsten didn’t answer. Her lips crimping, she simply rubbed her son’s back.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Frowning to himself, Seth pulled Ryan’s note out of his pocket and unfolded it. The creases were already starting to separate, and the edges of the paper showed faint indentations from frequent handling. “Okay, I’ve been rereading this,” he said. “And something is off here. Listen.”

“We’ve all read the note, Seth,” Caleb observed caustically. He set his glass down so hard that the ice inside ground together like gnashing teeth. “We know what it says.”

“Yeah, but just listen,” Seth insisted. Edging away from his grandfather, he began to read slowly and deliberately: ‘To the Cohens. I’ve thought about it and I decided that I don’t belong in Newport. Messing things up with Marissa Cooper tonight made me realize that things here would never work out. It’s too hard pretending to be something I’m not. By now you probably realize the kind of person I really am. You tried your best, but the fact is you just can’t change people, so I’m going to find some place where I can be myself. Ryan.”

Sandy’s brows furrowed as he pondered the message, and Kirsten tilted her head, considering every word. Faintly alarmed Caleb got up, emptied his glass and then refilled it with fresh ice tea. A few drops sloshed over the side. They spotted his impeccable cuffs, but he didn’t appear to notice.

“Well,” he said, “that sounds like an unequivocal statement to me. The boy obviously knows that he’s out of place here. I think, Sanford, that you and Kiki should just--”

“It’s too long,” Seth blurted.

“I was speaking young man!”

Ignoring his grandfather, Seth addressed his parents. His voice sounded oddly adult and earnest. “There are too many words. I mean for Ryan. And the way they’re written-seriously, Dad, Mom, come on. Think about it,” he urged. ‘Marissa Cooper’? Not just ‘Marissa”? Who uses both names like that? And ‘pretending to be something I’m not?’ ‘Find some place where I can be myself’? ‘You tried, but you can’t change people’? Okay, that? Is not Ryan Atwood-speak. It’s like, I don’t know, soap opera dialogue, or lines from a really, really bad Dr. Phil.”

Sandy reached for the note. “You’re right,” he said slowly. The crease between his brows deepened as he scanned the message. “This really doesn’t sound like Ryan.”

“Exactly!” Seth jumped to his feet, his curls bobbing empathic agreement. “He’d write something all short and cryptic like ‘Sorry, but I had to leave.’ Not all this confessional tripe.”

“Now wait one minute, Seth.” Caleb summoned his familiar snort of derision. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that your friend didn’t write the note. Because that’s ridi--”

“Plus, it’s typed! Ryan types, like ten words a minute, so why wouldn’t he just write? It would be faster.” Caleb’s mouth snapped open to protest, but Seth rushed on before he got the chance. “And something else I just remembered. The pool house this morning? Did you guys notice when we went to check? Ryan’s bed wasn’t made.”

Kirsten’s gaze flitted to the window. “That’s true,” she murmured thoughtfully.

“What are you talking about, ‘the bed wasn’t made’?” Unconsciously, Caleb crumpled his napkin, wadding the fabric tight in his fist. “I fail to see the significance.”

“Because, Dad, you don’t know Ryan. He always makes his bed. Rosa even jokes about how neat he keeps his room.”

“But the boy was running away, Kiki. I doubt that he would stop to make his bed.”

“He did last time!” Seth recalled. “Remember, Dad? When Ryan took off before, it was like he’d never even been in the pool house. He left the whole place--”

“Spotless,” Sandy concluded tersely. “But not this time. It doesn’t make sense.” He studied the note in his hand again, as if searching it for a secret message. “Ryan’s habits wouldn’t suddenly change like that.”

Kirsten moved over to stand next to him. Automatically, he slid an arm around her shoulders and she nestled closer. “None of it make sense, sweetheart,” she sighed. “I told Dad. I thought Ryan was settling in with us. Why would he leave now? I know he seemed upset after Marissa left the party last night, but still . . .”

“Ryan would not take off because of Marissa. Cooper.” Seth shook his head emphatically. “There’s something, I don’t know, off about all of this.”

“What are you implying Seth?” Caleb sneered. “That your friend didn’t disappear on his own? That somebody abducted him for some unknown reason and then staged it to look like he ran away?”

“No. And no. I don’t know. But it’s just . . . none of this adds up,” Seth insisted. He turned beseeching eyes on his father. “What do you think, Dad?”

Sandy kneaded his son’s shoulder. “I think it’s strange too,” he admitted. “This note, Ryan’s room . . . And I can’t figure out why he would just take off. The last time I understood. He didn’t want to go into a foster home, but now . . .”

He sighed and shook his head.

Rolling his glass fitfully between his palms, Caleb studied his family. They stood clustered together, all of them bent over that damned note. Sandy looked as if he were examining crucial evidence; Kirsten’s eyes had darkened with doubt; while Seth’s suspicions burned his cheeks crimson.

Somehow, this whole conversation had taken a dangerous turn. Caleb had to steer it back on track. He mulled his options, finally opting for one: an ironic choice, and the most risky perhaps. It was likely to incite anger and accusations, but on the other hand, it gave him the best chance to preempt the full-scale investigation Sandy might launch otherwise.

Caleb drained the last of his tea and pushed his glass aside. “I wonder,” he mused, half under his breath. “Perhaps my discussion with the boy had something to do with all this.”

As he had expected, all three heads shot up and turned to him, the note forgotten.

“Your discussion, Cal?” Sandy’s eyes narrowed. “When exactly did you speak to Ryan?”

Caleb shrugged. “It was late. The lights in the house were out, so I assumed you had all gone to bed.”

“Hold on. You mean you came back here after the party ended? And-what? You snuck back to the pool house to talk to Ryan? Why?”

Caleb’s nostrils flared. “Watch your tone, Sanford. First of all, may I remind you that I paid for this house. Visiting any part of my own property is hardly sneaking. As for why I returned-well, I suspect half of Newport knows now anyway. If I don’t tell you, I’m sure one of Kiki’s friends will.”

Abruptly Seth dropped back down on his stool. “Damn,” he whispered. “Gabrielle. You found out that she and Ryan hooked up.”

“Gabrielle and? . . . Seth? Dad?” Kirsten stared at each of them in turn. “What is he talking about?”

Despite himself, Caleb felt his mouth curl with disgust. He swallowed sourly. “What my grandson is so delicately saying is that Gabrielle and his friend-how did Seth put it? ‘Hooked up’ last night. Right here by the way, during my party.”

“Oh. Oh, Dad . . .” Kirsten breathed.

Sandy held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Exactly how do you know this Cal?”

“Grayson Steele informed me.” Caleb’s tone turned ice-cold. “He came out to the patio to smoke and he noticed Gabrielle slip into the pool house. Then, later, he saw the Cooper girl go inside. She rushed out in tears and a moment later Gabrielle came out too. Apparently she was still adjusting her dress and her hair was -Well, you can imagine.” Without realizing it, Caleb ripped open the hem of his napkin. “Gray was only too happy to give me the news,” he added dryly. “His company may have lost the waterfront project to the Newport Group, but at least he got to witness Caleb Nichol humiliated publicly.”

Sandy’s shoulders drooped. “Ryan and Gabrielle,” he muttered. “I thought I noticed something there. I should have spoken to the kid . . .” Then his face set in hard lines and he turned back to Caleb. “All right,” he said, “fine. You were angry. I get that. But you felt it necessary to speak to Ryan about this last night? Alone? Kirsten and I are his guardians. We should have been there.”

“Considering his behavior, I was scarcely thinking of him as a child,” Caleb retorted.

“Even so, how could you just barge in on him like that?”

“I am not going to apologize for my conduct, Sanford. Let’s remember exactly what happened here.”

“Yes, let’s,” Sandy snapped. “What happened is that Ryan disappeared after this little visit of yours. What exactly did you say to him, Cal?”

Caleb met Sandy’s furious stare with one of his own. “I did not order him to leave, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I did let him know exactly what I thought of him, and I told him that I fully intended to let you and Kirsten know how he had disrespected me and abused your hospitality.” His studied control broke abruptly and Caleb muttered to himself, “The nerve of that inland street thug, thinking that he could con his way into my family and then humiliate me in front of half of Newport”-

“Ryan is not a street thug. And Gabrielle is the adult here,” Sandy countered. “You should have confronted her about what happened! For God’s sake, Cal, Ryan is fifteen years old.”

“Anyway, Gabrielle came onto him!” Seth burst out. “She was eyefuck-flirting-with him the whole time she was here. I’m sorry, grandpa, but it’s true. And come on, you can’t mean you were serious about her or anything.”

“That is scarcely the issue, young man.”

Kirsten had been standing silent, her face wan and troubled, but she finally roused herself. Straightening her shoulders, she faced her father. “No it’s not. The issue is that Ryan is missing, probably because you made him feel unwelcome here, Dad.”

Caleb stiffened. “Are you seriously defending that boy to me, Kiki?”

“No. Yes. Dad, listen, I’m just saying Sandy is right. You shouldn’t have spoken to Ryan without us there. I know how you can get when you’re angry and . . .” She blanched, and her voice trailed away before she concluded wearily, “If we had handled this together, maybe he wouldn’t have felt compelled to leave.”

“Felt compelled to leave?” Caleb pursed his lips grimly. “You see? This is exactly why I didn’t mention my talk with the boy earlier. I suspected that I would be blamed for what happened. To be honest, I expected him to brazen out the situation. I couldn’t know he would choose simply to run away. Although I will give the boy credit.” Ducking his head, Caleb adjusted his cuffs and simultaneously hid a faint smile. “He could have stolen more money than he did.”

“Stolen?” Sandy demanded at the same time that Seth stammered, “Wait! Whoa! He could have what?”

Caleb shrugged. “You might as well tell them, Kiki.”

Seth and Sandy turned to Kirsten expectantly. She shook her head, her lips crimping, her eyes dropping to the floor.

“There’s some money missing,” she reported, almost in a whisper.

“Some?” Caleb snorted. “Nearly $4000 from what Kiki tells me.”

“What?”

“The cash you had in the den is gone, Sandy,” Kirsten admitted. “Dad noticed when he went to check in with the office. Your desk drawer was open and . . .”

“Okay, no. And also. No,” Seth objected. “That’s all kinds of wrong. I don’t believe Ryan would steal from us. Come on. Why would he do that?”

“Well,” Caleb said wryly. “I think the answer to that is obvious. He wanted money to help him get away so he took some.”

“But why now?” Seth argued. “He didn’t take anything before.” At his grandfather’s blank expression, he explained impatiently. “When he ran away the first time. Ryan didn’t take anything then except his own clothes and his bike. But this time he leaves the bike- I saw it parked behind the garage, Dad, and you know he loves that thing-and he robs us?”

Caleb cursed himself silently. He should have paid more attention when Kirsten told him the details surrounding Ryan’s disappearance and the fire at his model home. Swiftly regrouping, he managed a bland shrug. “I suspect Ryan wanted to disappear faster than he could manage on a bike,” he suggested. “As for the money--maybe he didn’t know where you kept the cash before.”

Kirsten shook her head. “No. Ryan is not a thief.”

“Don’t be naïve, Kirsten. Let’s not forget that he was arrested for stealing a car.”

Sandy had been reviewing everything he’d just learned the way he did evidence in a case, but his lips tightened at Caleb’s last statement. “His brother was stealing a car, Cal,” he snapped. “Ryan was just with him.”

“Which means he was an accomplice, Sanford. I don’t understand why the three of you won’t admit the truth. A boy with his background around all of this?” With a sweep of his hand, Caleb indicated the pool outside, the luxury cars, the diamond rings Kirsten wore, the house and its expensive furnishings. “It was just a matter of time before the boy stole from you.”

“Then why would Ryan bother to get a job?”

“Excuse me?”

Sandy blew out an exasperated breath. “He got a job, Cal. Ryan went to work at the Crab Shack because he wanted to try to pay his own way. If he took that money, he must have had a good reason.”

“Tell him, Dad,” Seth muttered.

“Maybe Ryan’s mother . . . I don’t know,” Sandy admitted. He pulled out his phone. “But it doesn’t matter right now. Right now we just need to find Ryan. And we’re wasting time.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“The police--”

“Really?” Caleb arched his eyebrows. “I’m surprised, Sanford. I thought you hoped to keep the boy out of-what do you call it? The system? If you involve the police, won’t they charge him with violating his probation? Theft too once they find out about the money.”

“Sweetheart, he’s right,” Kirsten whispered. “Should we--?”

Sandy’s fingers froze above the buttons. He stopped, kneading his forehead. “The money is not an issue. But yes,” he conceded. “If we bring the police into this, Ryan could be remanded back to juvie. At the very least, he’ll be removed from our custody and sent to another foster home.”

Seth shook his head vehemently. “Okay so that? Is a no,” he declared. “Can’t we hire a private detective or something to look for him? You must know somebody, Dad.”

Before Sandy could answer, Caleb stood up. Smoothing his cashmere sport coat, he announced, “I have a better idea. Since you all seem to feel that I drove the boy away somehow, I’ll help you find him.”

“You Cal?

“Well, not personally of course. But I will lend you the services of the head of security for the Newport Group. The man is ex-FBI. He’s smart and thorough, and he’s very discreet.”

Sandy’s brows rose quizzically, but Kirsten’s face brightened for the first time all day. “You’d do that for us, Dad?”

“Frankly? I admit that I think you’re all better off without him. I can’t pretend to trust or like the boy. However--”

“Ryan,” Seth corrected. “His name is Ryan, grandpa.”

Caleb allowed himself a wry smile. “So it is. Ryan. Now as I was saying . . . since you seem intent on finding”-he hesitated for just a fraction of a second-“Ryan, then yes, I will put Grady to work looking for him. I suppose it’s the least that I can do.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The present-somewhere

“ . . . a fascinating case. I’ve seldom seen a patient so entrenched in his delusions. To adopt a dead boy’s identity and then try to recreate his life . . .”

His whole body ached with the effort, but Ryan willed himself to lie still. He had woken up alone. For one blissful moment, he thought it all had been a nightmare, that he would open his eyes to the clean sunlight of the pool house, and that any moment Seth would burst in, babbling about Summer and convoluted seduction plans.

But no: in the next instant, Ryan felt stiff, over-starched sheets rub his skin, smelled a strange, antiseptic odor, saw an unfamiliar ceiling, dingy and low, when he opened his eyes.

Worse, he realized with despair that he still couldn’t move.

Whatever had happened to him, he couldn’t wish it away. It was real. He was trapped, tethered to a bed in a small, sterile room he did not recognize.

Before he could struggle against the restraints, the door opened, and Ryan heard those voices again, the faintly foreign ones, saying that name. Brandon.

Immediately he snapped his eyes shut, unclenched his fists and tried to slow his breathing. He didn’t want them-those people-to know that he was conscious. Not yet. They were talking about him. At least, Ryan assumed they were, but nothing that they said made sense. If he just listened, though, if he concentrated, maybe he could sort it all out.

Maybe then he could figure out how to convince them they were wrong.

And make them let him go.

He wanted to be back, safe, with the Cohens.

He wanted to go home.

Mr. Nichol.

Abruptly, the man’s icy image flashed through Ryan’s mind.

Kirsten’s father was involved with this somehow. All at once, Ryan knew that much for sure. From somewhere deep inside-it had to be memory-he could hear the man mutter, faint and furious: . . . destroy my property, almost get my grandson killed, and now make a damned fool out of me. In my own house, in front of my friends and family. Don’t imagine that you can get away with that. Nothing in my world comes cheap, boy. You’ll learn the price you have to pay . . .

That was all. Ryan couldn’t remember anymore.

But those other people were speaking. He made himself focus again.

“ . . . horrible. He’s so young and he must have suffered unbearably,” a woman was saying. Her words had a gentle lilt, and as she spoke she brushed Ryan’s hair lightly from his forehead. “I think it is very sad.”

“Sad? Hmph, yes, I suppose it is.” A man answered, his dismissive shrug obvious from his tone. Ryan recognized the voice and he barely suppressed his instinctive recoil. That was the person who had ordered him to settle down, the one who had ordered that he be given more drugs.

Drugs. Yes, obviously that was it. Drugs would account for his debilitating weakness and the persistent stupor that still fogged his brain.

Ryan wondered helplessly what they had given him, how long he had been unconscious. How long the effects would last.

“What intrigues me is how the boy has submerged himself in this fantasy. From what we observed and what I’ve read here, it goes well beyond anything we have encountered before. And with no family, no likely legal complications . . . he might be the perfect test case--” Cold fingers touched the side of Ryan’s neck. Under the sheet he dug his fingertips into the mattress to keep from shivering. “Odd though,” the man said, interrupting himself. “He really should have woken up by now, nurse.”

“I know, doctor.”

Nurse. Doctor.

So yes, he must be in some kind of hospital.

Mentally, Ryan assessed his body. He didn’t think he was hurt. Except for a raw, burning sensation around his wrists, where he had yanked and twisted at his restraints, he wasn’t in any pain. So . . .

“ . . . perhaps unconsciousness is a refuge. Or he simply may have exhausted himself. Brandon has been so agitated. He was thrashing around terribly in his sleep before . . .

Brandon.

With a chill, Ryan remembered.

These people thought he was somebody named Brandon McConnell.

They didn’t believe he was Ryan Atwood.

They just thought that he was crazy.

That was it, then. He was in a mental hospital.

And Mr. Nichol had left him there.

You’ll learn the price that you have to pay.

A current of panic burned through Ryan’s body. For a moment he heard nothing but the buzz of his own fear. Then the doctor’s voice, sharp and steely, sliced through again.

“ . . . have to get to my conference with Dr. Ashenki. Stay with him and page me as soon he wakes up.”

“Of course, but doctor?”

“I’m already late. What is it?”

“Perhaps I could remove the restraints for a while?” the nurse asked hesitantly. “You can see how chafed Brandon’s skin is underneath. It must be painful.”

The doctor lifted one of Ryan’s wrists, pinching the thick fabric strap. “Hmm. Yes, that could be a problem,” he murmured. “Very well. Take them off long enough to apply some lotion, but put them back on immediately.”

“Are you sure? He fights the restraints so hard. It might be easier to get through to him if he didn’t feel trapped.”

Something snapped shut-a clipboard? A briefcase?-and the doctor replied impatiently, “The patient has been known to be violent. We can’t take any chances. Now, you have my orders. If you haven’t paged me before then, I’ll be back after my meeting.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Hard-soled footsteps moved away from the bed, and the door opened, closed, and something else.

Ryan heard the unmistakable sharp click a lock. He couldn’t help it. He cringed.

Immediately the nurse spoke again, her voice closer. “No one is trying to hurt you, Brandon,” she crooned soothingly. “I wish you could understand that.” Resting a hand on Ryan’s cheek, she sighed, and then released the bindings around his left wrist. With soft, sure fingers, she smoothed lotion into his raw skin.

The compassion in her touch gave Ryan courage. He braced himself, waiting. As soon as she finished patting on the ointment, before she could strap him down again, his eyes flew open. At the same time, his hand darted up and grasped her arm.

She flinched, emitting a sharp, startled cry, and reached automatically for the call button.

“Don’t,” Ryan begged. His voice trailed off weakly, but he still held on. “Please?” he whispered. “Don’t . . .”