Tripping Down 12 Steps Into Malibu

Rescuing Ryan

Ryan's body jerked into a sitting position. Snatching him from the nightmare of his dreams to the nightmare of his reality.

The uncomfortable, small bed groaned in protest at the movement.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in the room. And then it took a few more seconds for him to realize where he was.

In a jail cell. His eyes scanned the cement walls and filthy toilet and sink. And then the floor that he was sure a rat ran past a few seconds ago. Oh well! It was better than that dirty mattress he'd slept on the night before last.

He stood up and frowned down at his outfit. The blue jumpsuit wasn't his best look. But he didn't have anything else to wear after they'd sprayed him down and detoxed him.

He could already feel the withdrawal symptoms sliding through him. The worst one was the itch. It always felt like something was crawling under the skin of him arm. His chest. His neck. His face.

And then the shakes. It was always too cold everywhere he went. Just like it was now. His body vibrated against the cool air.

He needed to get out of this cell. It was bringing back old memories of claustrophobia. It was making him feel anxious. He walked over the door and wrapped his bony fingers around the bars.

"Hello?" His voice was hoarse. "Is anyone out there? Hello"?

"Ross." A uniformed police officer walked happily over to his cell. "We're so glad you're up."

"We?"

"Your father and the prosecutor are already in the office. I was directed to drag you in there as soon as you woke."

"Drag?" He eyed the large man warily.

"Not literally." The door clicked open and he slid it to the side. "Sadly."

He grabbed Ryan by the collar of his shirt. Practically lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. He almost didn't.

Although he wasn't supposed to literally drag him, that's exactly what it felt like he was doing. When they got to the door. He pushed him into it.

Ryan staggered a bit but didn't lose his footing. His hands wiped down the front of his jumpsuit. His shoulders lifting proudly.

"Thanks asshole." He spit at the armed man. Rushing into the door and slamming it shut before he could retaliate.

"Ryan." He'd know his father's voice anywhere. "Have a seat."

"Okay."

He flopped down into the wooden seat next to his old man. He was wearing a black suit. His tie was perfectly done and his hair flawlessly styled. So the old man was actually sober today.

"The cashier suffered from a slight concussion." The attorney began reading from the file in her hand. "He needed seven stitches in his head. He also caused five thousand dollars in damages to the store. And headbutted one of our police officers during the arrest. We're looking at at least three to ten years here."

"Three to ten?" His father repeated in disgust. "That's ridiculous."

"He assaulted a young man with a glass bottle. Slammed down almost every shelf of alcohol. Resisted arrest and assaulted a police officer. Ten years would be a gift!"

"Can we upgrade that gift a bit?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ross. But even your position as chairman can't get him out of this one. Your son is going to be doing some serious time. He's been a menace to this society for too long."

"What if he was no longer a menace?"

"What are you getting at?" She sat the file on the desk.

"What if I can guarantee that nothing like this will ever happen again? That and I add a little more money to that five thousand dollar fine."

"We've had this talk before. And he still continues to break the law. The only way to stop him from breaking the law is to send him away."

"And I wholeheartedly agree!"

"You do?!" Ryan finally spoke up.

He sat up in his seat to glare at his father. He should have known it would only be a matter of time before the man turned on him.

"Yes." He looked at the woman when he spoke. "But prison isn't the way. He won't change. He'll be doing the same drugs and things. The only thing that will change is that you'll be making him a bunch more criminal friends. He'll get out and be twice as bad."

"Then what do you suggest?" The woman asked, intrigued by the turn of the conversation.

"Rehab. He'll be away from the public and he'll kick the addiction."

"I'm not going to rehab." Ryan stood up from the chair. "Fuck that. Just lock me up."

"Yes you are." The woman held her hand out towards his father. "It's a deal."