The Prisoner of McAlester
1. An Ordinary Day
"Ponyboy Curtis, you are hereby sentenced to serve the maximum sentence of life in prison, without the possibility of parole. For the next three years, you will be sequestered at a juvenile facility in the tightest security the State of Oklahoma possesses. Once you turn eighteen, you will be moved to the Oklahoma State Penitentiary, where you will then be placed in a maximum security cell."
The judge looked at the convicted teenager with a piercing gaze, but the boy didn't even flinch. From what he could see, nothing seemed to be effecting the boy, at all. "With your blatant disregard for human life, you have ruined many lives. You'll have the rest of your life to think about that. I hope, one day, you can look at your decisions and realize how wrong they were on that day. Twenty-five people lost their lives and that is all on you."
Ponyboy's brothers and the gang all glowered at the judge. He, too, thoroughly believed that Ponyboy was guilty. They hoped, one day, that Ponyboy's innocence would be proven. That day would be the day that the judge would have to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. They very much doubted that it would be granted.
As Ponyboy was led away in handcuffs by two armed officers, he looked over at his family and friends. His eyes met Soda's, before looking away. It was in that moment that Soda saw the deep seeded fear in his little brother's eyes. It wasn't something that you'd see easily, unless you knew him and he knew that the rest of the guys had seen it, as well.
Ponyboy's head was ringing with the judge's final words to him. At that moment, all he could register was that he'd spend the rest of his life in prison ...
... for a crime he didn't even commit.
-x-x-x-x-x-
December 2nd, 1977
Looking at the clock on the wall, Sodapop felt his heart thump painfully in his chest. It had been ten years, nine days, twenty-two hours and twenty-three minutes since Ponyboy had been sentenced to life in prison. He hadn't hugged his little brother in that long, hadn't been there to wish him a good night, or help him through a nightmare. He hadn't even been allowed to see him when he'd been taken to the hospital after getting into a fight with another prisoner, for which he'd had to have stitches.
Ponyboy was twenty-five. He'd been twenty-five for four months, one week and four days. He'd missed ten of Ponyboy's birthdays. He'd barely been there for over a decade of his little brother's life.
He'd missed the day Ponyboy started shaving - he'd gone in for a visit one day to find a shadow of a beard across his brother's jaw and when he'd gone home that night, he'd punched a hole in the wall. Ponyboy had gotten his high school diploma in prison and hadn't even told him and Darry. They hadn't even argued with him about that - there were far more important things and they knew that it wasn't something to celebrate in Ponyboy's eyes. However, that night, Sodapop had heard Darry sobbing through the thin walls. Ponyboy should've been looking forward to college after getting his diploma, not sitting in a prison cell, with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him most of the time.
Thinking back to Ponyboy's trial, Sodapop bit back a snarl. The evidence had been stacked against him and the death penalty had even been on the table for a while. They'd all been told that a confession might make the sentence lighter - life in prison, instead of death by electric chair - but Ponyboy had decided to take his chances. Soda had been terrified, but he had agreed with his brother. If he'd been in Ponyboy's position then he, too, would've rather taken the death penalty than confess to something he didn't do.
"Soda?"
Turning around, Sodapop barely managed a smile at his older brother. "Morning, Darry."
Darry just ruffled his hair like he did when they were kids and turned to the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug of black coffee.
Darry looked older than his thirty-one years. These days, he had more grey in his hair that brown, his eyes often seemed lifeless and he never smiled. With Ponyboy in prison for mass murder, Darry had leaned on very few people - one of them had been his wife, Caroline, though they hadn't been married at the time of Ponyboy's arrest. She'd died of cancer when Darry had been just twenty-five and he hadn't so much as looked at another girl since then. Soda very much doubted that he'd ever move on. That wasn't the kind of person Darry was.
It had been a particularly difficult time in their lives. Not only had Darry lost his wife, but they hadn't even been able to visit Ponyboy. He hadn't wanted them to.
After being in his juvenile facility for almost three years, Ponyboy had been moved to McAlester - the Oklahoma State Penitentiary - when he was eighteen and been placed in Maximum Security. He was only allowed out of his cell for one hour a day, handcuffed and only to walk around in a small caged area. Even during visits, he'd have to be chained down. They'd understood and had respected his decision to not want them to visit him.
They'd still sent letters, but it hadn't been the same as visiting him. Letters could lie.
Ponyboy's lawyer had worked overtime and gotten him moved somewhere else. There would still be tight security, but it wasn't anything like he'd had before. Neither Soda, nor Darry, had known too much about Ponyboy's new arrangements for a while. Ponyboy hadn't told them and they hadn't asked.
When they saw him again, after two long years, they almost hadn't recognized him. His eyes were cold, there was a hard look to his face and he held himself differently. Prison had begun changing him and it wasn't for the better. He'd tried not to let it show in front of them too much, but it had been obvious after the two-year separation.
"Soda, baby?"
Looking away from Darry, who had begun to get breakfast ready, Sodapop saw Mary standing in the doorway. Mary was his girlfriend of four years and, more recently, his fiancée. She'd been his rock for the last few years and had even visited Ponyboy in prison a fair bit herself. She had Ponyboy's approval and that was what mattered to him the most.
Mary sat down next to him at the table. "Are you okay, honey?"
They all knew that the mornings were hardest for Soda. Every morning, he brooded and, every morning, he only gave one varying answer to the constant question.
Looking back at the clock, Soda sighed. "Ten years, nine days, twenty-two hours and forty minutes."
-x-x-x-x-x-
Sitting on the bench, Ponyboy took a deep drag of his cigarette, before blowing out a perfect smoke ring.
"What do you think of the new fish?"
Looking at the convict standing next to him, Ponyboy shrugged. Jack Carmichael and himself had been good friends for five years now. Jack was serving a ten-year sentence for bank robbery. He'd been in prison since he was eighteen and only had two more years to go. He was a year older than Ponyboy.
There had to be a con like Jack everywhere. He'd taken over from one of the old guys who'd died three years ago and, now, he was the guy to go to if you wanted something; cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey ... anything to keep yourself occupied that you didn't want to ask the guards for. The officers usually looked the other way, but not always. Ponyboy had gotten several things from Jack over the years and only ever had one of them confiscated, which he hadn't been fussed about. He got a new one a few weeks later and hid it better than he had before.
"They ain't worth shit," was all Ponyboy said.
Ponyboy rarely made any bets on the new inmates that came in, but he had last night. Usually, one of them cried and made a fuss the first night so, to keep themselves entertained, everyone else usually made bets on it. His bet had cost him an entire pack of cigarettes. He wasn't pleased. Over the years, he'd cut down the amount he smoke but, on a bad day, he usually got through about a pack.
Jack nodded in agreement. "Hard to argue with that. Peter wants a whack at the small one."
Putting out his cigarette, Ponyboy began his bench presses again. He'd been working out for years and had a damn good muscle definition to show for it. He'd never reach Darry's level, but he had a good medium build these days, which was good for his height of just over six feet. How he'd even reached that height remained a mystery to him.
"Peter wants a whack at everyone," Ponyboy commented, not caring who Peter got to.
Peter had tried the same thing with him when he'd arrived in this area of the prison, but hadn't tried it again after Ponyboy had shown him that a blunt spoon could be used as a rather effective weapon. Strangely, they now counted each other as friends - or as close to friends as you could get here.
Jack shrugged and began lifting his own weights. "He's out of here in a couple of months. How long has he been in here?"
Ponyboy was silent for a moment, focusing on his workout. "Almost fifteen years and I know he'll be back in here within a couple of months, depending on what he does. He hates it on the outside."
Jack didn't say anything to that, knowing it was true. Peter had gotten patrolled a couple of years ago and had been back inside within thirty days. He struggled on the outside - especially as he had no one to help him.
"Did you say he wanted a go at the small one?" Ponyboy asked.
Jack nodded. "That's what he said."
Ponyboy snorted. "He'll have some competition then. So does Marty."
Jack sighed. Just another day in McAlester.
For a second, Ponyboy shifted his attention away from Jack and looked at the watch on his friends wrist. Gritting his teeth, he began to push himself harder.
Ten years, nine days, twenty-three hours and seven minutes, Ponyboy thought to himself, before pushing it to the back of his mind. It did no good thinking about it.
"How are Winston and Shepard?" Jack asked.
Ponyboy grinned, wryly. "They're fine. The same jackasses they always have been."
Jack chuckled.
Ponyboy remembered when Jack had met Dally and Curly about four years ago. They'd been brought in for a two-year sentence - each. He remembered when he'd first seen them in the exercise yard.
Standing with Jack, they were talking about the latest gossip around their own cell block. There wasn't much else to do and it was mostly about the new inmates that had arrived the day before. Ponyboy hadn't seen them, because he'd only just gotten out of solitary confinement that morning.
"... got it right."
"Who'd you bet on, Jack?" Ponyboy asked, lighting up a cigarette.
Jack shrugged, taking a drag of his own. "No one. I don't have the cigarettes to spare. Malcolm got it right - the nerdy looking one. Can you guess what he's in for?"
Looking at the one Jack discreetly gestured to, Ponyboy almost snarled. The behaviour was consistent to only one thing.
"Bastard," Ponyboy muttered, glowering at him. "He won't last long."
"No, he won't."
It wasn't Jack who answered him. Turning around Ponyboy found Malcolm walking up to them. Malcolm didn't look happy - he never did - but he seemed to be in a particularly foul mood today.
"I heard from a contact on the outside that he tried to make it out like the girl came onto him," Malcolm told them, leaning against the wall.
"How old was the girl?" Ponyboy asked. He wondered why the guy had been sent here. It was well-known that guys like him didn't last long in this area.
Malcolm spit on the floor. "Seventeen."
Ponyboy was quiet for a moment. "How old is he?"
Malcolm looked Ponyboy in the eye. "Twenty-six."
Small for twenty-six, Ponyboy thought. He looked to be in his late teens, at the most.
"Who's called it?" Jack asked, putting out his cigarette.
Malcolm smirked. "Jackson, Peter and myself. We're gonna wait a week or two, see how he adjusts, see what he tries. Let us know if you spot anything in particular."
Ponyboy and Jack agreed, and Malcolm walked away, towards Peter and Jackson, who were having a heated discussion in low voices. It wasn't hard to guess what they were talking about.
As Ponyboy turned back to face Jack, his eye was attracted by two people standing by the fence, only about twenty feet from him. It took Ponyboy a minute to realize where he recognized them from. As soon as he did, his eyebrows shot up into his hair-line.
"No fuckin' way," Ponyboy breathed.
"Who are they?" Jack asked, following Ponyboy's eye line.
Ponyboy just grinned and began walking over, putting out his cigarette before he did, with Jack hot on his heels. Within ten feet, Ponyboy called out. "Winston! Shepard!
Dallas Winston and Curly Shepard turned around sharply, glaring, before they realized who it was approaching them. "Ponyboy?"
Ponyboy just grinned. "What the hell did you two do to wind up in this hell hole?"
Dally didn't answer, just pulling Ponyboy in for a quick hug. They both stepped back and Ponyboy bumped fists with Curly, who had a slight grin on his face.
"Are you goin' to answer me?" Ponyboy asked.
"B and E," Curly told him.
Dally nodded in agreement. "We're here for two years."
Ponyboy whistled, lowly. "Damn. You must have caught the wrong judge, on the wrong day. Ain't Mitchell here for the same thing?"
Jack nodded. "He leaves next month."
Ponyboy and Jack looked over at a dark-haired guy in his mid-twenties on the other side of the yard, who had been inside for just nine months. He seemed to be threatening one of the new fish.
"Good riddance, if you ask me." Ponyboy and Mitchell had made their dislike for each other perfectly clear.
Jack snorted. "I'm sure he's thinkin' the same thing about you, buddy."
Ponyboy just rolled his eyes, before gesturing to Dally and Curly. "Jack, these assholes are Dallas Winston and Curly Shepard."
The three of them sized each other up and shook hands.
Once they were done, Ponyboy grinned. "B and E?"
Dally looked proud of himself. "Those were some mighty fine TVs, man. I couldn't help myself."
Curly nodded in agreement. "Tim weren't happy with me."
Ponyboy smirked. "I'm not surprised. Breakin' and Enterin'? You're gonna give him a stroke one of these days."
Curly just laughed, feeling really pleased to see his old buddy again.
Dally suddenly looked serious. "How are you doin', Pony?"
Ponyboy was quiet for a moment, before lighting up another cigarette. "I'm twenty-one, Dal. I ain't a kid no more."
If it were anyone else but Dally, they wouldn't have understood. However, Dally knew what Ponyboy meant perfectly. Ponyboy wasn't just talking about his age. Prison had a way of changing someone. Dally only had two years - he was going home and could live his life once he left. Ponyboy didn't have that luxury. He was in here for life and that was what had torn him up. Ponyboy wasn't hoping for release anymore; he wasn't hoping for anything. Prison was a dangerous place to hope and Ponyboy had stopped. It was only about survival now.
Dally just nodded, not offering any words of comfort. Ponyboy probably would've punched him if he had.
Finishing his bench presses, Ponyboy sat up and dragged himself out of the memory. Dally and Curly had been in there for two years, but came to see him as much as they could once they left. They sent letters, as well. They always sent letters.
Ponyboy had only been in solitary confinement once during the two-year period they were there, for only thirty days. Dally and Curly had been shocked that Ponyboy would even do anything to get into solitary confinement. It had been a defining moment for them, realizing just how much prison had changed the quiet greaser they'd once known.
Ponyboy knew that they hadn't quite known what to think about it.
He'd never been quite sure if he'd cared.
"Do they know, Curtis?" Jack asked, suddenly looking anywhere but at him.
Ponyboy didn't even hesitate. "No, they don't. None of them do."
He knew that his brothers and the guys would freak out if they knew anything about what was going to happen that day. He'd thought over every option he had and this was the best one. Besides, it would be better in the long run if his brothers and the gangs actions were sincere. He had spoken to his lawyer, though, but not about everything.
His lawyer, Jasper, had stuck with him over the years and Ponyboy owed him a lot. Jasper knew something was up, but Ponyboy hadn't told him what he was planning, because he didn't want him to be an accomplice. He was still a man of the law and Ponyboy respected that.
Jack sighed, nodding. "That's probably the best way to go. Are you ready?"
Ponyboy looked up at his friend and nodded, tensely. He was more ready for this than he thought he would be. He didn't feel any hesitation, at all.
Standing up, Ponyboy and Jack began walking away from the exercise equipment. This had to look real. They had planned this for weeks, going over every possible outcome and they were only aiming for one. Ponyboy didn't even have to look to know that Jack had signalled the others involved.
"Curtis!"
Turning around, Ponyboy saw Peter and Malcolm approaching the two of them.
Right on time, Ponyboy thought.
"What do you want?" Ponyboy asked. They'd faked a fight the week before and had 'been at odds with each other' ever since. The officers were thoroughly fooled. It wasn't the first fight they'd had over the years, so faking another one wasn't hard.
"My lighter," Peter snarled. "I know you stole my lighter, man."
Normally, this wouldn't be something to argue about. However, Peter was one of those with a serious smoking habit and he only had one lighter at this time. You keep him smoking, you keep him happy. They'd all learned that the hard way.
"I don't have your lighter, Pete," Ponyboy snapped. "Why would I want your lighter? I have my own."
He allowed a slight smirk to flash across his face. It would have been enough to get Peter's blood boiling had this been a real fight.
Peter's eyes narrowed. "You fuckin' bastard!"
Ponyboy didn't dodge the punch that was thrown. He fell down, caught himself and kicked Peter's legs out from under him. The fight had begun.
As the two of them threw punches and kicks, Jack and Malcolm also did the same. Other cons started getting in on it - starting with the ones who knew what was going on - and a full on rumble started right there in the prison yard. Out of the corner of his eye, Ponyboy could see the officers running, trying to break things up and guns being drawn by the ones up on the walls.
Catching Peter's eye in the middle of the right - the cons blending into each other and hiding the two of them from sight - Ponyboy gave a slight nod. Do it.
Taking a sharpened toothbrush out of his shoe, Peter didn't hesitate in sinking it into Ponyboy's side. Only barely holding back the gasp of pain as it sank in deep, Ponyboy just laid there on the floor.
"Good luck, Curtis," Peter whispered into his ear, before running off to get into another brawl.
With the cons involved seeing that the job was done, the fight slowly began breaking up. Ponyboy kept a hand over the wound in his side - the makeshift blade had been left in - and breathed a deep as he could. The location of the wound had been chosen for a reason; the amount of pain he was in couldn't be faked and it was enough to get him what he needed.
Ponyboy saw the spots in front of his vision and the blackness begin to seep in. Only the sea of orange around him kept him focused on the task at hand. It wasn't long before two officers were leaning over him, both assessing the wound and his state of consciousness. He felt an even worse pain in his side and faintly heard a yell - before registering that he was the one yelling. One of the officers had made the makeshift blade go slightly deeper.
By accident, of course, Ponyboy thought, sarcastically. He was conscious enough to recognize that one of the officers hovering over him was someone who had made their dislike of him clear. The feeling was entirely mutual.
Ponyboy focused on his breathing, just trying to get through the pain. It would do no good if he passed out now. Faintly, he registered that all the other convicts were filtering out of the yard, being shepherded back to their cells.
It seemed like an eternity before he was lifted onto a stretcher and carried out of the yard, and even longer before he saw the paramedics around him, lifting him into the ambulance.
Fighting through the pain, Ponyboy forced himself back to full consciousness. This would not all have been for nothing.
Seeing the two paramedics working in the back of the ambulance - one on his wound and one trying to get the right medication - everything was brought back to a sharp focus. Even the pain seemed to increase, but he thought of his goal and pushed everything else to the side.
"I'm not pleased to have you back here, Curtis," one of the paramedics, O'Brian, told him, seeing that he was focused again.
"The feeling's mutual," Ponyboy replied, his voice hoarse from pain.
O'Brian was a greaser and Ponyboy had known he'd be on call this morning. It just made it easier. O'Brian was one of the ones who knew what was going on. He'd been a damn good contact on the outside. He was a River King through and through.
Seeing the other paramedic busy getting the medication, O'Brian stuffed a couple of things into Ponyboy's hand and inside his orange jumpsuit, before giving him a slight nod.
Immediately, Ponyboy swung out with his fist and knocked the other paramedic out cold, his head bashing against the ambulance wall. Ponyboy immediately jumped up.
"Sorry, O'Brian," Ponyboy muttered, before doing the same to him. They'd both have bad headaches when they woke up. At least, though, O'Brian had signed up for it.
The ambulance was still moving, but Ponyboy didn't care as he busted open the back door and jumped out. He landed and rolled on solid asphalt and then saw what he was looking for.
Running straight for the trees, all of Ponyboy's energy was focused on getting away. Everything else faded to the background as he ran straight through the trees and deep into the woods, just focused on getting to the location he needed to get to.
Ponyboy Curtis had escaped from the ambulance. He was running. He was a fugitive of the law now and he didn't care.
He had a goal ...
... and he wasn't going to fail.
Author's Note:- I really hope you enjoy this story. Please, let me know what you think and review.
Enjoy! :)