Hey everyone, here I am with a new story, couldn't stay away from writing for long, hope you enjoy. The first chapter has a lot of just introduction, stating the events from the book, but after that introduction in the future chapters the events are going to unfold and the story is going to take off. So give it a read and leave me a review:)
It was a deep, gloomy October night. Johnny was sitting his back to the fountain, his whole body shaking. He was clutching a blade in his hand and the blade was covered with blood. A few feet from him Ponyboy was lying on the cold ground. He looked still, almost dead. He was unconscious. Slowly Ponyboy opened his eyes and started coughing up water. Johnny looked at him with huge eyes – "I killed that boy, I killed him."
Earlier that night Ponyboy got into a fight with his older brother. He got home late, and his older brother Darry got mad at him and had hit him. Pony ran out of the house and to the lot, where he found Johnny.
Ponyboy and Johnny went to the park to cool off, but some socs jumped them. Socs were the rich kids from the West side while Ponyboy and Johnny were greasers - the poor kids from the East side. There were always fights between socs and greasers, and socs always jumped greasers, and that night was no different. The socs got a hold of Ponyboy and tried drowning him in a fountain, they could've easily killed him. This is when Johnny ran up to the soc and stabbed him, instantly killing him.
Johnny was the quietest and most law abiding out of all the greasers, but he got beat up really badly by this soc and he wouldn't let that happen again and besides they could've easily killed Ponyboy. So that's why Johnny did what he did. And now he was looking franticly at his friend, who was coughing up water.
"You really did kill him Johnny, I think I'm going to be sick." Ponyboy said weakly, sitting up.
"Go ahead, man I ain't gonna look at you." Johnny's voice quivered as he spoke. He kept looking at the crimson red on his blade.
After Pony was quietly sick for a few moments Johnny walked up to him. "Are you alright man?" he asked kneeling down to Pony's level. Pony just gave him a frightened look – "what are we going to do? They give electric chair for killing people." he said running his fingers through his wet hair and looking at Johnny with huge eyes.
"First of," Johnny answered stuttering a little and getting up to his feet "it's not your problem, it's mine. You won't get into any trouble you didn't kill him. Second we should go find Dally he'll know what to do."
"Ok, I guess." Pony got up to his feet as well. He was shaking slightly from being wet and cold, but also from fear.
The night was cold, and the wind was strong. It was dark and gloomy and Johnny felt like the world was ending. He couldn't believe what he'd done. The guy was only seventeen or eighteen and Johnny ended his life, but if he hadn't done it, Pony's life might've ended instead. Johnny was devastated, he felt like falling on his knees and breaking down, but he knew he had to hold it together for Pony's sake. So he did, and walked ahead of Pony leading the way.
Soon they approached Buck's. They heard loud music. People were having a party on this day, while Pony's and Johnny's mood was far from partying. They walked in and scanned the place for Dally. He wasn't in the crowd.
"What do you two want?" Buck walked up to them, walking a little unsteady as he had a few drinks this night.
"We got to see Dally," Johnny said a though expression on his face. Pony was standing next to Johnny looking down barely able to prevent tears from starting to roll down his cheeks.
"Dally's resting." Buck said matter of factly, and pointing to the door for the boys to leave.
"Just tell him it's Ponyboy and Johnny, man." Buck gave them a concerned look "whatever happened to you two, one of you is wet and the other one is shaking like a leaf?"
"It's none of your business." Johnny snapped but caught himself and added in a softer voice, "Look, just get Dally ok?" Buck gave him a somewhat disgusted look muttering "ok" and disappeared in the hallway.
In a few minutes the boys could see Dally walking down the hallway. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his hair was messed up.
"What's the problem?" he asked somewhat harshly. There was a brief silence then Pony muttered "Johnny killed a soc." Dally was silent for a second but recovered quickly, "good for you," he said to Johnny not batting an eye, "Ok follow me." He pushed Johnny forward slightly, "Ponyboy are you wet?"
They followed Dally up the stairs and into a small room. Johnny felt a little better - Dally would surely know what to do. They sat down on a squeaky old bed, looking expectantly at Dally.
"Ok," Dally said sounding dead serious opening a drawer "you got to disappear from the face of the earth. They'll be searching all over Oklahoma. You got to run to New York to my old neighborhood." He took out an object out of the drawer. It was wrapped in a gray cloth. Johnny wondered what it was. Dally removed the cloth, and Johnny was shocked to see that it was a gun.
"Here," Dally stretched his arm with the gun, "take this." With a shaking hand and wide eyes Johnny took the gun. Then Dally searched in his pockets, "here is fifty bucks. Take the freight to Birmingham, Alabama then switch to the one that goes to New York."
Pony was nodding his head in agreement with everything Dally was saying. Johnny gave Pony a long, puzzled look. "Pony, man you ain't going."
"What do you mean?" Pony demanded looking confused.
"Look man, you didn't kill him you won't get in any trouble. God knows what can happen on the run it's not fair to your brothers." Pony's lower lip started trembling, "I'm going." He almost yelled through tears.
"No you ain't." Johnny said in a scratchy voice. "C'mon man," Johnny pleaded, his hand on Pony's shoulder, "Darry and Soda will lose it if you go on the run."
"Fine, be like that," Pony sobbed.
"Cut it out you two," Dally said impatiently, lighting a cigarette. "Ponyboy you are going straight home. I ain't itching for your brothers to find out and get my head kicked in."
"Johnny when you get to New York," Dally took a drag on his cigarette and continued, "go to Brooklyn, Flatbush Avenue. It's not hard to find everybody knows it so just ask someone. Once you get there find someone who looks like they are living on the streets or are part of the gang for a man whose nickname is Dodger. He would be in his thirties by now. I haven't been in touch with him since I left New York, but I'm sure he remembers me. Once you tell him you are from me he'll take you in. Then you don't have to worry about much just do what he tells you to. You'll be in good hands with him." Johnny gave Dally a small smile which was a surprise considering the circumstances. "Why's he called Dodger, that's kind of funny nickname?" Dally's eyes got serious "there ain't nothing funny 'bout it. He could dodge bullets that's why he's called Dodger."
"Ok," Dally paused, getting up, and for a second just a shadow of worry crossed his face. "Ok let's get going I'll drive ya all - Johnny to the train station and Pony home." Without another word the boys got up from the bed. Pony hung his head low. He really felt that he should take part of the responsibility for the murder and should be running away with Johnny. All the same he walked and followed Dally to the car. They dropped Pony off first.
After dropping Pony off Dallas drove to the train station. He was thankful that it was dark outside, and Johnny couldn't see a pained expression on Dally's face. "Ok get going," Dally pushed Johnny slightly out of the car.
"Thanks Dal, I'll call you or write to you as soon as I find Dodger."
"You better," Dallas replied, and it didn't escape Johnny that Dal's voice sounded raspier than usual.
Johnny hopped out of the car and trotted towards the train. He approached the train car and carefully climbed in. He saw Dally press on the gas and drive off. He leaned against the wall of the car, his big black eyes shining in the darkness. He put his hand in the pocked and felt something there. Oh, right the gun, he remembered. He retrieved the gun and looked at it twirling it in his hands black and shiny. I killed someone Johnny thought. It just didn't register. He couldn't believe what he'd done. He felt so much guilt and sorrow. But I had to, he tried to convince himself, if I didn't do it Pony would've been dead now, and those bastards sure wouldn't feel guilty about it for a second. Johnny closed his eyes in despair. Gradually, lulled by the sounds of the train he drifted off to sleep.
Johnny opened his eyes and tilted his head. Where the hell am I? He thought disoriented for a second. Then the events of the night flooded his mind. Suddenly the train came to a halt, Johnny hitting the back of his head against the wall. It must be Birmingham he thought. It was bright now, and Johnny hurried to jump off the train before some of the workers spotted him.
Johnny started walking along the platform. The place was huge. There were at least ten tracks. How the hell am I supposed to know which track is to New York? He looked for a sign or something where it would say which train is to New York, but found none. He noticed that just as the train approached the track the neon sign popped up on that track saying where the train was going, but that was no help to Johnny since the neon sign popped up when the train was already there at the track ready to leave. If Johnny waited to see for the neon sign to display New York he wouldn't have enough time to run to that track. He needed to know in advance which track is to New York so he would have time to make it there. He looked around - surprisingly the place looked deserted no one was there. Where is the booth - Johnny looked around, he was traveling the real way spending some of Dally's money to get the ticket. Finally he saw the booth on track number 5. Johnny was standing on track number 2. He had to get all the way to the end of track number 2 and take endless stairs up to the platform and then go down the stairs to track number 5. He hoped that the New York train wouldn't arrive yet while he was trying to get to the booth.
Johnny walked up to the booth and stuck his head in. Inside was a rather fat man listening to the radio. "Excuse me sir," Johnny said, "I need a ticket to New York and could you also tell me which track it is?"
"Fifteen dollars," the man replied, "and it's track number 7. Hurry up son it will arrive in five minutes." Johnny paid for the ticket and now he had to go all the way to the end of track 5 and climb the stairs again to get to the platform and then take the stairs down to track number 7. He was almost running. He needed to make that train. But it was difficult to run up those stairs. The place seemed so huge. Johnny had never been to a big place like this. It seemed to engulf and almost swallow him.
He saw the train approaching on track 7 while he was still climbing up the stairs. Once he got to the platform he ran all the way to track 7 and down the stairs. "Last call Birmingham –New York," he heard the guy announce. Johnny ran faster, "please sir wait," he yelled.
"Hurry up son," the guy replied. Johnny ran up to the train door panting. He stretched his arm giving the ticket to the guy. He eyed him suspiciously, and Johnny held his breath. He knows who I am, that I'm wanted for murder Johnny thought in horror. The guy frowned – "no luggage?" Johnny just shook his head unable to speak. The guy ripped the ticked in half and gave one half to Johnny. "Welcome aboard."
"Thank you sir." Johnny croaked.
Once inside he exhaled, relieved. That was close, he thought. He took the seat by the window and turned his face towards the window so none of the passengers on the train could see his face. Johnny was wondering if his picture was in all the newspapers, and he saw quite a few people on the train reading the paper. Shit, he though I should've asked Dally for his sunglasses that would help me out a lot.
So he was sitting his face towards the window, but soon his body was tired of sitting and not moving. He needed to stretch or relax. The ride was 7 hours, and Johnny heard his stomach give out a sound – he was hungry. Soon enough the guy was passing by with a tray of food. It looked like some kind of pasta. "Excuse me sir," Johnny asked and was surprised how small his voice sounded, "How much is it?"
"That's seven dollars." the guy replied. Johnny slipped his hand in his pocket feeling the dollar bills inside. He had already spent fifteen dollars, he thought he should save the money for New York, he didn't notice that the guy was still there. "Are you going to get the food?" he asked a little impatient. Reluctantly Johnny took out the money, counted seven dollars and gave it to the guy.
"Here you go sir," the guy said handing Johnny one of the plates. Johnny was looking at him with huge eyes. He just called him 'sir'. Johnny sure wasn't used to being called that. "Is something wrong?" the guy asked noticing Johnny's confusion.
"Oh no, not at all." Johnny hurried to reply taking the plate from him.
Johnny hasn't eaten anything besides popcorn at the movies since the day before. He grabbed the fork and downed the pasta right away. He felt bad for spending the money, but Dally said once he finds the Dodger guy everything will be taken care of, he tiered to convince himself.
Johnny noticed one of the passengers left the newspaper on one of the empty seats. It was a national newspaper – USA today. Johnny was dying to know if he was in the paper or not. He was sure he was in Tulsa local paper, but he wondered if it made the national news and people everywhere could recognize him as a suspect. He quickly grabbed the newspaper and started to desperately flip the pages. Sports section, help wanted section, finally current news section. Missing boy, jewelry store robbed, new school opened its doors. He kept flipping the pages. Nothing about the murder of Bob Sheldon. Johnny let out a breath that he was holding.
It was getting late. By the time they approached New York it was really dark outside. What now, Johnny thought. He looked at his old beat up watch – 9p.m. should he try to find some place similar to the lot to spend the night or should he try to find this Dodger guy even though it's 9p.m.