Hey y'all, I know I've been dormant lately, but I do intend to complete my stories. I just haven't been able to concentrate and inspiration is low right now. Anyway, this is what pours out when I binge on Criminal Minds and then re-read The Outsiders. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders.
He wouldn't have been able to say what day it was, only that it was in the summer, and he couldn't recall the exact feel of the weather, other than that it was hot, but he remembered clearly what happened. He remembered Tim yelling at him to get lost when he tried to tag along for something or other. That's how he ended up bumming around with some of his buddies as they waited for night, because that's when things got the most exciting.
Somehow they ended up outside some museum, probably because there was shade provided from the trees out front. Coincidentally, there was a group of teenage girls exiting the museum right at the same time. They were all talking excitedly except for one slip of a girl who was listening politely and sincerely to whatever her friends were saying.
The listening girl was pretty, not so much that he could describe her face in great detail, but pretty enough to grab his attention. She looked nice, and not the kind of nice girl that was false and secretly as bad as his sister, but the sort of nice girl who never looked twice at him. It wasn't that this type of girl meant to ignore him. They simply never saw him, because they were too good and sweet, not just pretending to be.
Truth be told, he didn't mind how they never saw him. Nice girls weren't his can of beer, same as he wasn't their cup of tea. Every now and then, though, he wondered how it would feel to have the attention of one, so he watched them when the mood struck him and the opportunity presented itself.
Just then, one of the listening girl's friends leaned close and whispered into her ear, causing her to blush. His heart didn't skip a beat or race faster or any other thing, but he did feel kinda funny. It was just, the broads he knew didn't blush like that, and he decided he liked the way the redness of a blush looked, especially on her. Absently, he pondered how easily he could make the blood rush to her cheeks like that.
He stopped thinking about it as the group passed him and his buddies. The silence of the other girls was noticeable as they avoided the gazes of the hoods who leered at them. But the listening girl only smiled as she looked directly at him before passing by, as lazily as the breeze.
When she was gone, his buddies elbowed him and whistled, saying how she was into him, and he should track her down. He laughed and said he might just, but he knew it was a lie. She was a nice girl, not meant for guys like him, and while he wasn't remotely close to being a gentleman or some shit, he figured he would keep from seeking to suffocate what little innocence could be found in the world. He wasn't Tim in every aspect, since that brother of his did enjoy breaking hearts and grinding them into nothing, good ones above all.
The rest of the day passed as normal. Night fell steadily and oversaw all the trouble to be had within the dark hours. He probably went to a party or two, maybe got in a fight, or maybe he got laid. He couldn't say for sure. All he remembered was the girl who blushed and met his eyes with no hint of fear or suggestiveness, just light.
Most days, she didn't cross his mind. It's not like she was his waking and sleeping thought. She just popped in his head now and then, and he'd smile for a second as he imagined all she was doing in the world.
Sometimes he would dream about her, but it wasn't like his usual dreams involving chicks. She was just lounging next to him most times, smiling and blushing at something he said. He never even kissed her, not daring to touch her even in the safety of his own head. She wasn't his kind of girl.
Ages passed like that. Thoughts of her scattered through his years, even when he was close to forty and still in prison. It was comforting while he was locked away to think how she was living free and happy, probably with a family of her own. She probably loved all her kids and babied every one of them, continuing to listen to anybody who needed someone to talk to, and maybe she still blushed when one of her friends made a crude joke, or when her husband whispered dirty things in her ear.
"Hey, Shepard, you hear about the new guy?" asked Russ, one of the guys he hung out with in the yard.
He lit a smoke and shook his head. "No, why?"
Russ had a sorrowful expression on his face. "Said he raped and killed a bunch of girls, man. Some as young as twelve, some as old as eighteen. One evil fucker."
He shook his head again. "Makes us seem saint-like in comparison, huh?"
"Guess so," Russ agreed. "All I know, man, is some of the guys are talking about welcoming him to McAllister."
"That right?"
"Yeah, and I was wondering if you wanted in. It'd be in two days."
Closing his eyes, he said, "I'll think about it."
Russ left him alone, knowing better than to press him. He would decide when he decided. Meanwhile, he thought of the girl and what she would say to his maybe killing a man, even one who deserved it.
He continued to think about joining the welcome party when he went to sleep. A part of him really wanted to. The guy hurt and killed kids, a big no, no in prison. Bastard would be dead whether or not he had anything to do with it, so he could join in with little guilt on his conscience, not that he would feel sorry for ridding the world of the SOB in the first place. But he got tired sometimes, because there was always another sick fuck waiting around the corner, and he just wanted to keep his head down and maybe finally get parole in the next year. He missed fresh air and driving a car and burgers stuffed with pickles.
At lunch the next day, he intended to tell Russ to count him out. He had enough trouble already without adding to it, but before he opened his mouth, he saw Russ reading the paper. Peering over his buddy's shoulder, he saw eight pictures in two rows of four under the headline, but his focus went straight to the third in the top row. It was her, the listening girl.
"Damn, he killed all of these and more," Russ was saying. "These are just the ones they could identify."
He sat down, shocked and simmering with an anger he'd forgotten he was capable of. All these years he had been happy to think of her living life to its fullest. She got him through when he couldn't take being caged up another second, because at least she was out someplace good. Except she hadn't been living at all, and she was in the ground, dead and buried in a shallow grave.
Trying not to focus on how scared she must've been, he listened along with the other few inmates who sat near Russ as he read through the story about the killer and the victims. Apparently, the listening girl was named Linda, and there was a quote from the killer, a Frank Quincy, saying he'd hated her, because she ran and made him shoot her instead of letting him take his time with her. She was sixteen when she died.
"I'm in," he said when Russ was done.
Russ nodded and folded up the paper. "Good deal, Shepard. Tomorrow is when they bring him in."
That night, he stared at the ceiling of his cell, more awake than he'd been in a long while. A familiar restlessness shone through and made him wired. He couldn't wait for tomorrow.
Tomorrow came, dragging its feet and pissing him off. Quincy was easy to spot, sitting alone at a table, smirking at everyone he saw. It'd be nice to wipe that smirk off his face.
Linda, was what made him control himself. He managed to hold to the proper time, and waited until they got Quincy alone. The fucker still smirked as they drove their shivs into his torso.
"Shepard, we gotta go," Russ said, worry in his tone.
But he wouldn't stop stabbing. He kept going until Quincy finally looked scared, right at the very last second, maybe finally realizing hell was all that was left. He heard Russ leave with the others, but he didn't hold it against them. He knew he was beyond reason.
His clothes were soaked in red blood, and it would've been no use to try and hide or run, so he stayed put, waiting for the guards. One of them, Dave, also known as "Dave the Dick", came upon the scene and snorted.
"Well, we wondered how long he'd last. Looks like I won the bet." Dave sighed in mock sadness. "Too bad I didn't catch the guy who did it. Seems to have run off to the laundry room and nabbed another jumpsuit. I lost track of him after that."
Not needing to be told twice, he beat it out of there. He didn't know why the guard everyone hated decided to let him off the hook, but he didn't much care. All that mattered was he was in the clear.
It was another five months before he left the place, and one of the first things he did was visit the girl's grave. There was a lady already there, sniffling as she tried not to sob too hard or too loudly.
"You okay?" he asked, feeling dumb because she obviously wasn't.
She looked up in surprise. "Oh, uh, yes. It's just, this used to be a friend of mine."
"Sorry for your loss," he mumbled, not sure how to explain why he was there if she asked him next.
Thankfully, she continued talking. "We only recently found her, see, and I was remembering the last time we saw each other."
"Was it a good day?"
The lady smiled sadly. "Yes, it was, although it was very hot. We had just come from a museum, and I was teasing her about something."
His ears picked up at that. "Teasing her about what?"
"Well." the lady grinned sheepishly. "There was a boy there with his friends, cute but kinda dangerous looking, you know? Anyway, I pointed out to her that he was watching her, and she blushed at the thought.
His mind whirled at the new information. All this time, he was the one who had made the nice girl blush to the roots of her hair. His chest hurt at the thought, and he had the ridiculous urge to cry a bit.
"Guys didn't really pay her attention," the lady went on. "They all thought she was too much of a goody two shoes, and I guess she was, but she wasn't the type to rub it in your face. She was just always there for whoever needed her. But no one was there for her in the end. I wasn't even in town when she went missing. We were on vacation, same as every year…"
"Sounds like a one in a million kind of gal," he said, voice rough as she trailed off.
The lady nodded. "She was. Anyway, I should be going. Thank you for listening, sir."
He jerked his head down to show he heard her and waited until she was gone to approach the headstone. The girl's name was written in simple lettering, and there were angels in the corners of the stone. It suited her.
"Hi, Linda," he whispered. "My name's Curly, and I think we were cheated out of a chance."