Author's Note: Just wanted to let y'all know that this story will be keeping its T rating, just in case anyone was worried. It does handle heavy topics, but I don't plan on anything getting graphic.

Happy reading :)

XXXXX

I guess the upside of all this alone time I had this summer was that I could go to movies whenever I wanted, and see whatever I wanted. I also didn't have to worry about the potential of getting kicked out of the movie theatre. I don't care what they say, I'm not the one who can't keep my trap shut while flinging popcorn around. So I went to go see Casino Royale, which I actually bet would've gone over pretty well with the guys, but whatever. It would be cool to be James Bond – he gets all the girls, saves the day, gets to ride around in some pretty swell cars. It was a good movie, I liked it a lot, and it was over much too soon. I almost decided to just stay there and watch it again, but there was an usher with a broom that was giving me the eye, so I decided it would be best if I just left.

It was a nice enough day for a walk, anyways.

"Hey, Curtis. What's up?"

Ah, Curly Shepard. Always turning up when you least…eh, he just shows up whenever. Actually, though, I hadn't seen him since that party he dragged me to a while back. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, actually. Who knows – maybe I'd been subconsciously avoiding him. I didn't exactly say goodbye, I just disappeared. I wondered if he even cared. Come to think of it, last time I saw Curly, I'd had that nightmare about him that night. I don't know if I believe in omens and all that hocus-pocus crap, but looking at him just then reminded me of how my subconscious had drummed him up, and it was putting me a bit on edge.

"Not much, Curly," I said, trying to be casual. "What's up with you?"

He shrugged. "Eh, nothin'. Just hangin'."

That was definitely what he was doing. He was really looking like the thug he was just then, slouching against a brick wall with his thumbs hooked in his jeans, smoking, and his hair falling in his face. He looked like he hadn't bathed in days, but that wasn't an unusual look for him. I wondered if he was always this gross-looking, and if I ever looked this nasty. I sure hope not.

"That's cool," I said noncommittally. "You, uh, got any other plans?"

"Nah," he said. "So, you saw the papers, yeah?"

I raised my eyebrows. "No, what's in the paper?" Man, that made me sound stupid I bet. Like some old guy.

"About the murders."

I rolled my eyes. "You mean that girl they found? That was in my neighborhood, Curly."

His eyes darted from side to side. "Right." He was sure acting weird. Then again, Curly's always acting sorta weird. "Did you…did ya see her?"

I scrunched up my face. "No, Curly. Steve and Two-Bit told me about it."

"Did they see her?"

I sighed. "No, Curly – why's it matter?"

"But you've seen dead bodies before," he went on, ignoring my question. "You saw that soc, and then Cade, and then Winston. You know what death looks like."

"I guess…Curly, you're kinda freakin' me out, man! What's all this talk 'bout dead bodies, anyway?"

I wish I hadn't asked. Curly sighed and ran his fingers through his gross hair. Took a drag off his smoke. I know I keep saying it, but he really looked strung-out. "No reason, man," he said. "No reason at all."

XXXXX

"…so I guess I thought it was sorta girly."

"Oh." Bridget sounded a bit disappointed. I'd just finished The Portrait of a Lady simply because she had said she liked it, so I guess I shouldn't be that surprised. I'm not saying it was bad, but it was no Red Badge of Courage. She had recommended books to me, but again, they were all sorta for girls. But I had a feeling that I'd better read Emma, or I'd regret it. I think I feared Two-Bit's wrath, but that kinda droopy, sad look that Bridget gets more. "Well, nothing wrong with getting in touch with your feminine side!"

Ugh.

"No thanks," I said, squirming in my seat, and she laughed to herself. I gave her a quick look; she looked so out of place on our side of town, and I don't think that would ever not be the case. Her car was too nice, and so were her clothes; she had a scarf wrapped around her head to keep her hair from flying in her face because we had the top down; heck, she even smelled expensive, but don't ask me what sort of perfume she was wearing, if any – I wouldn't know. Then I thought about what Two-Bit – and Steve about Evie – said about her, how with these murders, he didn't want her alone. I hadn't noticed if they'd been happening on just our side of town, but the thought of…of…ugh. I can't even think it. Can't even say it to myself. "Bridget…do you know who Curly Shepard is?"

She stiffened. "I've heard the name. I think he…he interrupted a conversation Two-Bit and I were having once, maybe about a couple months ago. That's the only time I've ever seen him. And I've never met his older brother. Why?"

She did seem a bit uncomfortable that I was asking, but I just couldn't get my conversation with him from the other day out of my head. He really had spooked me. There was just something about him that had really changed, in just a month or so. Something…something not good. "You should stay away from them. The Shepards. They're bad news."

Bridget watched me with a concerned look on her face. I felt bad for worrying her. "Ponyboy…is everything alright?" I shrugged. I really didn't know. "Well, if something were, you'd tell me, right? Or you'd at least tell somebody? Don't do anything that will put yourself in danger if you can help it. If you ever need my help, you have it. Okay?"

I nodded. "Okay," I said, "Thanks." And that was all I had to say, but she had more.

"You're welcome." She pulled up in front of my house. "I know you've been through…a lot, and I happen to believe that one can never have too many people in their corner, so now I'm in yours."

"You are?"

"Well, you need a woman in your life, so I guess that's going to be me, effective immediately," Bridget said with a positively cheery smile and a single nod of the head. A done deal, then. I scrunched up my nose.

"Are you a woman?"

"More woman than any of your brothers or friends, that's for sure!" she said smartly. "Besides – girls mature before boys do." Yeah, that was for sure. There were still girls at school who were taller than me – some of them by a lot – and that sure made me feel like a little kid. But I wasn't done growing, so I hadn't given up hope. Yet. "Got any plans?" She asked, changing the subject. I shrugged.

"My birthday's comin' up."

"Oh!" She exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. "Well, happy early birthday! What are your plans for that?"

I frowned. Did I…did I have to have plans? What was with this girl and all her plans? I didn't have any plans, not ever. Or, hardly ever. Each day came and I would just decide what it was I wanted to do, pretty much on the spot. Birthdays weren't much different. I mean, I wasn't anti-birthday like Two-Bit seemed to be, I liked my birthday, but yeah – it was still just another summer day. "Um. Nothing really. The guys are probably gonna come over, embarrass me. Cake. Mrs. Mathews came over last year and said happy birthday. I think just cuz she feels bad for me, on account of the no parents thing."

"Well that's…nice. My sixteenth birthday was an affair. I mean, I only had a few close friends up in New York, but I have a big family so…yeah. This car was a present for my seventeenth."

Oh, man. I subconsciously ran my hands over the seat. Nice present. "That's nice, too. We usually keep it pretty small," I said, shrugging like we did that on purpose and not because we were broke. I think she saw through it, but she was nice enough to not say anything.

"Well, I think that sounds wonderful. Alright – you just…you just let me know if you need anything, okay? You just call me. Okay?" I nodded as I stepped out of the car. I got her loud and clear, I just wasn't quite sure what sort of help she could offer, besides financial. "Okay. Happy birthday, Ponyboy!"

XXXXX

I like the feeling you have when you wake up on your birthday.

The day I turned fifteen, I woke up to an empty bed, the only other living thing in the room TD on the floor beside my side of the bed. I took stock: it wasn't too hot yet, and the bedroom window was open and letting in a nice summer morning breeze; the sun was making its steady rise into the sky; it was just a really nice morning. Chirping birds and all. I felt like I was in a Disney movie. On that morning, the first real coherent thought I had was This year is going to be different. It's what I needed to hear, and I needed to hear it from me.

I wandered out of my bedroom still half asleep and wearing just a T-shirt and underwear. I slumped down into a chair at the kitchen table, blinking slowly as I tried to wake up. I was aware of bustling around me and a few voices saying (screaming) happy birthday, and finally registered Darry asking, "Want somethin' special for dinner?"

I nodded lethargically. "Pizza," I mumbled, because that's what I wanted every year for my birthday. Pizza and Pepsi and (Darry's, so Mom's) chocolate cake. Darry nodded once, made note of it, and gave me a hard pat on the shoulder as he walked out the door. I looked down and noticed someone had put breakfast in front of me without my noticing. Two hard boiled eggs, bacon, buttered toast, and a big glass of chocolate milk. Not bad. I usually just have to take them scrambled.

"You're a weird family for a bunch of reasons," Two-Bit told me later that day, "but it's rare to come across a trio that can't agree on how to best prepare eggs."

Maybe, maybe not.

I spent most of the day hanging around the house with TD, catching up on reading and listening to Camelot. At one point, I wandered into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror, hoping to find sign of even a hint of facial hair, but still nothing. I was fifteen now! Fifteen had to be the year, didn't it? It had to be. That's when Soda started shaving. Surely the universe wouldn't make me wait any longer than that. Would it? It's been cruel to me before, so I wouldn't be too surprised, I suppose. Then I thought about Bridget's question about whether or not I had any plans, and when I blew out the candles that night on my cake, I realized that my fifteenth birthday hadn't really been much of anything, even though there was pizza. I mean, I understood why. Work and…and my buddies' lives, but still. It was an odd feeling. I guess the older you get, the less people care about your birthday. I mean, Two-Bit cared so little he let us forget about his. I don't get it; I think birthdays are even more important than Christmas, and that's Jesus's birthday.

Yeah, it hadn't been much, but I thought of something that might make it a little more while I was eating what had to be my sixth piece of pizza or something that night. I walked into the living room where Soda was sititng watching the baseball game and tapped his shoulder. "Hey, Soda."

"Hey, birthday kiddo."

"Soda? I've been thinkin' – "

"Uh-oh."

Sodapop smiled at me and winked, and I had to laugh, even though I'm pretty sure some crumbs flew out of my mouth. "Yeah, yeah. But I was really thinkin', and I'm fifteen now – "

"Right."

"Well I was thinkin' that…well, I think maybe I'd be okay alone now. At night, I mean."

It took him a moment to get it, but I could tell when he did. I was thinking he might feel as if I was trying to hurt his feelings or something, but I wasn't getting that from him. He just stuck his bottom lip out and nodded, then clapped me on the shoulder, and I knew it was a done deal. Just like that. He smiled and said, "Fuck, man – you're a man now, ain't ya?"

And I guessed I was, if he said so.

That night, it was quiet. It was the kind of quiet I just really wasn't used to, or haven't been in a long time. The room was just so still. TD hopped up onto the bed with me, circled, and then flopped down beside me. I turned my head and looked out the window, opened just a crack to let in a nearly-non-existent breeze, and listened to the crickets and cicadas sing their nightly song.

XXXXX

Darry told me that if TD was gonna hang around the house, I was gonna have to be in charge of him. That was fine by me; I'd wanted another dog for so long that I didn't even mind looking after him. And he seemed to appreciate it. I took him out for a walk in the evenings, and he stuck so close that I didn't even need to bring a leash. Something about walking around with a dog made me feel a little safer, which may be stupid, but it did.

"Hey, kid!"

Two-Bit was walking toward me, baseball bat slung over his shoulder and shades on. "What's with the bat?"

"There's this kid that hangs around Crutchfield and I pay him a few bucks to let me get hits in sometimes. He loads up the machine and I just let 'em fly," he grinned. You'll never meet someone as in love with baseball as Two-Bit Mathews, or as in love with football as Darry Curtis, Junior. He patted TD's head. "I was headed your way now, yer brothers home?"

"Soda and Steve should be on their way back from work now."

"Then I'll walk with ya. Maybe we'll meet up with 'em."

We did eventually, and we all agreed that it was too nice a night to head in just yet, so we headed for the lot while Two-Bit hit us grounders and pop-ups. TD just ran home the rest of the way. I wasn't really all that good, even with the glove that Two-Bit had let me use. Steve and Sodapop were playing bare-handed and were better than me. Guess I really should stick to running. Maybe football if Darry gets on my back enough about it. Footballs are bigger, though, and easier to catch.

At one point, Two-Bit hit one so far that it went past the treeline, and while he looked pretty proud of himself, the rest of us just groaned in annoyance. "Aw, Two-Bit! C'mon, man," Soda laughed.

"What? I can't help it. Pony, that was your area – go get it."

I groaned but ran after the ball anyways, not really minding. I ran to the edge of the lot, a bit past the tree line, pushing aside branches and shrubs as I searched for the ball. I heaved a happy sigh when I saw it; it had rolled up against a mound of dirt. I bent down to pick it up and was all ready to leave when I noticed something in the dirt. I narrowed my eyes and crouched down and picked it up to inspect.

"Ponyboy!" Someone yelled off in the distance. "Didja find it?"

"In a minute!" I called over my shoulder. I turned the object over in my palm; it looked like a fake fingernail, the ones you could get at the salon, like the one Evie's mother owned. It was bright red. The gears started turning, and I knew that as soon as I thought that something fishy was up – call it a hunch – there was no turning back. I also knew that I probably wasn't gonna find anything good, but my mind couldn't leave it alone. I started digging at the mound of dirt, my heartrate picking up as I went, not finding any more fingernails, but all of a sudden my hand met with something fleshy-feeling, and I realized that I'd found an arm. A freaking arm. I screamed. Like a girl. I screamed bloody murder, and kept screaming even after the three of them had run in and found me sitting on the Earth's floor. Soda pulled me up onto my feet and wrapped his arms around me, probably trying to get me to stop.

"Holy shit," Steve breathed. Two-Bit nodded, looking pale.

"I'll call the fuzz," he said, and ran off towards my house, probably. Steve watched his retreating back, and I remembered what he said the night of the rumble, how nobody called the cops in this neighborhood because they knew better. I don't think this was one of those situations.

"Let's go," Soda grunted, his voice making it sound like he was struggling to get me under control. I'd stopped screaming, but I wanted to run away. I let him guide me out of there, Steve right on our tail, and the three of us sat on the curb under the streetlamp. Two-Bit eventually showed back up.

"Guess Darry's not home?" Steve asked, and Two-Bit shook his head. He sat down besides Steve and sighed, ran a hand through his hair, then rested his elbows on his knees.

"This is fucked up," was all he said, shaking his head still. I agreed, but was still feeling a bit too shell-shocked to respond. Sodapop kept his hand on my shoulder, and I appreciated it. We didn't say anything else to each other, just sat in the quiet until the first squad car showed up. Two-Bit waved at the officer that got out, and I wondered if it was his buddy Officer Wells, and sure enough, he was. Said it on his nametag and everything.

"Boys," he greeted, nodding his head. We all stood up. "Where is it?"

That seemed like a pretty crass way to refer to a dead girl, but I guess that was all she was now – just a dead body. A shell. If we have souls, hers had gone somewhere else. Since I was the one who'd found the body, I pointed the coroner in the right direction and then told Officer Wells the story, how we'd been hitting around and I'd gone to get the ball, and it just so happened to roll up right against where someone had buried her body. I told him I'd only seen her arm, but that I knew it had to be a girl because she had those press-on nails. I tried not to look when the coroners rolled her out in that black bag. I'd never even seen her face.

"Alright," the officer sighed. He then looked over at Two-Bit. "You been drinkin' tonight, Mathews?"

Two-Bit looked a mix between disgusted and surprised that he'd asked. "What's that got to do with anything, officer?"

"We're just makin' sure you're a reliable witness," he said, but I got the feeling he just wanted to screw with him more than follow the law on this particular point. Was this some sort of joke to him? A girl was dead! Another reason not to trust the police – they just liked screwing with you. "So, Mr. Mathews," Officer Wells sighed, flipping to a new page in his notebook, "at the time you and your friends discovered the body, were you intoxicated?"

I still didn't get why he was asking. Two-Bit just shrugged. "Well, I like beer. Still like beer. My friends and I, yeah, we drink beer. Yeah, we drink beer, and sometimes — sometimes probably too many beers, and sometimes other people have too many beers. But yeah, I like beer."

"Two-Bit."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Officer Wells just shook his head as he wrote on his notepad. He was clearly used to Two-Bit's antics, and for as annoyed as he looked, he didn't really seem mad. I guess he just had a sense of humor. Maybe Two-Bit helped him along with that. Personally, I couldn't see how Two-Bit could be joking at a time like this. It made me want to smack some sense into him – another girl had turned up dead. "Mr. Mathews," he began again, not looking up from his notes, "I asked you whether or not you were intoxicated at the time."

"Oh!" Two-Bit put a hand to his chest. His words made it sound like he was joking, but his voice was dripping with sarcasm, and I started to get that he was as pissed off about the question, he was just vocalizing it and calling Officer Wells on his bull. "At the time! Well, as unlikely as it seems, officer, the answer is no." When Officer Wells didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at him, Two-Bit looked at us in support. "Really! I ain't lyin' here! And I don't see why the fuck it matters, either."

"He's really not, officer," Soda said, stepping up for him before the two of them could get into it. Steve didn't seem to want to as he was the one who'd told him to shut up a second ago. Steve looked pretty stressed out, actually. He kept pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes really tightly shut. "Officer Wells, what's goin' on here? Why're these still happening?"

"Either there's more than one killer, or we still haven't found the right guy," he said, and Steve rolled his eyes.

"What sort of crack police work is this?" He spat. "How many times are you gonna get it wrong?"

"As many times as it takes, I s'pose," Officer Wells said, eyeing Steve coolly. "This ain't easy, boy. We don't have all the answers, and trust me, we're more frustrated than you are. We're doin' what we can."

Steve nodded, but I could tell he didn't like that answer. I don't know if I liked it, either. These girls were having awful things done to them and then were murdered and left all over town, and it was starting to seem like the killer was closer to us than we thought. It was one thing to live in a neighborhood where you knew that there were guys beating on their wives and kids, or couples fighting at two a.m., or hoods getting into fights or shooting off fireworks after any decent person had gone to bed. So maybe there were worse neighborhoods, like where the Shepards lived, but that didn't mean it was all roses here. It definitely wasn't – not now.

I went to bed that night a little shaken. I had gotten uncomfortably comfortable with death, but it was still always a bit of a shock. I guess I thought by this point I'd just be used to it – but I'm not. Not at all. I felt like I was moving through molasses as I got ready for bed, that my mouth was fuzzy as I brushed my teeth, that there was just a constant ringing in my ears. Darry and Soda didn't really say anything, but Darry did ask me at one point how I was doing. I told him I was okay. It wasn't a total lie, but that means that it wasn't a total truth, either. I showered and crawled into bed in just my underwear, feeling the coolness of the sheets against my skin. I could hear my brothers talking through the thin walls, which is fine – I couldn't sleep anyways.

"He's a kid!" I heard Darry whisper-shout. "He shouldn't be findin' dead bodies." He paused, and I could just picture him, braced against the kitchen table, not quite able to look at Sodapop. "He…he shouldn't have two dead parents, or two dead friends, either. He's too young for all this."

"So are we," Soda said gently. He was probably sitting right across from Darry. Him I could see running one of his hands through his thick wheat-gold hair, then using the same arm that the hand was attached to hold up his head. Soda doesn't always go in for the special moments where you look someone in the eyes and impart your wisdom, sometimes because he truly didn't have it. But then something like that would come out of his mouth. Just so casually. "Man, what the hell do ya think's goin' on here?"

"Hell if I know," Darry said, but without any of his usual bite. More of a sighing tone. "It's disgusting. It's disgusting! Goddammit, why do we still gotta live in a place like this?"

"Still?"

"Yeah, still. What the hell's wrong with – with – with, god, I dunno who, but somebody out there's just fucked. Just fucked. We live in a neighborhood where a fifteen-year-old kid is comin' across dead bodies when he walks down the sidewalk. That's not okay."

I hadn't ever heard Darry talk like this. The way he was talking, that's how I talk.

"The other girls…remind me where they were found," Darry went on. "What do yer clippings say?"

Oh, yes. Sodapop and his clippings. "Um…well, there was the one tonight in the lot, one in the Long's backyard, one was found on the riverbed, and the first was found in a dumpster in an alley on the other side of town." It was weird, Sodapop acting like a sleuth. Almost like he knew what he was doing.

"All in the same way?"

"Yeah, but only the last couple have been even halfway buried. Unless you count the first one bein' buried in trash…"

"I meant…I didn't mean buried, I meant – "

"Oh! Oh. Yeah, I guess they were. Why?" Darry didn't speak for a minute. That got me to thinking, and I think it got Soda thinking, too. "Darry? Darry…is this the case you're on?"

There was a heavy beat of silence before I heard Darry admit, probably regrettably, "Yes."

XXXXX

AN: Two-Bit's little speech about liking beer is – oddly enough – inspired by Brett Kavanaugh (barf). That whole situation is horrible, but every "I like beer" compilation had me rolling. So there's a little bit of satire for you all (and a joke that will probably age horribly.)

Thanks for reading!