Yes, I know the last chapter ended on a cliffy and could have been continued…but I just wanted a fresh start. ;) At least it wasn't a long wait! Leave reviews pretty please!

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I: In Alchemy, Nigredo, or blackness, means putrefaction or decomposition.

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I sit across from Patty Strickland and another social worker named Kenneth Christopher, who does most of the talking. Kenneth has a low, soothing voice and I find myself not hating him as much as Patty. Perhaps she has brought him as a bodyguard - to protect her against my brothers.

I think: Why in the world would my brother's have a problem with Patty Strickland? She only broke into my hospital room when I was critically ill. No big deal. My social commentary gets the job done and I laugh inwardly.

After a few pleasantries and introductory bullshit, the social workers finally get down to business.

"Ponyboy," Kenneth is asking me, "do you feel comfortable in here?"

We sit at the kitchen table, the four of us. My hands are folded together, resting tightly on the tabletop. Darry grips his mug of coffee as if it were a life preserver. Everything is so formal; it just makes everything worse. No one wants to slip up.

"Yes sir," I say politely. I smile to make my point.

Patty glances at Darry. "Can you possibly excuse yourself for a moment? We'd like to speak to your brother alone. Exclude any…interferences."

A muscle in Darry's jaw twitches. It softens when he looks at me. "Sure. I'll be in the-"

"God damn, Darry I am so sorry I'm late!" Soda hollers, clambering in.

Darry's mortified eyes meet my exasperated ones. Soda has made his entrance well known.

He tosses his coat and keys on the floor and runs into the kitchen. "Are they here yet? Are they-" He skids to a stop, seeing the four of us. "Oh. Hi."

"Hello," Kenneth says pleasantly enough. Patty settles for sipping her coffee.

Darry stands up and takes Soda's elbow. "C'mon Soda. They want to talk to Ponyboy."

Soda shoots me a pleading look. "But-"

"C'mon, Soda." Darry leads my harried brother out of the room. I imagine Soda is feeling something like being late for the first day of class. You have just missed what you need to know for the entire year.

In the living room, Darry and Soda are speaking in hushed whispers. I wish I knew what they were saying; it'd be a whole lot more interesting than this. Kenneth clears his throat. "Now Ponyboy…as we were saying…" He slides out a tape recorder, sets it on the table and turns it on. I shift nervously.

Patty jumps in. "Do you feel safe here?"

"Yes."

"I know you may be scared to tell us the truth…but have they ever hit you? Abuse is a serious thing, Ponyboy. I know you love your brothers but we're here to help…"

My hands come apart and I rest the palms on the cool surface of the table, ready to make my plea. "Look. I told you before-" I look at Patty pointedly, "You saw in the hospital, they treat me great."

Patty stares at me, unyielding. Ignoring her, I turn to Kenneth. "This is my home. My brothers…do so much for me. If anything, I'm the one who causes the trouble." I try to smile nonchalantly.

"Did they tell you that?" Kenneth interrupts gravely. "That you cause trouble?"

My heart sinks; I begin to fear I have just screwed us royally. "What-? No, I didn't mean-"

Kenneth takes his job seriously. Unlike Patty, he wants to do good. He means no harm. Kenneth leans across the table, his glasses sliding down his nose. "Son, it will be hard for a while, but this may be the best thing." He shuts my case file.

My eyes widen at this simple yet prophetic act.

It is then I know they have already made up their minds. Their visit was pointless, a cruel trick for all of us.

"Darry!" I suddenly yell, fear building in my stomach.

Darry and Soda both walk in. Soda is still in his DX outfit, coated in oil and smelling of car fumes.

Kenneth takes a deep breath. "Mr. Curtis," says to Darry, "this home visit is not just to re-assess the living situation. We have already re-assessed the situation. Past visits, hospital records, police records they say a lot." He glances at me apologetically.

"I wasn't aware of Ponyboy having any police record, " Darry says slowly, his eyes narrowing and darting to me. Darry does not like surprises. Especially when it comes to social services.

"Well it's not a record," Kenneth begins, "he was detained the other night…"

I sink lower into my chair, my hand covering my eyes. Right now, I am more humiliated than afraid. The secret is about to be spilled.

Patty is gleefully enraged. "Why deny it? We have your signature." She holds up a piece of paper – a copy of the log sheet. Patty says to Kenneth, "I told you, they're uncooperative and -"

"Who employs you?" Soda sputters, finally breaking his silence. Absurdly, I have a clear vision of a fighting Sodapop and Sandy. "The loony bin? Because lady, I swear-"

"Enough!" Darry and Kenneth snap in unison. They stare at each other awkwardly, not used to uniting with the other side. Soda falls silent; I bite my lip in amazed horror.

"Let me see this," Darry says, taking the log sheet from Patty's outstretched hand.

He scans it a moment. "I didn't sign this." He hands it to my brother. "Soda?" By his flat tone, he believes Soda and I are in cahoots.

Soda scans it absentmindedly, and then just before he is about to hand it back to Darry, his dark brown eyes snap back to the page. "Wait."

I suddenly affect interest in an imaginary piece of lint on my sleeve.

"Steve signed this," Soda says in a dead voice. Soda knows his best friend's handwriting. The S that looks like a deformed X. The chicken scratch that Soda has tried to forge time and time again. He knows it.

"Steve?" Darry looks at me sharply and then back to Soda. "You didn't know about this."

"No. I didn't."

"Irregardless," Kenneth says, holding up a hand, "the point is clear that you both don't have time to keep track of your brother. Either you're unwilling or unable."

"No, sir…" Darry tries to have his say.

My chair clatters back, I am on my feet.

"Based on these risk factors," Kenneth continues, his voice staccato. "I'm sorry to say this, but we are assuming guardianship. Effective today." The tape recorder is turned off with a click.

Soda places a shaky hand against the counter to steady his self.

"Please, get your things," Patty Strickland suggests kindly.

"Oh no, no, no," I begin to moan, wishing I could run out of the house and never look back. I turn to my brother. "Darry?"

He steps in front of me, his arm creating a protective barrier between the social workers and me. "Sir, he has doctor's appointments and school and-"

Patty shrugs her jacket on. "Don't worry. We'll make sure his needs are met."

"I'm sorry," Kenneth reiterates, also standing.

"Pone," Darry puts his hands on my shoulders, holding on firmly. His face is ashen. "You need to go-"

I look around desperately, trying to claw onto some semblance of hope. Nothing is turning out right. I feel as if I am ten years old again, scared and young. "Darry. Darry, but you said-"

Darry grasps for the right words, promises he can actually keep this time. But what can he say? "Ponyboy…I'll…I'll…"

Stricken, I pull back. This is not happening. This is not happening.

"Fine, I'll go pack," I say numbly.

"I'll help you." Soda says quietly, recovering from his shock.

"No." I brush past him. "I don't want your help."

Inside our room, I begin to cry, hot tears running down my face. I brush them away angrily and dig my old suitcase out from underneath the bed. I don't even bother to take the time and care to pack. The longer I delay, the worse it will be.

Instead, I take out my drawers of clothes and dump them into the suitcase. I can't remember where my drawings or pictures are so I toss a few books – including Gone with the Wind - on top of the pile of clothes and slam it shut.

"I'm done," I announce, entering the living room.

Soda stops mid-pace. He is smoking in the house. Apparently, all protocol has gone out the window. "Already? You barely-"

"It doesn't matter. I'll be back soon," I say with assurance I don't feel. Because, I can already see the guilt and stress that has begun to pile on Darry's shoulders.

Darry swallows thickly and takes my bag from me. "I'll be getting a lawyer," he tells Kenneth and Patty.

"Of course," Kenneth agrees. "We'll schedule you a hearing within the week. Please remember, this situation is only temporary. Until then, please be aware that for the first two weeks of separation there is not any in-person contact. You can however, speak over the phone at the allotted hours."

I pale. "What?" I nearly yell. The news just keeps getting worse and worse.

Patty opens the front door. "It's just for two weeks – to help you settle in."

Soda suddenly grabs me and pulls me into a fierce hug. "I love you. Be good. Be safe." He kisses my forehead. I can tell he is waiting until I am gone to cry.

"I'll figure this out, Ponyboy." Darry hugs me too; I try to find the energy to return the hug. Just thinking five minutes into the unknown future scares the hell out of me. It's odd realizing your worst nightmare is finally coming true.

"I know you will." I grin weakly and try to think of a final goodbye.

It is silly. Until today, Donald Parker and my brother's secret had made up the most of my worries. Shoot, Parker was just the tip of the iceberg. I have a whole new set of problems.

Patty clears her throat, eliciting a glare from all of us, even Kenneth.

"Ready son?" Kenneth asks gently, prodding me out the front door. He takes my bag from Darry, an overt hint at them to not follow. Probably from his experience it usually makes things worse. Harder.

"So, aren't you gonna cuff me?" I snap and hold out my hands as we walk down the porch steps.

Darry makes to follow us, groaning unhappily at my words. "Ponyboy…"

"This isn't prison," Patty says testily. Ahead of us, I see the white van.

"Could have fooled me."

XXXXX

I have been in the Tulsa Home for Boys for about a week and a half. The old, brick building is in downtown Tulsa, settled squarely between an alleyway and the DMV. Two fine additions to society.

It is better than I expected it to be. For this I should be glad.

No one yells or hits, – From word of mouth, I know which guards to avoid - I get three square meals a day, – despite the crappy food – and school isn't so bad either. At least it's a momentary distraction for a few hours.

All in all, it's not the hell I anticipated.

And when it comes to hearing some of the horror stories the other boys tell me about their families, I almost feel like a shit. They are glad to be here, thankful that they are not being hit…touched.

But I don't like being here. I am not glad. I miss Darry and Soda so badly it hurts to think about them. I'm like an innocent on death row. They've got the wrong kid.

The first three nights I woke up screaming, earning me dirty stares and whispers from the other boys in the room. At night, everyone cries secretly, silently. But I have crossed the boundary where I have shared my problems. That is not wanted.

After that, I went to the nurse. I couldn't stand not having anyone to wake me up and settle me down.

"I need sleeping pills," I mumbled.

"For what?" She asked, looking at me through huge coke bottle glasses.

"Nightmares. I have a prescription. Check with my doctor. Doctor Rice." I crossed my arms and waited. The nurse called and I got those pills. I wonder if Darry was informed. But I doubt it.

But the worst part, the very worst part, is not being able to see my brothers. Not knowing what is going on back home. Feeling as if life is moving on without me; that they are moving on without me.

Yet, this feeling is my fault. I have created it and am content to keep it.

After the hearing, the judge made it mandatory that I stay at the boy's home until they see fit to release me into Darry's custody.

Time span indefinite. Ponyboy Curtis panicked.

After that, I just shriveled up and died. Like I did in the months following Johnny and Dallas's deaths. Simply put, I am throwing a pity party for myself. I have not spoken to my brother's for a week. I just hope they know my thoughts are with them.

A knock at the door. Billy Cooper sticks his head in. At least I think his name is Billy. He is one of the kids who has told me which guards to avoid and to always address them by, "Sir".

"Ponyboy Curtis," Billy says in that soft, drawling voice of his. "You have a phone call."

I roll over onto my side and glance at the clock. 2:00. Peak telephone hours. "Tell them I'm asleep."

"Sure." He disappears to do my dirty work. Billy and I aren't exactly friends, but he doesn't laugh when I have nightmares and that makes up for a lot.

Billy is back moments later, opening the door and stepping in a bit more. "Pony. Ponyboy," he says earnestly. "Don't kill the messenger, but this guy sounds really pissed. He told me to tell you that if you're not on the phone in 10 minutes he's going to ground your ass."

Yep. That's Darry, I think and really wish he could follow through with his threat.

I grin slightly at the yellowed wall and roll off my bed. "Thanks, Billy."

"It's Timmy," he tells me.

I grimace at my mistake and run a hand through my hair. "Sorry."

"Shoot, don't be. My old man thinks my name is "asshole". Billy's a nice change." He opens the door for me and lets me pass.

Walking down the hall, I take a left and move into the communal room. This is where we get our phone calls and visitors. The walks are painted yellow, the ceiling a blue sky and white clouds. They think this is cheery but it really reminds us of what we are missing outside.

Plopping down into an oversized chair, I hesitate a second before picking up the lime-green phone. "Hey, Darry."

"Goddamn it, Ponyboy," Darry exhales. "I've been calling for a week straight. We've been worried sick. You can't do this to us anymore."

Blankly, I stare at the floor. "Sorry," I mumble.

Darry chooses to ask the obvious, while there is clearly a whole lot more we have to talk about. "How are you?" he asks in a soft voice, which I can barely hear over the din coming from the phone. He is on his lunch break; I can hear the clatter of tools and men shouting in the background.

"Oh, it's just swell here, Darry," I say sarcastically. "If it weren't for the security guards and shitty food, it could almost pass for home." I lean back in my chair and scowl at some kid playing Solitaire.

Darry is quiet for a long second and then he sighs. "I know it's hard, kiddo."

"I'm just alone."

"No, you're not," he says firmly. "Soda and I, we're right here with you. We can see you in a few days."

My fist tightens its grip on the receiver. I've never felt so wicked as when I say: "Darry, maybe we're all better off. Now you can go back to school, quit workin' two jobs. Without me to feed, not to mention take to doctor's appointments, you'll both be rollin' in the dough."

Darry's voice is deathly. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. But just for the record Ponyboy, don't you ever think you don't matter."

I frown at the disgusting, grimy tile. Talking to Darry brings everything back and I remember why I didn't want to talk to him – any of them - in the first place. Suddenly, I miss my school, my brothers, my friends…my normalcy.

I can't take it anymore. The false reassurances, the sympathy.

"But that doesn't matter Darry! Nothing matters when I'm here."

And so, I hang up on my brother.

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Just a note: I don't know anything about CPS rules or living arrangements. But I have tried to do my best.

Will our hero make it out of his den of despair? Will he fall harder? Will Patty Strickland get hit by a bus? Stay tuned for the next nail-biting installment!

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