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have most of the last part of this story written, but I couldn't quite finish it and, well, it is the end of the month. So for those few die-hards still reading, here's the next part of "Best Forgotten."

Say it with me now: season 1 AU, not mine, except the clinic-related characters.

Best Forgotten, Part 29

“What are you doing down here?”

The question caught Lucy from behind. It froze her where she stood, one hand on the door of the maintenance area. Her fingers tightened convulsively on the handle. “No,” she moaned silently. In an instant she could picture it all: security guards converging, escorting her to the office, Dr. Keller’s condemning face, interrogations and delays and finally another eviction from the building. Possibly even an arrest. And all the time, Felix waiting for her. The Cohens waiting for her . . .

“This cannot happen now,” Lucy anguished. “I was so close . . .”

She had been mere moments from escaping. In just two more seconds, she would have been racing upstairs to see if she had stopped the operation, to find Felix and learn if he had reached Ryan.

And Ryan.

Lucy’s stomach clenched.

What if she had been too late, if Dr. Keller had done something and Ryan was already lost?

She had to get back to him.

She had to know that he would be all right.

That he was still, in his whole mind and soul, Ryan Atwood.

Every fiber in Lucy’s being strained forward, desperate to be gone.

Her body ached with accumulated tension. It felt as if she had been clenching all her muscles for hours while she stumbled, silently, stealthily, through the warren of the maintenance area. Every machine had looked the same, immense and foreign and threatening. It had been sheer luck that Lucy had even located the right control. When she did, she stood still for half a second, hands clasped over the lever, one on top of the other, feeling its perilous, metallic chill. Lucy’s eyes had closed in a wordless prayer. At last she had inhaled a long, shuddering breath, held it, and pressed down hard.

Only when she heard a decisive click did she dare to exhale and look around.

There was nothing to see. The whole world had turned black.

“Yes!” she had whispered triumphantly. Relief, gratitude and elation surged through Lucy. She had counted to twenty—long enough, it had to be long enough, she hoped—then pressed the control lever again.

Light spilled through the room. All the machines surrounding her sputtered back to life and Lucy had fled, blind with haste and worry, instinctively retracing the route she had taken through the maintenance area.

By some miracle, she had found her way back to the exit. Even more incredibly, although she had heard sounds—startled questions and orders, footsteps echoing in adjoining areas—she had encountered no one as she raced warily through maze of equipment.

Not until now, the last possible moment.

It took every ounce of self-control Lucy possessed for her to release her death-grip on the door handle. Flushed, straining for a smile, she turned to face the man behind her.

“I . . . I am sorry,” she stammered. “I just . . . I was looking for the way out of here. This my first day on the job in, in . . .” she glanced down at her white t-shirt, her nondescript blue pants. “In housekeeping here and I got lost. I am trying to find the employee parking lot. Can you tell me where it is, please?”

The man scratched behind his ear, his brow furrowing. “You were looking for the exit and you wound up here? How the hell did you manage that?”

Lucy bit her lip. Her blush deepened, frustration and impatience masquerading as embarrassment. “I do not know . . . the lights went out and I got confused . . . I think I got turned around somehow.”

The maintenance engineer still frowned, clearly bewildered, but the query forming in his eyes disappeared when someone called irritably, “Miguel, ¡apúrate! Le necesitamos!”

“Lo sé, Lo sé! I’m coming,” Miguel yelled over his shoulder. He blew out an annoyed breath before he turned back to Lucy. “Look, this is an authorized area, okay?” he told her sternly. “You don’t belong here. You want the parking lot, go out the door to your left all the way down the hallway, turn right at the end. The exit is down the ramp.”

“Oh!” Lucy exclaimed. Her smile beaming relief disguised as gratitude, she flung open the door and headed down the corridor. “Thank you so much,” she called, without glancing back. “Next time I will remember.”

“Wait!” Miguel said. He took a step after her, recovering his question as she hurried away. “This door requires a security code. How did you get in here anyway?”

Another loud summons from his co-worker half-swallowed Miguel’s voice and Lucy, already several yards away, pretended that she hadn’t heard him. She caroled a second “Thanks!” waved a quick, backwards farewell and turned left as if following the man’s directions. Once she reached the end of the hall, though, Lucy paused. Peering back over her shoulder, she checked to make sure the hallway was clear. Then she wheeled around to retrace her steps. She slipped warily past the closed maintenance door, her footsteps swift and soundless, sidling along the walls until she turned the corner that led to the stairwell.

Lucy sprinted down the hall, launching herself at the door.

As soon as she closed it behind her, all her caution disappeared.

Lucy sped heedlessly up the first two flights, heart pounding with each step. Dimly she heard the echo of footsteps above her but she ignored them, barreling around the third landing so blindly that she collided with the man coming down.

He emitted a muffled “Umph” as she slammed against his chest.

“Oh!” Lucy gasped. She recoiled, alarmed and defensive, before she looked up. Then all her taut muscles went slack. Her face lit, bright with relief. “Oh . . . Felix! It is you! I am so glad!” She grasped his elbows, steadying herself, her eyes glowing with mingled excitement and fear. “Did we--?” she asked breathlessly.

Felix nodded, engulfing Lucy in a hug before she could finish the question. “Yes,” he said, smiling broadly. “Dr. Keller postponed the operation so he can run diagnostic tests on the computer system. They never got started Lucy. I just settled Ryan back in his room.”

“Oh, thank God,” Lucy breathed fervently. She touched her fingertips to her lips. “Gracias, Virgen Madre . . . How is he, Felix?”

“All right, I think. He’d already been anesthetized so he’s unconscious right now,” Felix replied. “But I overheard Dr. Keller. They don’t want to risk sedating him too long so they’re going to let it wear off completely before they try the surgery again.”

As he spoke, Felix wheeled around and started back up the stairs, still holding Lucy’s arm. She trotted beside him, her expression intent, matching her strides to his longer ones.

“Then we just need the Cohens to prove that he is not Brandon so that he can be released—The Cohens!” Lucy exclaimed, interrupting herself. She pulled away from Felix, far enough to fumble for her phone. “They should be here by now. Did you see them, Felix? I realize that we do not know what they look like, but a frantic American family, searching for Ryan? You would notice them surely.”

Felix shook his head. “I came straight from the surgical wing, Lucy. Nobody but the staff was around.” He snorted, a sound thick with contempt. “Not even that bastardo Nichol or his shadow.”

“Then I must tell the Cohens where to find Ryan. They have been searching for him all this time—They must be there when he wakes up.” Clumsy, almost tripping on the last step in her eagerness, Lucy pressed the button to speak. “Kirsten?” she began breathlessly. “Ryan is all right. He has been--” She broke off, blinking in surprise. “Oh!” she gasped. “I have lost the connection.” Swiftly she redialed Sandy’s number, listening for a moment. Then she stared at Felix, her brow creased in consternation. “There is nothing. I cannot reach them, but they must have arrived . . .” She stopped, frowning her confusion, as they reached the fourth floor landing. Felix had already reached the door but he paused there, poised to open it, his head inclined in a silent question. Impulsively, Lucy covered his hand with hers, stopping him before he could push the handle. “Wait, Felix,” she urged. “Could you check the grounds of the clinic? See if you can find the Cohens and bring them here. I would do it myself but--” Her face crumbling, Lucy caught her breath. “Right now,” she said softly, “I must get back to Ryan.”

Felix nodded his understanding. “Just let me make sure the hall’s clear,” he said. Opening the door, he scanned the hallway, checking it up and down twice, then beckoned to Lucy. She darted out, smiled a quick, soundless “thank you” and sped down the corridor as Felix headed back downstairs.

At the corner, just before she reached the nurse’s desk, Lucy tucked herself into a small recess. She peered around cautiously. Only one person—Lucy recognized her as the head surgical nurse—was behind the counter. She was half-turned away from Ryan’s room and her head was bent, but she glanced up every now and then to check the monitors surrounding her. Lucy sank deeper into the alcove. Her fingers raking the wall beside her, she watched for endless moments as the woman entered data into her computer. Lucy couldn’t hear them but she seemed to feel every keystroke. They built inside her, momentous as the ticks of a countdown, and her nails dug deeper, gouging the paint. “Go!” she begged silently. “Finish your work and go!” At last the nurse typed a final command. The printer whirred, and she pushed away from the desk. Grabbing the print-out she looked up to study the screens above her again. Then she disappeared into the adjoining office, and Lucy exploded out of her hiding place.

An instant later, she was slipping into Ryan’s room.

The rhythm of the world changed once she was inside.

Someone—perhaps Felix—had turned off the relentless overhead light. Its absence left the room hushed and dim. Slim rays of waning sunshine slipped through the closed blinds, offering a promise of life outside, and a fragile sense of peace shimmered in the air. Lucy caught her breath, filling her lungs, letting that serenity calm her. Slowly, silently, she closed the door behind her and crossed, her steps mere whispers on the floor, to Ryan’s bedside.

Her hands gripped the rail hard, steadying herself, as she looked down at him.

“Please,” she thought. Just that. Only, “Please.”

He might have been sleeping.

Lucy released her breath in a grateful sigh. She stood for a moment, closing her eyes in prayer before looking down again.

Ryan lay under an eggshell white sheet. One hand was half-hidden in its folds; the other rested on his chest. His head had rolled to one side, nestling into the pillow, his lashes casting fringed shadows on his cheeks, his lips slightly parted. Only a few marks on his face suggested any trauma—blue-violet bruises from his struggles with the orderlies, the exhausted smudges circling his eyes, and now new, ruddy stripes that blistered his jaw where tape had held the intubation tube in place.

Lucy reached down. With one finger she traced those raw lines gently, soothing them.

“Ryan,” she whispered. “It is Lucy. I am back and I will not leave again. I will stay with you, I promise, until your family gets here. Can you hear me? Sandy and Kirsten and Seth—they are coming, Ryan.”


At the rear entrance of the annex, the Cohens stood still and disbelieving, suspended in a breathless moment of shock. Heat seemed to crackle around them, radiating off the white of the building, the white of its closed window blinds, the terrible, triumphant white of Caleb’s immaculate shirt and jacket.

It produced a blinding light that threatened to burn away everything: all safety and hope and family.

The stunned silence lasted only an instant. Then Sandy spoke. His voice, low and dangerous, seethed with fury.

“What did you say, Cal?” he demanded. He took two long, deliberate strides forward. Automatically, Grady moved between him and Caleb, assuming a protective stance that both Caleb and Sandy ignored.

“You can’t see him now,” Caleb repeated. His skin still blazed red everywhere Kirsten had slapped him, and unconsciously he reached up to touch his the darkest spot on his cheek. “The—that is, Ryan is already in surgery.”

He swallowed with difficulty, his mouth pinched. From behind the shield of Grady’s body, Caleb lowered his hand and held it out, open and placating, a gesture intended for Kirsten. Unfamiliar emotions mottled his usually unreadable eyes: appeal flickered there and uneasiness, even traces of apology and paternal concern, but no real remorse ever appeared. It hardly mattered though. As if he didn’t exist, Kirsten stared right through her father, through the opaque clinic walls. Her lips trembled and she shook her head, denying everything her father said.

Denying him.

“I’m . . . sorry,” Caleb added belatedly. He attempted one hesitant, half-step toward his daughter, then stopped as she shied away.

“No,” Kirsten whispered, shuddering. “No . . .”

“No!” Seth echoed, louder. He clenched his fists, pounding the metal sign beside the entrance. “You’re lying, grandpa! That blackout was supposed to stop the operation—”

“And you’d better pray that it did, Cal,” Sandy snarled. Shoving Grady aside, he grabbed Caleb’s lapels, yanking the man almost off his feet. Rage poured off him, hot and deadly as lava. “Because if they started that surgery and Ryan is already—is--” He broke off, unwilling—unable--to finish the thought. “Take us to him,” he ordered. “Wherever he is, we want to see Ryan. Right now!”

Sandy snapped the last word, releasing his grip so abruptly that Caleb stumbled backwards. Only Grady’s reflexive grab kept him from falling to his knees.

“Sanford, think about what you’re saying” Caleb protested weakly.

He pulled himself erect, trying to summon his accustomed dignity. Automatically he began to adjust his rumpled jacket. At the gesture, Seth gave a contemptuous snort and Kirsten emitted a strangled sound, half sob and half bitter, disdainful laugh. Caleb looked from his grandson to his daughter. Then, as if in surrender, he let his arms drop. The collar of his jacket remained in a crooked crease, its points neither fully up nor down. It looked like a white flag flying at half-mast.

“I’ll take you to the waiting area, fine,” Caleb conceded. He had to force the words out. They tasted caustic, fraying his voice and he paused, searching for the tone that he had perfected over years of practice, the persuasive one that had never once failed him, not when it really mattered. Somehow it eluded him, but Caleb tried anyway. “But Kirsten, Sanford,” he continued reasonably, “you can’t just barge into the operating room while the doctors are working. You need to wait until it’s safe for them to stop. Imagine what could happen if you startled the surgeons. Interrupting the procedure now could be dangerous--”

“For you!” Kirsten cried wildly, abruptly. “Not for Ryan! For you! You don’t give a damn what’s safe for Ryan. You just--” She wheeled around, grabbing Charlie’s arm. “Call the police,” she demanded. “Call them Charlie! I want him arrested right now!”

Caleb stumbled backwards. He lifted his palms. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. It looked old suddenly, blank, white and lined, like his crumpled jacket, like scrap paper bleached by a ruthless sun. His hands and voice both shook slightly when he spoke. “Kirsten . . . sweetheart,” Caleb stammered. “You don’t mean that.”

Kirsten inhaled sharply. Air escaped between her teeth, a feral, hissing sound. She did not even deign to look at her father when she answered. “Yes,” she insisted, “I do . . . Charlie, please—He’s not going to help us find Ryan! Just—I can’t stand to look at him anymore! I want him arrested!”

Charlie bit the corner of her lip. She pushed back her hair, her expression cloudy with doubt. “I don’t know, Kirsten,” she said gently. “I’m not sure the Mexican authorities will be willing involve themselves in this. The situation is so complicated. Your father may not even have broken any of their laws--”

“Exactly,” Grady injected. Unlike Caleb, he still retained his composure, and his tone sounded cool and rational. He even aimed a conciliatory half-smile at Kirsten. It was an expression he had seen Caleb use to disarm opponents and manipulate them, a weapon disguised an apology. “This is a family matter, Mrs. Cohen, an unfortunate misunderstanding. But I’m sure your father can straighten everything out. Obviously you’re upset right now but--”

Whatever excuse Grady intended to offer was lost in the sound of Sandy’s fist slamming into his face. He staggered back beside Caleb, stunned into silence, cupping one hand over the blooming bruise on his chin.

Seth bobbed his head with bitter satisfaction. “Go Dad!” he exclaimed. “That? Was totally an Atwood-worthy punch.”

“Thanks, Seth,” Sandy said grimly. At the same time, he turned to his wife. “We’ll deal with your father later, honey,” he promised. “Right now, let’s just get our son and take him home.”

Kirsten nodded. Her spine stiffened and she took Sandy’s arm. Seth grabbed her other hand and with Charlie following like a rearguard, they swept past Caleb and Grady up the steps to the entrance.

Just before they reached the door, it flew open, startling everyone.

“Mr. Nichol, there you are!” a nurse called in lightly accented English. Looking past the Cohens, she gestured to Caleb, waving him inside. “We’ve been trying to find you. Would you come with me for a minute?”

Grady gave a warning cough. “Cal, at this point, maybe we should--”

“Stay out of this Grady!” Sandy spat. “You said it yourself, this is a family matter. Let’s go, Cal.” Turning to the nurse, he extended his hand, his expression strained, a combination of warmth and urgency. “I’m Sandy Cohen. This is my son, Seth and my wife, Kirsten Nichol Cohen. We’re Mr. Nichol’s—family,” he said, stumbling a bit on the word. “We’ll be coming with him.”

“Oh.” The nurse took Sandy’s hand. She stood aside, letting everyone enter the lobby, but she looked uneasy. “Yes, but you see Dr. Keller only sent for Mr. Nichol himself. He is quite particular about his orders, so perhaps you could just wait--”

“Sandy Cohen?” an unfamiliar voice boomed. “Are you the Cohen family?”

Sandy, Kirsten and Seth spun around. A large, swarthy orderly was hurrying toward them from a back hallway. He was panting slightly and his forehead gleamed with sweat, but a wide, reassuring smile creased his cheeks.

“Yeah, we’re it—them—the Cohens,” Seth replied. His brow furrowed. “But . . . you’re not Lucy, are you? ‘Cause you’re not exactly what I pictured.”

The man laughed. It was a rich, relaxed sound, and it rolled through the room like waves of clean water, washing away layers of thick, murky tension.

“Nope, not Lucy,” the orderly replied. “I’m Felix. But Lucy sent me to find you.”

“Oh,” Kirsten breathed. Her eyes widened, and a faint, hopeful flush crept into her face. “And you’ll take us to her? To Ryan? Right now?”

Felix nodded, already striding to the elevator and pushing the “up” button. Immediately the Cohens broke away from the admitting nurse, sprinting across the lobby to join him. Caleb and Grady followed, and Felix held up a hand, scowling.

“Not you, Mr. Nichol,” he said. “You don’t need to come.”

“No!” Kirsten cried. Venom sizzled in her voice and she wheeled around to face her father. “You stay away from us!” she ordered. “I don’t want you anywhere around Ryan, do you hear me?”

“Kirsten . . . sweetheart,” Caleb pleaded. He seemed to deflate, bit by bit, with each labored word. His skin grew flaccid, and even the sharp lines of his face seemed to blur. “You don’t understand. I want to make this right—You need me . . .”

“I don’t need you or want you! And if you come near Ryan, if you even mention his name, I swear--” Kirsten choked. She turned away from Caleb, burying her face against her husband’s chest. “Sandy . . .?” she moaned.

He nodded, rubbing her back and glaring at Caleb. “You heard your daughter, Cal,” he said. “Stay away from our family. You’re not part of it anymore.”

The truth of that statement echoed, sharp and final. Dimly, Sandy realized that Kirsten had already said the same thing wordlessly. She had stopped addressing Caleb by name. After flinging a last “Dad” back in his face, she never called him anything but “you”, spoke to him like an unknown, unwelcome stranger, like the monster she had declared him to be.

She never said the words “father” or “dad” again.

It was as if those words, the relationship that they honored, had been burned away from her heart.

“Don’t worry, Sandy,” Charlie said. Her cool, crisp voice, like Felix’s laughter, dispelled a little more of the anguish still surrounding the Cohens. “Mr. Nichol and Mr. Grady and I are going with this nurse to see Dr. Keller. We’re going to make the arrangements to have . . . “Brandon McConnell” discharged immediately. Aren’t we Cal?”

Caleb clenched his teeth, jerked his head up and down.

“But . . . the operation . . . What’s going on?” the admitting nurse stammered. “Dr. Keller’s new procedure--”

“Is canceled,” Felix announced.

“Hear that?” Seth demanded. He danced in place, throwing his arms around his parents. “It’s canceled!”

As if to punctuate his excitement, the elevator bell pinged and the door slid open. Seth bounded inside immediately, bouncing in his eagerness, but Sandy hesitated. At the threshold, he released Kirsten into her son’s arms, but he stopped, one foot in the elevator, the other on the lobby floor.

“Dad!” Seth objected. “Come on! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

Sandy shook his head. “There will be legal issues in getting Ryan released,” he said. Kneading his palm against his forehead, he sighed and gazed wistfully at Kirsten and Seth. Then he looked back at Charlie, his voice wavering, his face dark with indecision. “Maybe I should go with you and Cal, Charlie, to make sure we get everything in order.”

“No,” Charlie replied firmly. “Not necessary, not even an option. I can handle things on this end. You’ve waited long enough for this. Go get your son, Sandy.”

She nudged his foot, grinning, as Seth prompted, “You heard the woman, Dad! Legal stuff later. Ryan’s room. Now. Let’s go!”

Sandy looked at his son. Then, without warning, he threw his head back and laughed. The sudden noise rolled through the quiet room, rich and euphoric and contagious. Seth's eyes widened. His dimples cracked open as he began to laugh too. Dazzling as sunshine on breaking surf, the sound dispelled all lingering traces of doubt and fear. It even reached Kirsten, who replied with a tender tremulous smile.

Still chuckling, Sandy caught her hand. "Let's go," he echoed and pulled her into a kiss as he sprang into the elevator. Felix pressed the button, the bell pinged and Seth whooped, fist-pumping. Then he swooped on his parents, engulfing both Sandy and Kirsten in a fierce, jubilant hug.

The door closed on their embrace. An arrow blinked bright green, pointing up, and the elevator rose, smoothly, swiftly, taking the Cohens to Ryan.


There was something tickling Ryan’s ear, some infinitely gentle swirl of air. A faint breeze or a sigh. It was more sensation than sound, but it felt warm and comforting and faintly exotic, the way cinnamon tasted whisked into hot chocolate. Ryan stirred. His hand twitched and his head moved sideways, seeking that same reassurance, again. It returned instantly, two soft, soothing breaths, lilting up at the end. A word hovered somewhere in the sound, like a bubble carried on the surface of a stream, but it was so small, so fragile, and so far way.

Still, it seemed to be swimming closer.

Or maybe Ryan was swimming.

Or no, maybe his limbs weren’t moving at all. Maybe he was being borne along rudderless on a slow, peaceful current: dark water under a dark sky, slipping toward a hazy, dark horizon, and Ryan, drifting directionless in that deep, unfathomable dark.

Alone, yet supported somehow by something unseen.

Supported and tranquil and, finally, unafraid.

Ryan relaxed, listening. He lay back, inhaling liquid sounds, letting them lap over, around, and finally inside him.


Lucy had pulled a chair tight beside Ryan’s bed. She sat there, leaning close, one hand loosely covering his, the other stroking gentle circles behind his ear. The patch of shaved skin there reproached her and she felt herself will the hair to return beneath her fingertips. Still, “No incision, thank God,” she assured herself silently. At the same time she murmured Ryan’s name aloud, repeating it over and over, trying to call him back to consciousness.

The soft syllables, crooned like a song, lulled Lucy. They reminded her how exhausted she was, how worn with worry and fear and effort and hope and, finally, waiting.

Without realizing it, Lucy sank back in her chair, spent. Her eyes fluttered shut. Only her fingers continued to move, still tracing their patient circles, while she whispered, softer and softer, “Ryan . . . Ryan . . .”

Then there was a quick, coughing sound. The door lock released and she sprang to her feet, instantly alert, instantly protective. She crossed the room in two strides, positioning herself between Ryan’s bed and the door, her legs planted firmly, her eyes flashing a challenge.

“Who is there?” Lucy demanded.

The door opened to a spill of bright light and a jumble of voices, rushed and excited and almost incoherent. Felix stood in the entrance, smiling widely.

“It's all right, Lucy,” he said. “Ryan’s family is here.”

TBC (but almost there!)


( 15 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 1st, 2011 02:24 am (UTC)
Yay for Sandy punching Grady. And Caleb getting kicked out of the family. Thanks for the update!
Aug. 1st, 2011 07:48 pm (UTC)
You're welcome. By the way, I did enjoy writing those bits. :)
Aug. 1st, 2011 04:11 am (UTC)
This will be rushed, but it's no reflection on your writing. Swear on Dawn! I'm in the process of switching 'puters prior to an imminent demise, so it's borrowed time... time.

Wonderful, evocative, gripping imagery as always. You've interwoven some very compelling, moving moments with Lucy and Ryan. She's really crossed her Rubicon and left any doubts or motivations of simple decency to help a boy who was alone, hurt, and at the most desperate risk. Now it's very personal and tangible, something evidently communicated beyond her urgent actions and the lengths she went to. It's more in the quiet, intimate (Wholesome!) connection with that all-important physical contact. The power behind a touch is deceptively misleading. By providing us with a sense of what Ryan's filtering through some level of consciousness, we can feel a little of the relief that's beginning to take the omnipresent fear, helplessness and despair down a notch. Lucy the sentinel! Felix the enforcer! Sandy channels about 2 decades of anger and disgust in one punch! Kirsten has a complete transformation! Seth nearly explodes/implodes with excitment... Charlie takes control.

The visible injuries are only the tip of the proverbial iceberg, but drawing attention to each and its causes is a sobering dose of perspective and each is a sign of how close Ryan was to the next, irreversible step or other complications and negative outcomes.

I have to wonder, given how long it took the Cohens to get here, how they'll ever make it off island or when Ryan will be able to travel. It's not as if they left a twisted trail of crumbs to follow. Who knows where those Social Services/DCFS peeps are hiding in wait?

Thanks for making yet another deadline in style. Poor Ryan has some hope!

Karma is a bitch, Caleb. Let's hope that plays out in equal measure.
Aug. 1st, 2011 07:52 pm (UTC)
This was a rushed comment? This was wonderful! I'm so flattered that you took the time for this feedback, and especially all your praise for my imagery. Thanks so much, beach.

I hope your computer switch goes smoothly. I'm about to do that myself. (*fingers crossed for both of us!*)
Aug. 1st, 2011 09:16 pm (UTC)
Oh, yeah. I'm ashamed to admit how rushed it was, but I hope it didn't diminish my attempt to convey how much I enjoyed it and tried to keep my eyes pried open to appreciate all the wonderful images that you sketched so vividly and poignantly when it came to Ryan and Lucy. Despite the type and tone of the story, you've managed to incorporate a "tree growing in Brooklyn,"- or some bizarre part of Cozumel!

Best of luck with your 'puter migration and transition. Even with the latest and greatest technology, I'm finding many hurdles I hope that you're spared with out-of-the-box defects, bloatware, faulty drives, etc., I'm ready for an Etch-A-Sketch. Crossing appendages!
Aug. 1st, 2011 02:04 pm (UTC)
Oh...OH...OH !!!!!

Heart is all a pitter-patter, breath short and shallow. Am excited, I am. So close...so very cose now.
Aug. 1st, 2011 07:54 pm (UTC)
So glad you enjoyed this, Chic. And I actually have almost 2000 words of the next chapter written! Who knows--it might not take a full month to post!
Aug. 1st, 2011 08:14 pm (UTC)
Best thing I've heard all day!
Aug. 1st, 2011 03:25 pm (UTC)
that was painful, I didn't peep, but so much wanted the Cohens to reach Ryan, phew!

I liked the change of pace, from Lucy's frantic pace, to relief with Felix to the incredibly well written Cohens v Caleb section, I especially like the deconstruction of Kirsten and Caleb's relationship, the way you write their words vibrates off the page, pictures singing in the air, words resounding

He seemed to deflate, bit by bit, with each labored word. His skin grew flaccid, and even the sharp lines of his face seemed to blur. very clear on several levels, physical, mental and soul deep

very real, I think that Sandy would hesitate, putting his own need to see Ryan on the back burner to check that Ryan was safe from further harm

I'm glad that you haven't finished this!
Aug. 1st, 2011 03:27 pm (UTC)
and I loved that the sound of his name was bringing Ryan back, and that was apparent before the reveal - well done!
Aug. 1st, 2011 07:59 pm (UTC)
His name mattered so much in this story--I had to make it the sound that would summon him back. But I love that you noticed.
Aug. 1st, 2011 07:57 pm (UTC)
he way you write their words vibrates off the page, pictures singing in the air, words resounding

Oh my gosh, fred, such high praise! You make me feel absolutely wonderful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Aug. 2nd, 2011 07:49 pm (UTC)
Aren't you sad it is over now....soon? I'm sure I am.

Thank you for your regularly updates, it was something looking forward to at the end of the month. I will miss it.
Aug. 3rd, 2011 01:08 pm (UTC)
I confess, I may miss writing this too, but with 30 chapters, it's already so, so, so much longer than I ever planned. And who knows? Even though I think this marks the end of my OC fic writing (except for finishing "Blood Ties"--I have to do that), I'm so used to unwinding this way that I may produce an occasional story or two. All at the end of the month of course!

Thanks so much for reading!
Aug. 3rd, 2011 03:45 pm (UTC)
That would be great, your very own 'end-of-the-month-challenge'. I'm sure many readers would be greatful for that and I'm sure there are many more themes for you to discover.
( 15 comments — Leave a comment )