Sorry for the long, long, long hiatus. I hit a road block. But here is a long chapter – thanks for being patient and please review.
Calla Lilly Rose – yes, I am alive! Thanks for urging me on! This one's for you!
XXXXX
6:50 pm
September 8, 1967
There's a tap on the bedroom door. Soda pokes his head in, still dressed in his DX uniform. "Hey, I'm home."
I lower my book, but am careful not to set it down; I don't want to invite conversation. For the last few days, Soda seems to have something to say, although he hasn't quite found the way to say it. "Two-Bit leave?"
"Yeah." Soda pats his pockets and pulls out a shiny object. He tosses it to me and I catch it with one hand.
It's a key. "What's this?" I ask even though I know very well what it is.
"Our house key," Soda explains; his dark eyes are serious. "Darry scrounged them up. We're gonna start locking the doors around here." The expression on my face causes Soda to cross the room quickly, sitting down beside me. "Hey, it's ok, Pone. We just want to be careful."
I wince inwardly at Soda's reminder that things are still not right. An admittance that even my brother's are worried. "But – But," I stutter. "I don't want things to be different. They don't have to be—"
Soda wraps an arm around me. "Nothing's changing." He smiles. "Except now we can change the locks on Steve and Two-Bit."
I stare down at the book in my lap. "Kiddo," Soda says, tightening his grip on my shoulders. "You haven't really…well…um…"
Soda's nervous; I can tell from the way he stammers and the way he runs a hand through his messy hair. Finally he blurts, "You haven't talked to me and Darry about what happened. And you know you can right? You know whatever you say won't matter."
But it will. When they hear how I gave up, on them and on myself; how I talked to people who weren't there, it really will matter. "Soda," I shrug him off. "I don't want to talk about it."
"But Pony—"
"No," I refuse, shifting on the bed, away from Soda. The book slides from my lap and hits the ground with a dull thud. I wish I were as strong as Darry and as positive as Sodapop. But I know what I am and ready to talk isn't one of them.
XXXXX
3:16 pm
September 14, 1967
Another week has slowly crawled by. I've spent a lot of that time playing cards with Two-Bit and trying to act as normal as possible.
Eat. Breathe. Sleep. Repeat.
I don't know if anyone buys the act but at least I'm beginning to.
I slam the screen door shut behind me, leaving Two-Bit to devour what is left of the chocolate cake in peace. With a relieved sigh, I lean against the porch railing. My eyes brush across our yard; our lawn needs a good mowing. The neighborhood is quiet, most people at work or school.
An empty beer can rolls down our street, propelled by the breeze. It's a funny tinkling sound, almost eerie in the afternoon stillness. I shield my eyes against the sun and squint into the wind.
Nervously, I dart a glance into the house. Two-Bit is still engrossed in the TV and chocolate cake. Then, pulling out my pack of smokes I hold it in my palm, weighing the consequences of getting caught by Darry or Two-Bit. "Screw it," I mumble as my hands find their way, pulling out a lone stick.
An engine cuts the air. I watch the red Corvair round the corner and light my smoke. It slows and pulls up to the curb in front of the house. My fingers twitch anxiously and I take a drag as Stanley Ezra climbs out of the car.
"Hey," I say through numb lips.
Stan stops at the curb. "Hey Curtis." He raises the backpack in his right hand. "I brought you your homework."
I grin slightly. "You figurin' I was bored or something?"
Stan begins to walk forward. "No. I just wanted an excuse to stop by." His eyes drop to the ground as he reaches the porch.
Shrugging my shoulders, I wrap a hand around the railing, my knuckles white. "You shouldn't have. I'm going back to school Monday."
For the last two days, Darry and Soda have been debating about whether or not it's the right time for me to go back to school. I don't want to go back, but I had argued with them that I should because that seemed like a normal thing for me to do.
I've missed two weeks already, but judging by the circumstances I don't think any of my teachers are going to have it in their hearts to flunk me.
Finally, Darry had left it up to me. "Pone," he said. "It's your call."
I ignored the sick churning in my stomach and said in a voice I didn't recognize, "Sure, Darry. It'll be fine."
It's something I hate to admit, but it scares me to leave the house and have my brothers so far away. Even the locking of our doors has calmed me. I hate the fact that Blonde has had the ability to affect me so much.
Stan's face is mortified when he looks up. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Hell, I'm sorry about everything."
"It's not your fault," I tell him. I take in his guilty face and know it can't be easy from his side either. "You couldn't have known."
"No," he says in a low voice. "I couldn't have." I shoot Stan a sharp glance. Something in his loaded tone reveals more than his words do.
"So, uh, you ready to come back to school?" he asks. "Escape your babysitter?" Stan's smile is forced, our conversation taking a turn towards awkward.
"I guess," I laugh and nod towards the screen door. "Although, I'm not really escaping Two-Bit. He'll be back at school too."
"Ponyboy Curtis!" Two-Bit's voice rings out. "You have ten seconds to throw out that cigarette. If I catch you with it, you'll force me to tell Darry."
I grin, take one last puff and toss my cigarette into the dirt. At least Two-Bit gives me plenty of loopholes to avoid getting into trouble. I look at Stan. "You better go."
"Sure." He sets the backpack full of books on the front step. "See you Monday."
"See you Monday," I echo.
XXXXX
12:12 pm
September 17, 1967
School has been less painful then I had thought it would be. When I had run away to Windrixville, I had returned to a multitude of questions and angry jabs, now I'm met with sympathetic eyes and a lot of how are you's? Teachers are pleasant and forgiving, even the Socs don't have a lot to say.
I take my lunch and go sit on a bench outside, hoping to evade Two-Bit for an hour at least. He's been hovering the entire day, even Steve has been walking by my locker once or twice. There's a noise behind me and I turn to see Stan Ezra. He's wearing a dark gray windbreaker and a baseball cap. A gym bag is slung over his shoulder.
"Hey," he greets me.
"How's it going, Stan?" I shove my uneaten chips back into the paper bag.
"Not much. Headed to practice." He gives me a grin. "You gotta come back soon. Give me an opportunity to beat you."
"Right," I snort. "I think Lou Emerson could beat me," I say referring to the slowest member on our track team.
"I doubt it." Stan raises an eyebrow. "You're a fast runner." Then Stan jogs off down the schoolyard toward the locker rooms. I watch him enviously but my gaze is suddenly drawn to a car parked across the street. The car slowly pulls away from the curb, does a u-turn and drives off down Euclid Avenue.
I let out a breath I haven't been aware I've been holding.
XXXXX
6:45 am
September 18, 1967
Steve catches me with the paper the next morning. I've been reading about my return to school, Jessup's inability to catch my kidnapper and the Bethlehem family's feelings on the whole ordeal.
"I don't think you're supposed to see that," Steve says, entering the kitchen, shoving the key that Soda has given him into his pocket.
"It's ok, Steve." I fold the paper over, smoothing out the creases. "They can't hide the paper from me forever."
Steve smirks. "I think they'll try."
Shoving the papers across the table, my eyes flutter to the clock hovering above the entryway between the kitchen and living room. I take the last bite of my cereal, knowing I'd better leave now if I don't want to be late.
"You want to ride with me to school?" Steve offers.
Somewhat shocked at Steve's blatant gesture, I balk for a moment. But I've learned my lesson about turning down rides and so I say, "thanks," and accept. Steve pours himself a bowl of cereal, grabs a spoon and sits down at the table. "I saw you talkin' to that Ezra kid yesterday at lunch."
I set my jaw. "So?"
"So…I think you should stay away from that Soc. He's bad news. He got you into this mess."
I don't get Stan's constant need to check up on me, but I don't tell his to Steve. Instead, I say, "Why don't you let me worry about that?"
Scowling, Steve points his spoon at me. "I'll let Darry worry about it if you keep it up. Something's not right with that family."
I sit back in my chair and glare at Steve. But what he has said has got me thinking. Stan may know much more than he lets on. And if he does, I intend to find out.
XXXXX
1:59 pm
September 18, 1967
I watch Hannah Ezra as she waits for the call. She's in the telephone booth on the corner of Terra Avenue and Mitchell Drive. I'm in a street car, parked about two blocks down, my binoculars giving me a good view.
The phone rings and she answers it. Beside me, Benji says, "She's nervous."
I nod. "She sure is."
Hannah covers her eyes with her hand, her mouth moving wildly. Suddenly, she slams her fist against the glass and begins to cry. Another moment passes and she's quiet, listening intently.
Benji whistles, "Boy, Jessup, what I wouldn't give to be a fly in that booth."
I've known it since our last meeting, but this confirms my suspicions. Hannah Ezra, either indirectly or directly, has something to do with Ponyboy's kidnapping. She, and possibly her husband and son, know the kidnapper.
Hannah hangs the phone up. She stays in the booth for about three minutes and then exits. Glancing around her fearfully, she hops in her Cadillac and drives off.
I start up the car and head toward the station. I need to give Darry Curtis a call to let him know something's going on.
XXXXX
4:02 pm
September 18, 1967
"Stan," I call out, hurrying to catch up with him as he leaves the locker room.
He blinks seeing me approach. "Curtis, what's goin' on?"
I decide to get to the point. "You know something don't you?"
Stan pales but plays it cool. "What are you talking about?"
"About the kidnapping, who took me. Who wanted you." I quicken my pace to keep up with him.
"I don't know shit," he snaps, stopping abruptly. "And I don't know what the hell you want with it anyways."
A frown creases my brow. "If you know who did it, you can tell the police." At his silence, I warn, "Jessup knows too." At my last questioning it had been obvious that Jessup was focusing on Stan's family.
"Look," Stan says, his eyes flashing. "I'm sorry about what happened to you. But you got it all wrong. So leave me out of this." He gives me a quick shove backwards and then takes off across the track.
"God damn it," I swear angrily, knowing I'm not wrong.
XXXXX
4:45 pm
September 18, 1967
Ponyboy comes stomping into the house twenty minutes after I've sent Soda and Two-Bit to look for him.
"Jesus, Pone. Where've you been?" I ask, my relief slowly fading to irritation.
Surprised at the question, he glances at the clock. "I stayed to watch track practice," he mumbles, sidestepping me. Ponyboy's face is almost angry, a change from the deadened look he's gotten used to wearing.
I force myself to stay calm. "Pony, you need to call if you're going to be late. Also, didn't I tell you not to walk home alone?" It's one of the few things Soda and I have asked him to do. Lock the door and walk home with someone.
"Yeah, you did. I'm sorry Darry," he replies, getting himself a glass of water. He chugs it and refills his glass.
I watch my brother with a growing wariness. He still won't talk; even Soda's appeals have fallen on his deaf ears. I'm worried he's going to hold it in so long and so far down that one day he'll just implode. Sometimes all I do is want to yell at him, tell him to "pull the ripcord" and just let it out.
"I got a call from Jessup today," I begin. Ponyboy freezes, setting his glass on the counter. "He seems to think that the Ezra family is more involved in this than they've let on." I place a hand on his shoulder. "You keep your distance from Stanley Ezra, ok?"
Ponyboy nods mutely.
XXXXX
3:16 pm
September 21, 1967
"Thanks for the ride Two-Bit," I say, climbing out of his truck.
"Not a problem, Pone." He leans over and hands me my backpack.
Taking it, I slam the passenger side door shut. "You coming back over tonight?"
Two-Bit drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "It's Friday. Hard to say whether or not I have a date tonight."
Laughing, I roll my eyes. "But you're going to go find one aren't you?"
He shrugs, revving the engine. "Hey, even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then." Two-Bit smiles. "See ya, kid."
I watch him drive off; holding my breath as Two-Bit narrowly misses taking out our mailbox. I climb the stairs and hover by the front door, trying to find the key buried in my pocket. After sifting through change and lint, I finally find it.
As my left hand grips the doorknob, the right preparing to stick the key in, the doorknob turns in my palm. Frowning, I pause outside the cracked door and set my backpack down. I had been sure I locked the door before I left for school this morning.
I push the door open wider and step inside, my heart beating in my chest. "Soda?" I call out, expecting to find my brother making a mess in the kitchen. Instead the house is silent, as I take a few more steps inside.
The voice inside of me is screaming for me to get out of there. Reaching the kitchen, I survey it quickly and then turn to leave. But the door's shut when I turn around, Blonde's blocking the way.
At first all I can do is will him to be a figment of my imagination but I know he isn't. He came back, he came back, he came back is all I can think. Blonde smiles; his teeth are yellow and rotten. "You miss me?"
I don't say anything, my brain trying to come up with a plan. Instantly, I know it was him I saw in the car parked outside of school.
Blonde takes a step forward. "Took me a while you get you alone…but it finally happened." He chuckles. "You should be dead back there at that cabin."
"Yeah, along with Sammy, right?" I finally choke out, hoping to divert him.
Blonde pales, snarling, "Shut your mouth, you little shit."
"Ok," I agree.
Do it now, a voice whispers.
Suddenly, I dart backwards and grab up Darry's coffee pot. I hurl it towards Blonde and it strikes the door. Glass shatters everywhere and Blonde swears again. Seeing my chance at his distraction, I take off through the kitchen and down the hall, hearing Blonde's footsteps behind me.
I slip in the hall, grabbing the bathroom doorknob to pull myself up and then round the corner into Darry's bedroom. My eyes find their target and I grab the Louisville Slugger Darry keeps behind his dresser.
There's no time to think as Blonde comes charging into the room. Using all of my might, I swing that bat right into Blonde's face. There's a sickening crunch as wood meets bone. "Go to hell," I say as he crumples to the floor. He's still.
Adrenaline pumping, I toss the bat to the ground, wheeling around and out of Darry's room. I run through the living room, crunching on glass, pushing past the front door. I'm outside and I wince against the sun as I run down the steps. My legs tangle and I stumble, twisting my knee but I keep going.
Blindly, I dash into the road, dodging an oncoming Buick. It swerves, the driver cussing me out but I continue running down the middle of my street.
I can't stay in the house with Blonde; he's brought it all back, I have to get away.
There's another truck ahead and I see with relief that it's Soda and Steve. I pick up the pace, half-running, half-limping towards them. The truck abruptly halts as Steve mouths something to Sodapop and points at me. Both doors are thrown open and they tumble out.
"Soda!" I holler, rushing to him.
"Pone? Pony!" Soda yells, alarmed. We nearly collide with each other but Soda has his arms out, catching me. "What happened?"
I pull away, tugging him towards the house. "Soda, he came back. He came to the house."
"Jesus," Steve says darkly as a desperate look crosses Soda's face.
"C'mon," I urge, taking off again. Even with a limp I'm faster than the two of them as they trail me. I trip again when we reach the steps; Soda grabs my elbow, Steve the other.
Soda slows me down, halting outside the front door. "Did he hurt you?" he asks grimly. "Kiddo?" he shakes me when I don't answer.
"No," I smirk. "Other way around. I took Darry's slugger to his face."
When we reach the bedroom we all freeze: Blonde's gone. All that remains is the bloody bat and muddy footprints Blonde dragged in with him.
I shake my head, distraught. I had been so sure this had been it. My eye catches the back door flapping open and I make a move.
"No," Steve's arm comes out, barricading me. "Stay here, I'll go." He disappears out the back door.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it all. So I just nod and sink down to the floor, my legs going to jelly beneath me.
Soda just looks at me.
XXXXX
Please review. I hope this story is not dragging…I promise I'll wrap it up soon.
Thanks for reading!! Pardon any tense/grammar issues...
