Chapter Thirty-three

"Ryan, call me back," Marissa said urgently, as she clicked off her phone for the umpteenth time. The wind seemed to howl outside, as though anticipating a torrential storm. It seemed to Marissa like a very horrible omen- it barely ever rained in Newport, and it had started to drizzle since their arrival at the Cohen household. Now, what used to be an occasional pitter-patter that rapped lightly against the window, was now becoming more frequent, more violent, more menacing. Marissa sighed out deeply- Why isn't he picking up? She thought, wondering savage thoughts, as they sat quietly in the darkness. The quieter it got, the more her mind got to work. The rain started to beat harder against the window, as the wind twirled viciously outside. Marissa turned to Seth and Summer, who also seemed to be contemplating every aspect of the situation. Although they knew inside that Ryan was about to do something so unpredictable, and simply dumb, they didn't want to worry Marissa more.

"If I have to sit in this silence any longer, I'm going to go crazy," Marissa said, as she got up to leave. Summer jerked her head up toward Marissa, as she watched her sauntering out of the room without delay. She got up quickly, as she grabbed Marissa arm just before her whole body was out.

"Listen, Coop," Summer said sternly, "I'm not letting you out of here. We both know Ryan is probably out there looking for Tray. Tray wouldn't do anything to Ryan, okay?" Summer said, placing her hands on Marissa's shoulders firmly, as she blocked the path of the doorway.

"Yes, he will," Marissa replied tensely, as she stared straight into Summer's dark, and mourning eyes.

"Just sit down Marissa," Summer said coolly, as she followed Marissa back to the bed, "We need to do something to get our minds off of this," Summer said suggestively, as she started to crawl inside of Seth's closet, flipping the lights on as she did, "Marissa- no stupid thoughts until Ryan is back, got it? We are going to have fun," she said somewhat cheerfully, her fragile glance toward Seth betraying her worry, "Cohen, do you have any board games in here?" her voice was muffled, as she looked through the scattered things.

"I think I have monopoly," Seth replied, and at that moment, Summer pulled it out. She showed the game to everyone with a smile, "Okay, I call the shoe!" she smiled, trying to put on an excitement and bold persona.

"You have got to be kidding me, Sum," Marissa said, heaving an annoyed groan, "You think I can play monopoly while my boyfriend is out there?" she said, turning her head to look out the window.

"Marissa, quit the drama, okay? Ryan is Seth's, and believe even my friend. Don't you think we're worried?" Summer said, as she walked over to the window, closing the curtains with a quick pull.

"You sure don't look worried," Marissa muttered, as she folded her arms against her chest, inhaling a deep breath.

"Coop! That's cause Seth and I don't want you even more bitchy," Summer said. She had had enough of Marissa's whining already, and to add to that, her own nerves were already stretched out cold. Summer pressed her lips together, as she pulled a strand of hair behind her ear, "Listen, Coop. I'm sorry, but I'm worried too, and I hate to see you guys in such a tough situation, but could you please at least try and be empathetic? Everything will be just fine- it always is," Summer said a little more lightly, as she sat down beside Marissa, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder, "I'm sorry, Coop," she pouted lightly, "But you'll see- he'll come back home from a little stroll, and you'll get working on this case, and you'll win too. So don't worry, okay?"

Marissa looked up, nodding gently, "Fine. Let's get some Monopoly going," she said unenthusiastically, as she slouched lightly, picking out a game piece.

Sandy placed a key into his office, surprised that it was left open- Humph, why would I leave it open? He thought, as he entered. He looked around the dark room, as he shot a glance at the heavy downpour outside his window, "Looks like I don't have much time," he muttered more to himself.

"Looks like you don't," a rusty voice echoed back, and once Sandy flicked on the lights he was utterly speechless to see Tray Atwood sitting comfortably at the desk. Sandy looked over at the boy coolly, nodding in his direction once. They kept a straight gaze for what seemed an eternity, but soon Tray had the courage to speak up again, "Funny how all you rich fools are so predictable," he started to say.

"You don't have to do this, Tray," Sandy said, not knowing whether to act calmly and collectively, or nervously around the young delinquent.

"Oh no? I think it's fun watching you people squirm. I knew the minute Ryan got home, he would tattle to his little lawyer daddy, and of course, his little lawyer daddy would help. It was only a matter of time before you came to your office for some papers," he sighed almost proudly, as he gestured to the empty seat in front of him. Sandy walked over suspiciously, gazing at Tray's threatening smile, "So what have you decided? That I've got no case? That you have a chance at winning this?"

"I haven't decided anything, Tray," Sandy continued to watch even Tray's most minimal moves, "But coming to think of it, you don't have a case," Sandy said lightly, "What do you think you can accomplish by this? First, you attack Marissa Cooper, then my son, then Ryan, and what? Now you're going to keep me a hostage, or even better, kill me?" Sandy said, almost mocking Tray's unpredictable plan.

"You best not give me any ideas," he muttered, folding his hands on the table almost officially, as he glared at Sandy, "There are many things I could do right now," he said, placing his hand in his pocket, fidgeting lightly. As the light hit against the blade, it illuminated the room for a split-second. Sandy watched Tray smirk violently, as he felt a shiver run down his spine- surely, he didn't want to be slashed up, by some ruthless kid.

"Tray," Sandy said in a parent-like tone, trying to calm him, "What exactly do you want?"

Tray sat silently for a second, "Initially, I want seventy-five grand, but now that my baby brother has involved all the rich people in this, one-hundred will do," he shrugged, "Not that you'll be around to tell him that," Tray smiled vilely, almost wickedly. Sandy didn't reply, and Tray felt that he had found a weakness in him, "So are you scared Mr. Cohen?" he mocked, raising an eyebrow. He noticed that Sandy wasn't ready to chat anymore. Tray turned to the file cabinet, raising an eyebrow at Sandy, "So, what'd you come here for?" Again, Sandy kept silent, which made Tray even angrier. He slammed his fists against the table, groaning threateningly, "Fuck, guy! What did you come here for?" he pressed again. When Sandy didn't reply, Tray got up and hovered over him ludicrously. He placed his hand in his pocket again, retrieving his knife. He fingered it in his hand playfully, as he watched Sandy, "Still not going to reply, eh Paps?" Tray said, his voice more light and amused. He swung the blade in front of Sandy's face, with a cold smirk on his lips, elongating with every flinch that Sandy gave.

When Tray was absolutely fed up with Sandy's silence, he pressed the cold blade against his neck. The pressure made Sandy afraid to swallow, for it was pressing against his skin so sinisterly. He tried to hold his breath, for fear that if he moved the blade would slit his very skin, "What were you looking for?" Tray said, his voice blank and incomprehensible. This time, Sandy knew that he wouldn't work his way out of this through his silence. Tray loosened his grip on the knife only enough so that Sandy could talk safely.

"A file," he replied grimly, his lips a mere sliver for the anger, and fear they held.

"Go on," Tray urged, as he pulled the knife away from him, "Now don't you think just because there's no knife, that you can shut the fuck up," Tray muttered coarsely, "Cause you're still talking, you a son of a bitch, or I'll kill you- I'll fucking kill you," Tray said, his bottom lip trembling with irritation.

"I wanted to catch up on some work, tonight. I wanted to clear my head," Sandy was interrupted by Tray's disbelieving voice.

"That's fucking bull shit!" he called out sternly, wiping everything off of Sandy's desk with a violent jerk of his arm. Sandy winced as he watched a family portrait shatter as it clashed against the ground, all his papers dancing slowly toward the floor, "You and I both know that I need the money. You and I also know that you want to get home tonight. So if you want to speed up the process, give me exactly what you were looking for, plus a little deposit- I managed to find some spare checks as I was rumbling on about. So are you going to get it for me, or are you going to tell me where it is? Your choice,"

After a moment's hesitation, Sandy finally said with a soft gulp, "It's- it's in the bottom drawer," he stuttered, trying to sound confident. Tray smirked, muttering under his breath, as he walked over to the filing cabinet, turning his back to Sandy. Sandy knew it was his only fair chance to get away. He picked up the biggest thing that he could find amoung the scatters from his desk, as he hurled it toward Tray's head. He quickly dashed toward the door, making sure to lock it as he did. He hurt a dissatisfied groan in the room, but he continued to run for his life, out of the office. He swung open the front door, the clash of rain pounding against his head. He fumbled with his keys, to get the door open, but he managed to get in, just as he saw a shadow of Tray emerging from around the corner.

Soon, the engine was jeering against the storm, as Sandy made his way back home. He didn't know whether Tray was going to follow him, but as soon as his shaking foot was on the gas pedal, he knew he would manage somehow.