Deceiver
Chapter Ten - The mirror
Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1966
Something wakes him up. He opens his eyes, stares out into the Curtises living room with a feeling of not being alone, and he's not surprised by finding Soda in the recliner next to him. Moving easily, he reaches out to nudge his leg, grins as his friend jerks at the touch.
"Damnit, Steve," Soda whispers harshly, slaps away his hand. "It's like the second time you scare me tonight."
"What are you doin' up already?" Steve asks with a yawn, even though he knows he answer. Ponyboy. It's always Ponyboy.
Soda sighs. "Can't sleep."
"What time is it?" The darkness in the room tells it's still night, but Steve kicks off the blanket to sit up anyway, rubbing his eyes.
"Don't know. Early mornin' I guess." Soda wraps the cover tighter around him. He knows exactly what time it is, it's four a.m. and he hasn't slept at all. His room is too quiet, the bed too empty, the feeling of being needed but at the wrong place too strong. He couldn't stay there.
"Don't you got work tomorrow?"
"Yeah, but I ain't goin'." Soda hesitates, says a bit pleading, "Steve..."
"Sure." Steve gives one of his rare smiles. "I'll cover for ya."
Soda nods, looking down. "Thanks, man."
xXx
Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1966
It's quiet. Being awake for what feels like hours I finally dare to open my eyes. The lids are heavy, and it feels like someone has thrown sand in them. Into my mouth too, it's so dry that my tongue gets stuck in the palate, and my head is throbbing.
Through the blinds in the window close by, daylight slips in, revealing that the night is over, and I hardly can believe I'm still alive. I let out air, take a shaky breath. Oh God. I put up my hands to my mouth, breathe in my palms just to feel it, that I can still do it, and then I swallow hard, turn my head. I lie on my back on the mattress, and the event from yesterday plays up in front of me when my gaze falls on the floor. I close my eyes for a second, trying to calm down.
Don't think about it.
But it's hard not to. There are too much evidence even though she's gone. I wonder if he took her someplace. He seems to be gone too.
I lie still and listen. I can't hear anything, except the traffic outside, and maybe, maybe it means that I'm alone. I hope I am. Either way, I know I must try to leave. I don't want to stay here, I want to go home.
Hesitantly, I sit up, wince at the pain in my left arm when I support my weight on it for a second. My stomach hurts too, both because of my full bladder and the lack of food. I haven't eaten or drunk anything since lunch hour in school yesterday.
I crawl up, and when I rise, my foot accidentally hits a beer bottle, and it falls with a clatter, making my heart nearly stop. I hold my breath, wide-eyed, but nothing happens, not a sound, but you can never know. He can be here, even if I can't see him.
I let some minutes tick by before I slowly stumble over the linoleum floor, a few short steps to the bathroom, and then I have to support myself against the wall for a moment. I'm dizzy. I know I should probably hurry to the front door instead, but I can't walk like this. Still debating with myself if this is a smart thing to do, if I have the time before he comes back, I reach for the bathroom door and open it. Taking a step inside, I flick on the lamp, and the sight the faint light reveals makes me stop short on the threshold, inhaling hard.
She lies in the dry bathtub.
Hastily, I turn my gaze away with a sob. I saw her before, I know what happened, and my part in it, but it doesn't make it any easier. Just harder. I want to run. I don't want to see, but I really, really need to use the toilet. So I brace myself, bite my lip hard as I walk inside, refuse to look when I do what I need to do.
Afterwards, I flush and walk up to the sink to wash my hands and drink some water. Her eyes stare at me in the mirror, and it's suddenly too much; the nausea waves over me, and I turn around, fall down and throw up on the floor.
xXx
Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1966
"Excuse me," Darry says to the gray-haired receptionist, her name tag saying her name is Lucy. Soda steps up beside him, places both his hands on the counter next to a green plant.
"Where's Ponyboy?"
Darry puts a hand on his shoulder, pushing him gentle backwards, feeling the tense in his brother's body. Soda is too emotional, ready to explode. Darry had wanted him to stay home, but of course, that wouldn't happen.
"We just want to see our Social worker," Darry says, knowing he sounds too urgent and curses himself. Both dressed in their best clothes, and that doesn't say much, he wants to make a good impression. If that will help at all. He doubts it.
"Do you have an appointment?" Lucy looks at them through big glasses.
"No, but-"
Her interests in them falter, and she returns to the papers in front of her. "I'm sorry. You need to have an appointment."
"Goddamnit," Soda swears at her. "We just wanna know where our brother is!"
Darry turns his head and frowns at him, and Soda sinks back, stares at the floor.
"I told you to take it easy, Soda," Darry mutters. "If they think I can't handle you-" he stops, knowing they already had this talk in the truck.
"Fine! " Soda snaps. "You told me already."
Darry looks forward again, taps the counter to get Lucy's attention, and she looks up, looking a bit grim when glancing at Soda. "Listen," Darry says catching her gaze. "Sorry ma'am, but our brother was taken from my custody yesterday, and we just want to talk about it. We don't even know why you took him."
The receptionist sighs, puts down the pen she holds in her hand. "All you have to know stands in the verdict. Didn't you read the file?"
"What file?" It's Soda again, unable to stay quiet. He steps forward, and this time, Darry lets him. "We didn't get any file."
Darry pinches the bridge of his nose. He's tired, they both are after a sleepless night, and he thinks of Pony and work, and he doesn't have the time to deal with a stubborn receptionist.
"Can we just see our Social worker, please," he begs through his clamped teeth.
"I'm sorry, but you'll-"
Soda's fist hits the counter, interrupts her. She jerks at the sound, and her brown eyes widen. "Do that again and I will call the security!"
"Soda," Darry hisses and takes his arm. "Calm down, or you'll have to go wait in the truck. Got it?"
Soda mutters something inaudible, walks over the floor and throws himself down in the couch standing against the wall. His face is clouded over, easy to read.
"I'm so sorry for my brother," Darry says as soothing as he can, doing his best to hide his annoyance against her. "But please, can we get an appointment for today?"
The woman behind the counter fidgets with her hands, giving him a scared look. It's just great, he thinks. This will definitely give us Pony back.
"I..."
"Please."
She gives him an unsure look, but then she seems to relax, and she nods.
"I will see what I can do."
He feels relieved. "Thank you."
"Who do you want to meet?"
"We had Mrs. Garcia before, but I never met our new one so I don't know her name. But my brother's name is Ponyboy. Ponyboy Curtis."
She raises her eyebrows slightly, but doesn't say anything about the first name. Instead she just says, "Curtis with a C?"
"Yes."
She disappears through a door in the wall behind her, and returns a few minutes later.
"Your Social worker is still Mrs. Garcia. Do you want me to call her for an appointment?"
Darry's face changes to one in disbelief. He frowns. "Are you sure?"
"Excuse me?"
"She still works here?"
"Yes. Of course she does. She has been here for several years. Do you want me to call her?"
Darry rubs his eyes, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that starts to gnaw. This wasn't something he expected. "Yeah." He throws a glance at Soda, who immediately jumps up.
"What? What is it, Darry?"
The woman punches in a number at the phone, so Darry walks to his brother. "She's calling her," he says, throwing a doubtful glance backwards. "Didn't Johnny say that Mrs. Garcia was fired?"
"Yeah. The woman who got Pony told him that. Why? Darry, what's wrong?"
But Darry shakes his head. No point in worrying Soda until he knows for sure what's up. He still thinks that everything can be explained. Misunderstandings happens all the time, right?
"Excuse me," Lucy says, holding the receiver against her chest," does next week work for you?"
Darry hurries back to stand by the counter. "No. Today. We need to talk to her today! It's important." Suddenly more now than ever.
Soda looks at him with worried eyes. They both stand quiet, listening to how Lucy talks to, assuming, Mrs. Garcia in the other end, the name Ponyboy Curtis mentioned, and then she puts the phone down. Her eyes are a bit strange when she looks up at them.
"Well, she told me to send you in, but you must have got it wrong somehow."
Darry pales. Soda roves his eyes between them. "What?" he asks, unsure. "Darry?"
But Darry grips his arm and drags him along down the hallway. They have been here before, so he knows where her office is located in the building, and he finds it fast enough.
"Darry, what's the matter? Is it somethin' about Pony? Is he all right?" Soda keeps asking when Darry knocks at the door and walks in, without waiting for a reply.
Mrs. Garcia's office is cozy, with a big, brown desk, a lot of bookcases and two comfortable armchairs facing her, but Darry stops just inside the door.
"Did you came for Pony yesterday or not?" he bursts out.
She removes her reading glasses. "No. I'm sorry Darrel, but I don't understand."
Soda's face is still blank, but he hear the sharp inhale from his brother. "What?" he says again. "What, you guys never came for Pony?"
"Can you two please sit down so we can investigate this," Mrs. Garcia pleads, and because they don't know what else to do, they do as she says.
"Now tell me what happened," Mrs. Garcia says motherly. "Why do you think we came for Ponyboy? I still think he's doing best at home with you."
"Oh my fuckin' god," Soda breathes out, devastated. He leans forward, hiding his face in his palms.
Darry grits his teeth, trying to control himself. "Because somebody did yesterday. She told him that she came from the state. Soda and I weren't home, but a friend to us was and-" he stops talking, clenching his fists. "We have to call the police. Now!"
xXx
Oklahoma state Penitentiary, McAlester, Oklahoma, 1965
His second turn is not as bad as his first, but it's bad enough. Long years filled with locked doors, a tight schedule and violence, but this time, he has earned more respect. This time, he knows how to protect himself.
And then, he's finally released, a few months before New Years eve. Promising himself that he will never return to this place, he walks through the gates, nods at Luke who is standing by his car. Then he frowns. Luke is thinner than usual, and something in his eyes tell that he's not all right.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he bursts out. He throws in his bag in the trunk, waiting for a reply. "It looks like you've been the one that was locked in, not me," he adds.
Luke makes a grimace. "Brain tumor."
"What?"
"Yeah." He shrugs. "They can do nothin' about it, either."
Henry stares. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"
"I'm tellin' you now." He hesitates. "But it's okay. I'm comfortable with it. You can have my house. You will need a place to stay anyway."
"Fuck you, Luke. This ain't nothin' to joke about."
"I ain't joking. Besides, I heard that you will get married. Some Sarah called me."
They climb into the car, Henry behind the wheel. He has missed this. Driving.
"She told you we will get married?" he asks, frowning, in shock about his brother. He can't believe it. He doesn't want to believe it, so the change of subject makes him good. He welcomes it.
"Sure did."
"We'll see about that," Henry mutters.
His brother nudges his arm. "Why not? You can use a woman. Can't believe how you was able to meet her, though. Thought all the inmates were men."
Henry winces, his first turn to prison still in his mind. Always in his mind.
"She wrote me a letter. She was in this group, a bunch of women writing to inmates, and I got hers. Then she came to visit after a few years."
"And now you're gettin' married," Luke repeats. "That's neat."
"Fuck off." He turns the key, hears the engine roar.
"So," Luke says casually. "I heard you changed your name."
"Yeah." He throws a glance, but his brother doesn't look disapproval. "Call me Matthew, okay?"
"You think that will help?"
He takes his gaze off the road for a second. "Help from what?"
"Gettin' a job. Stuff."
"Maybe."
"You do want a job, right?"
"Yeah. Of course I do."
"Want me to hear with my boss at Tillman's? There will be a place soon."
"Goddamnit, Luke."
"I'm just realistic." He sounds serious. "You know I will do anything for you, right? I will help you before I pass."
"Whatever. Help me, then."
Luke smiles. "New life from now on, right?"
"Sure." He grips the wheel tighter. New life, as soon as he has dealt with things. The one thing that kept him going during the years. Get the one to blame for his lost years. He will deal with Darrel Curtis. He won't get away this time.
xXx
Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1966
I push myself up with my hands on the cold floor tiles, stand up on shaky legs. My arm stings. I know I should clean it, but I can't, not with her there. I can't walk up to the sink again. The mirror...
I spit on the floor and my mouth tastes awful. I had nothing to throw up but bile, and it's sour and burns in my throat, and the image of a Pepsi doesn't fit in, but I think of one anyway. Something normal in all this. I want a Pepsi. God.
I stumble out from the bathroom, feeling sick. I'm going home. I need to go home. The front door is ahead of me and I reach it, my hand touches cold metal, the handle, and I push at it. The door is locked.
Goddamnit. It's hard not to panic.
He fingers on my throat. I think of good stuff, frantically, I'm not here, I am somewhere else, but his hand suddenly grips harder, his fingers in the back of my neck, his thumb almost cuts off my air supply, and I'm thrown from my thoughts, awake, staring...
Give me one reason to not kill you, boy.
His grip makes it hard to talk, to think.
... I-I don't...
I force my mind to work fast. The key. I need the key. They both had one, and if Henry is gone, hers must be here somewhere. If he didn't take it with him, and I hope he didn't, she must have it in her purse. I saw her put it there.
Where is it? I turn around, lean my back against the wood, searching the room. Then I see it, small and red, in all the other red. I hurry, fall on my knees, breathing hard. The smell is bad. My hands shake too much. The zipper troubles. Where is the key?
One reason.
Answer me, kid.
Then Sarah's voice. She has left the bathroom. I'm going out. Grocery shopping. Can we go when I get back?
Henry's voice, his eyes never leave me. Maybe.
Small metal piece. I curl my hand around it, rise. I forgot to close the bathroom door. Standing wide open, I can see her.
I drag my gaze away, rush back to the door. I have to get out before he comes back. The key fits after my fifth time of trying, and I'm out in the hallway, the stairs lie in front of my feet. I grab the rail. Not too fast, or I will fall.
I count the steps. I don't want to think of what will happen if I meet him. Please don't let me meet him.
And then, the stairs end, and I push at the door with the broken window.
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