I knew we were going to the hospital, and as some kind of shock wore off I was feeling worse and worse. That jean jacket was little protection from the fire and probably made it worse. But that didn't matter. Ponyboy mattered. But I thought about the kids that were in the church. At least they were okay.
We get to the hospital and they wheel me into the E.R. on a stretcher and some doctor puts some stuff on the burns that are all on my back and shoulders and chest and then puts bandages on that and looks critically at me.
"Maybe I should admit you, those burns are pretty bad," he says, and I shake my head.
"They ain't so bad, I'll be fine," I said, and tried not to wince in pain. But I wondered which would be worse, being in the hospital or being in jail. But the doctor didn't admit me, although he still looked like he wanted to.
"Alright," he said, "even though you're not showing it, I know you're in pain. So here," the doctor said, and handed me two white pills. I took them without even asking what they were.
Half an hour later I was in the waiting room and I felt high. Everything was kind of, I don't know, unreal and happy. But under the drug happiness was the worry. I'd seen them wheel in Dally and Ponyboy, and Dally looked fine, and he yelled at me about going into the church. Ponyboy did not look fine. He was very still and had a mask over his nose and mouth.
And I didn't know why I thought my parents would show up. They didn't. It wasn't like they gave a shit about me. Darry and Soda showed up, the hospital must have called them. They came over to me and I looked up at them, thinking they'd be so mad. This, all of this, it was my fault.
"Jesus, Johnny, what happened?" Darry said, his voice sharp with worry. I shrugged, it was too much to go into.
"How's Ponyboy?" Soda said, and him and Darry looked at me with a kind of hopefulness.
"I don't know," I said, and they went off to find a doctor and find out about Pony and Dally, and I drifted along on the high feeling of whatever pain killer the doctor had given me.
When they came back they looked upset, and I didn't quite dare ask them what they found out. Then a bunch of reporters showed up and asked me so many questions that it made my head spin. Then the cops showed up, and I was glad that Darry and Soda were here, at least. At least I wasn't completely alone.
"Johnny Cade?" the cops said, and looked at some paper they had. It probably was all about me killing that soc and they were gonna haul me off to jail. I couldn't believe it. I hung my head. I guessed I deserved it.
They put handcuffs on me and shoved me in the back of the police car, and I leaned my head against the glass and thought about how I didn't even know how Dally and Pony were, and I knew that Darry and Soda had to be pretty mad at me, and my stupid parents couldn't even show up after I'd been gone so long and almost got myself killed.
There was nothing to do. There'd be some juvenile hearing soon, so I guessed I was stuck here until then. I wondered about the electric chair, maybe I'd get that. I killed someone. Maybe Ponyboy wouldn't be okay. I didn't know. I felt sick about it, and whatever drug I'd taken at the hospital was starting to make me feel like I was going to puke.
I rubbed my wrists where the handcuffs were. I paced around the cell for awhile, so sick with worry, sick from the burns and the drugs, I couldn't keep still. This was what I feared, but worse, because now Ponyboy was hurt, maybe dying, I didn't know. He looked pretty bad on the stretcher.
I finally just laid down on the hard cot with the thin mattress and covered up with the gray blanket that was kind of scratchy, and I tried to get some sleep.