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the-librarians · 4 years

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Lost Along the Way

Chapter 1: What’s in a Name?

(.gif credit to evanstush)

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale/OFC

Warnings: It’s the Ransom!Amnesia fic you never knew you wanted. Minor mentions of car accidents, injuries and blood. Linda Drysdale is a cold ass bitch in this.

Word count: 2,783

Author’s note: Big THANK YOU to my bestie and muse @waywardodysseys who has been an encouraging and patient woman while I took my time writing this.

AO3 Friendly Version: click here

Summary: Ransom Drysdale, out on bail, decides to skip town. Taking off on a secret boat, he sails down the Massachusetts coast when a freak storm forces him to dock in a small coast town in Rhode Island. The storm ends up taking something precious from him only to give him something even more precious in return.

“Now you listen to me Ransom, it is just you and me now. Your father is no longer in the picture.” Linda Thrombey (not Drysdale, as her divorce was currently being fast-tracked thanks to her lawyers) downed her three fingers of scotch in one gulp, “I can forgive this whole murder nonsense and I will help you out as much as I can as long as you listen to me and not do anything stupid.” Her index finger tapped out a staccato rhythm on the now empty scotch glass in her hand.

Ransom sat in his leather armchair close to the window, aloof and barely listening to the words his mother was saying. He may have caught every other word of his mother’s rant and that was being generous. His bored blue eyes followed Linda’s figure as she paced around his living room. “We will figure this out. I still have plenty of money and connections. My lawyers are just as good as your grandfathers. I certainly pay them enough.” Linda refused to say Marta’s lawyers since they were now in fact Marta’s lawyers and not Harlan’s. Her pacing continued.

A huffed sigh pushed its way out of Ransom’s lungs, “why don’t you have another drink, mother?” He lazily gestured to the wet bar in the corner of the room. His mother shot him a hot glare and all but slammed her glass on the coffee table, “don’t you get smart with me, young man.” Ransom’s response was just a blank stare in her direction.

She crossed the room, finger accusatory in his direction, “I bailed your ass out of jail and I am doing what I can to keep you out of jail. I am barely keeping what’s left of our family together after that little latino slut took what was rightfully ours. Like I said, I can forgive what you did because you were doing what you could to get our fortune back. Although I don’t agree with your methods. So you better show me some goddamn respect, son.”

Ransom sat up, straightened his posture and plastered on a fake grateful smile, “Sorry mother, thank you mother.” But his expression fell back to one of bored contempt which caused Linda to roll her eyes.

Mother and son sat in silence until Linda’s phone rang. She excused herself into another room briefly before returning, “okay, that was our lawyer. Your hearing is next week and that will determine if you get sentenced or they take it to trial, but whatever happens, I will take care of it.” Linda eyed the scotch at the wet bar considering another quick drink before she left but ultimately decided against it. “Now, until then, stay home and don’t do anything stupid! Do you understand me?” She collected her belongings, pocketing her phone back into her purse all while eyeing her son expectantly.

Ransom stood, walking Linda to the front door, “Yes mother, of course mother, whatever you say mother.” His tone was mocking and sarcastic. His mother turned to him, as she stood under the threshold of the door. She gave him a small solemn smile as her hand came to his cheek. There she caressed the beauty mark on the left half of his face, stared into the eyes of her only son and said, “I should have aborted you when I had the chance.” Linda patted his cheek and walked to her car only to hear her son yell from behind her, “I love you too, mother.”

He watched the car fade out of sight and slammed the door. Yeah, there was no way in hell he was sticking around here. Luckily, Ransom was a lot like his grandfather Harlan. More so in the aspect of, he always thought ahead and always had a back-up plan. Down to his basement he went. He kicked open a secret panel he had installed and hidden under the stairs. There he pulled out a black duffel bag and emptied the contents on the floor.

Ransom organized everything on the floor as he checked off his mental checklist out loud.

Fake IDs and passports? Check.

Sealed bags of cash equaling out to $250,000? Check.

Burner cell phones? Check.

Keys to the boat he bought last month that no one knows about? Check.

.380 handgun with the serial numbers filed down? (Just in case) Check.

All he needed to do now was pack and escape unseen to his boat. One could liken him to a tornado with how fast he was running around his house. He packed up his designer leather duffel bag with everything he knew he needed that wasn’t already on his boat. While packing his toiletries in his shaving bag, he looked at himself in the mirror. Ransom took note of his features. He looked tired but he already knew this and felt it. Blue eyes drifted up to his hair. Should he dye it or maybe shave it? His hair was unmistakable and his best feature. A grimace crosses his face as he decides against it. He figures if he got far enough away on his boat it wouldn’t matter.

It takes Ransom a few solid hours to make sure everything is perfect and ready to go. He hears his phone chime a few times (messages from his mother no doubt), all of which he ignores. He eats the last meal he will have in his home while Frank Sinatra croons lowly in the background. Sitting in his favorite chair by the window, his tired eyes roam the open floor plan of his home. Ransom tries to commit everything to memory because while he was literally about to leave this all behind, this was still his home. Briefly, and only for a fraction of a second he considers burning the place down but ultimately decides against it. That would be too dramatic, even for him.

The two duffel bags are waiting for him by the back door. Ransom leaves his house keys, car keys and cell phone on the kitchen table. Should he leave a note for his mother and get the final word in? Or was that too smug? He shrugged.

Under cover of darkness with bags in hand, Ransom took a long look at his home. Knowing this was the last time he would ever lay eyes on it, he whispered to his home, “see you never.”

The fall air was crisp and the autumn leaves crunched under his feet as they carried him into the woods behind his home where hidden under a tarp in the trees sat his getaway car. It was a used up old beater he would never be caught dead in; which is exactly why he bought it the same day he bought his boat. Both purchases in cash and under a fake name.

The drive to the secluded marina where his boat was docked was long and arduous. He didn’t take any chances. Back roads were taken to avoid all toll roads where cameras could possibly pick up his face. Although his cautious efforts should have eased his paranoia, he remained vigilant: white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and laser focused on the dark road ahead of him.

Arriving shortly after midnight, the dock was just off the town of Duxbury. Ransom parked the car in an abandoned lot. He wiped down the interior and keys the best he could. Leaving the car unlocked with the keys in the ignition, he figured someone would steal the car eventually. He trekked the last few blocks on foot to the dock which he happily found devoid of anyone else. There were no security cameras to be seen, which is the exact reason he chose this dock.

The boat was prepped, his belongings safely inside and Ransom was feeling a little more relaxed already. He cast off and once he was a safe distance out in the bay, he sat down with his map and planned his route. By his calculations, once he was out of the main bay of Cape Cod, he could sail down the coast towards Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard, maybe making a pitstop in Chatham to refuel and stock up on necessities.

Ransom sat back in the cabin and sighed, more of the paranoia and worry was sloughing off his shoulders; he could breathe a little easier. Not wanting to declare himself home free just yet, he got to work on the last bits of his plan. The burner phones were programmed and set for weather alerts as well as news reports. He knew it was only a matter of time that he would be discovered missing but at least he could get a good day or two head start. While he knew that his case and family drama was at the forefront of Massachusetts news, he gambled on the fact that even then, it wasn’t enough to make it to national news. So when the news of his ultimate disappearance did come to light, it would stay localized within the state leaving him safe to travel down the coast.

He was able to make it safely to Chatham with no issues. Ransom was about an hour off the coast of Nantucket Island when the first news alert hit. Just like he thought, it was only reported on the local news outlets.

The noon day sun was hanging overhead. He was laid out on the stern of the ship with a book in hand letting the slow rocking of the boat lull him into a relaxed and peaceful state. The chapter in his book was coming to its penultimate conclusion when the phones in the cabin started blaring with alarms. The storm warning alerts were screaming at him. According to the alerts he was headed straight into a horrendous looking storm. Well shit, he thought.

The storm was two miles off the coast of New Shoreham. The GPS told him he was in Rhode Island waters and too far out to make it to Newport. However he was close enough to the coast town of Galilee to dock just as the storm was hitting. He didn’t like how close he was cutting it but he had no choice.

He was a mile off the coast when the Point Judith Lighthouse light came into view. The wind was churning the sea and whipping hard against the sides of his boat. If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn the storm was chasing him down specifically. By the time Ransom made it to the nearest waterfront and got his boat docked and tied down, the rain was beating down on him. There was no way he could wait this storm out on the boat, the amount of rocking alone was making him sick to his stomach. According to his phone there was a motel less than a mile up the road. He was going to risk it.

Ransom secured all his belongings in the cabin and tied everything down tight. Pocketing some of the getaway cash he had on hand, he sealed it along with his fake ID in a waterproof bag tucking it safely away on his person. He watched the sky carefully, waiting for any momentary break in the rain, whether it slowed or stopped briefly he didn’t care. It would allow him to safely get off the dock and onto the main road outside the marina.

Shooting his shot when the rain slowed, he made his way off the dock with great care. Without the use of his phone’s GPS guiding him Ransom made his way to what he thought was the main road. Once there, he took great care to stick to the side of the road as there was no visible sidewalk due to it being completely flooded from the rain. The wind and rain began to pick up again and beat hard against his now soaked body. He felt as though he was being bitch slapped by thousands of needles because of the unholy mixture of heavy rain and fast winds.

Although mindful of the oncoming traffic in his direction, he was unaware of how close the wind had pushed him into the road. Ransom was too busy wiping rain out of his eyes to see the car that was headed in his direction. The sound of the car horn that was mere feet away from him was drowned out by the sound of thunder in the sky above.

His vision swam blurry with bright lights, only for him to realize at the last second he was about to be hit by the car. His body reacted before his brain did, fight or flight kicked in. Ransom Drysdale leapt to the left, off the side of the road, with the car missing a full body collision against him by a fraction of a second. While still midair, having not yet touched the ground, he was thankful that he was about to make it out unscathed.

Only, he thought too soon. What he didn’t see as he was falling, was the guardrail his head was about to connect with. The sickening crack of his skull and the twanging sound of the metal guardrail were muted by the rain.

Everything was black. His face felt wet but it felt both hot and cold which he found odd. The ringing in his ears was prevalent. Heavy eyelids began to flutter open, visually surveying the situation before him. Looking down at his clothes he noted that he was not only soaking wet but he was also lying in a puddle that seemed to be getting bigger. Looking up, it dawned on him that it was raining. Pretty hard, in fact. Okay then, I am in a puddle in the middle of a rainstorm. He concluded.

Feeling around him, his wet hands met with the solid object behind him. It was a guardrail. Alright, so I am in a puddle on the side of a road in the middle of a rainstorm. Fantastic. Gripping the rail behind him and using it as leverage he was able to stand up straight. His clothes were thick and heavy with mud and water. His brain was finally starting to catch up with the rest of his body due to the fact he was starting to feel a sharp and awful pain in his head.

He was too busy trying to figure out where he was and what happened to him to notice the car that was coming straight for him. The car swerved to the right and skidded to a slippery halt in the middle of the road. He stared at the car for a moment, his head tilted in confusion. He watched it intently as it safely pulled off to the side of the road in front of him. The car door opened moments later, a large purple umbrella opening up effectively shielding the woman who was now running towards him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” She shouted, trying to make her voice heard over the storm. She quickly brought him under her large umbrella and began to survey him for injuries, “what on earth are you doing out in the road in the middle of a storm like this?” She looks as confused as he feels. Is she scolding him? It certainly feels like it.

“I don’t know.” He answers her truthfully. He really has no idea why he is out in this storm or even where he is. Suddenly he feels her hand on his chin, pulling his head down and to the side, “sir, you are bleeding really badly from your head!” She can’t tell how badly or what the true damage is because of all the mud. The woman is significantly shorter than him so he begins to bend at the knees effectively bringing himself down to her height so she can examine his head better.

He takes note of her furrowed eyebrows and the concern plastered all over her face. Once his chin is released from her grip and he has returned to his natural posture she asks him a question he should very easily know the answer to, “what’s your name?”

He goes to answer but his mind is drawing a complete blank, “my name?” He squints, his head cocks to the side and his nose begins to wrinkle. He’s hoping in some strange way that the facial movements would jog his memory. Nope. Zip, zilch and nada.

He stares at the woman in front of him, this nice woman shielding him from the storm under her purple umbrella and says, “I don’t know what my name is.”

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