On a Long Road

25. The Book

"Joey," Aidan says again, and Joey turns his gaze away from me. I put my hand against the wall, to steady myself. I'm thinking of the last time I saw a gun - it was in Dally's hand, while the bullets hit his body, killing him ... I close my eyes and open them, but the image refuses to go away. I shudder.

"Give it to me," Aidan tries, reaching out a hand, but Joey only shakes his head and moves away.

"Afraid I'm gonna shoot you?" he mocks drunkenly. "I wouldn't do that. Maybe Ponyboy." He grins at me and I can't move.

"Oh, fuckin' stop this shit!" Aidan swears.

"No, I'm tired of your shit," Joey mutters. He backs away even more, guarding the front door now. He points the gun at me.

"I hate him. I can put a bullet in his brain."

I feel sweat breaking through my skin. I give Aidan a panicky glance, and he sighs.

"Joey, stop it."

"No. Don't tell me what to do," he says grumpily.

"Fine. Play with your little gun, then, but we ain't stayin'." Aidan walks up to me, a little unsteady with his steps. "C'mon, Pony," he says, gripping my arm. He drags me with him, down the hall, back to the bedroom, closing the door behind us.

"That kid!" he mutters while snatching his pack of cigarettes and yanking the window open.

The house is too silent. I have a bad feeling something's going to happen. I keep glancing at the door, just waiting for Joey to turn up with that gun, and I think we should run while we can. But Aidan seems to have other plans, sitting on the floor under the window now, with his head leaned back against the wall, slowly blowing out smoke.

I clutch my arms around my body.

"Aidan?"

He doesn't look up. "What?"

"Was it loaded?"

He drags up one corner of his mouth. "Doubt it."

"But you can't be sure?"

"It wasn't loaded, Ponyboy."

"Because he said so?"

"I'm too drunk for this," he complains. "Shut up, please. Go back to bed, or somethin'."

I glance at the door again, hoping Aidan is right.

"I need a cigarette," I say quietly. I walk to stand beside him, and he gives me the pack without me having to ask for it.

I lean out through the window as I smoke. The air is a bit chilly tonight; the sky dark and cloudy.

I put the butt out on the windowsill when I'm done, turning around, just to jump high as the door suddenly opens and Joey stands there. He still has the gun. His eyes are red and puffy, like he has been crying, and he points the barrel at me again. I press myself backwards as far as I can get.

"I'm gonna kill you," he sniffs. "I'm really gonna do it."

Aidan huffs while he rises up on his feet. "Hey, man," he says. "Knock it off, will ya?"

Joey wipes his nose with his sleeve. "No! I don't want him in my house anymore. Why can't he just go?"

"I can go," I hurry to say. "Okay? I'm - I can call my social worker, she'll come and get me tomorrow, I promise." My hands are all sweaty but I don't dare to move to rub them off on my jeans.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Joey says, suddenly glaring harder. "You all think I'm stupid, but I'm not anymore. I've got a bullet." He fumbles with the gun.

"Joey," Aidan says tiredly, taking a step forward, but just a second later a sharp sound echoes through the room, surprising us all. Joey's face turns white in a second, and Aidan stumbles backwards, crashes into me, and we both fall down to the floor.

"Shit," I hear Aidan say as I struggle to sit up. I don't know what to look at; Aidan, Joey, the gun, the blood ... god, blood ... there's blood on my hands!

My first thought is that it's me, he was going to shoot me, but I'm not in pain, nothing hurts, and then I realize -

Aidan. Shit, shit, shit ... I fumble with my hands over his shirt, leaning down over him. "Aidan!"

"Ow ... fuck," he moans.

"No, no, no..." I say desperate, trying to turn him over, to his back, but he's heavy, pressing himself down into the carpet. He's stronger than me.

"I didn't mean to!" Joey's voice finds its way into my mind.

"You ... you shot him!" I look up at him, finding him just staring at me in disbelief. "You shot him!"

"I said I didn't mean to!" he yells, making me flinch. But Aidan moves under my hands, and I have to turn my attention back to him, help him ...

"Call an ambulance!" I beg Joey, but he doesn't move. "C'mon Joey! Hurry up!"

"I can't! They'll think I did it on purpose but I didn't. I swear I didn't!"

"Dammit," I curse, choking up as I see the wound when Aidan tries to sit up. It's on his stomach somewhere, hidden under his fingers. There's too much blood. He's so pale, breathing unevenly.

"It's your fault, Ponyboy!" Joey suddenly says, but I ignore him. I can't deal with him now, not now when Aidan ...

"Aidan, come on ..." I'm crying now. I didn't even notice it. I sniff as Aidan's eyes get dim, as he slumps down again, breathing hard and ragged now, like he can't get enough air. I know I'm looking at him, but I see another boy, another boy with blonde hair, outside in a park, under a street light, and I know he will die. I wish he wouldn't. He wanted to turn eighteen, to take his car and drive, to get out of here, but not like this. I can't understand how this is happening. It's always happening. Everyone just dies.

I wipe my eyes and when I look up, Joey is not by the door anymore. Frantic I look around, but he must have left.

Then I remember. I've got a bullet. He had one bullet; he shot Aidan. But it was me he wanted to kill. What if he went to get another one? Another bullet? I choke up even more, knowing I need to move. I can't ... I can't think. I have to get Aidan to come too, I can't leave him here.

I lean over him again, trying to get him to look at me. "Aidan! Aidan, we gotta run ..."

He doesn't answer me, but his eyes are half-open.

"Aidan!" I try firmer, placing my hand over his heart. It's still beating, but it feels wrong. I hear a noise somewhere, from the house, and I snap my head up, my own heart beating wildly in compare to the one under my palm.

I manage to stand. I just stare at the door, not knowing what to do. Joey will come back and then ... I will never see Soda and Darry again.

I look around for my shoes, but I can't find them. Somewhere in my mind, I think they stand by the front door, where I kicked them off ... didn't I? But I don't dare to go out there, so instead, I hurry over the floor and climb halfway up the ladder, searching under my covers for Johnny's book. I won't leave without it.

Back on the floor, I hunch over Aidan again. I hope he's still alive.

"Aidan ... I'm gonna get help, okay?" I promise him quietly, close to his ear. "Don't die." I sniff, wiping my eyes furiously. "Aidan?"

There's still no answer from him, and when I nudge him, he doesn't make a sound, doesn't even move anymore. It feels like the walls tumble down around me, trapping me, it's like I can't breathe. I think I know, but I don't want to know, and I try to tell myself he's just hurt. Just hurt.

But I know he's not.

I can't stay any longer. I tell myself I have to rise and move to the window, climb over the sill, and after a while, I manage. I don't know how, just that I feel the grass under my bare feet all of a sudden.

I just run at first. I don't care in which direction, I just run over the field, away from the house. I turn around once, see the light from our bedroom window, but otherwise it's dark and quiet. I wonder if Joey is out here, looking for me, so I run faster for a moment, stumbling and grimacing when my feet hit hard or sticky ground. I fall down to my knees three times, and I drop the book, having to fumble for it in the dark. I won't lose it. I need it. I need the book, even if it's destroyed, but it was just the front cover, and it's taped together ...

I find the book and press it close to my body, crying hard now. I have to sit down on my butt and drag up my legs to my chest and bury my face into my knees. I cry and shake and I can't stop. I try to wrap my thoughts around what happened in the house, but it's impossible. Joey shot Aidan. He killed him. He killed him right in front of my eyes; he just lied there, so pale, like Dally was. But Dally chose it, Aidan didn't. I'm sure he didn't want to die. And then he did, and all because of me.

Everyone dies because of me. Bob, because Johnny had to stab him to save me. Johnny, because I was the one running into that burning church. Dally, because I killed Johnny. And now Aidan too, because Joey wanted to kill me. How am I supposed to live with this? I should go back, just let Joey finish it ... it was my fault. Four people are dead because of me. Instead of me. It should have been me, every time ...

xXx

I don't know what time it is when I finally calm down, but it's still dark. I slowly sit up, from finding myself lying down in the grass completely. I'm tired, dirty, bloody... my whole body aches. My cheeks feel stiff and my eyes burn, swollen by tears, but at least they have stopped now. I'm not a little kid, I shouldn't break down like this. I have to act - I have to decide what to do next. I have to try to think clearly, like Dally would have done.

I could go to the road, hitchhike into Oklahoma City and go straight to the police ... no. Not alone. The police have always scared me a bit, being a greaser and all. I know they're not too fond of us. Maybe they wouldn't even believe me if I tell them about ...

I don't even want to think about it.

I have to go home, but then the state will find me. If they find me, what will they do? Send me away again, but I can't let them do that. It will just happen again; someone will die, or get killed, or they will hit me or move me around. I can't go back to the state's care, I have to do what Soda wants, hide somewhere. I don't care about the consequences anymore.

Maybe I could go to Two-Bit's or Steve's? No, they would find me there too, the state knows we're friends. Besides, Two-Bit's house is too small and Steve's dad would kick me out for sure, he doesn't even let Steve stay sometimes. I think frantically, but I don't know so many people back in Tulsa, people who would be willing to hide me until I turn eighteen.

I stagger to my feet. It hurts to move, and I really hope I'm walking in the right direction.

I'm exhausted when I finally reach the main road. I jump over the ditch, stumble on the asphalt, scratching my toes against the hard ground. I stare in both directions, but it's all empty; no cars in sight. I know I will need a ride, Tulsa is too far away to walk.

I hold the book close to my chest as I start walking anyway, in the middle of the road. The night air feels chilly against my bare arms, everything so unreal. I look up at the dark sky, wondering if maybe this is all just a nightmare, one of my usual dreams. Maybe this isn't happening at all; I'm already home, in my own bed, sleeping next to Soda. For some reason I start to giggle, only to turn to sobs again a minute later, but it's dry sobs. I don't have any tears left.

I don't know why I don't hear the car coming, but I hear the screeching wheels as the driver hits the breaks. I stop and turn around, opening my mouth, but no sound comes out, and then I'm suddenly thrown up on the hood as the front hits my hip, rolling down to the asphalt again, landing hard on my side as the car comes to stop. I moan, blinking dizzily against the sudden light from the headlights above me.

I hear a car door open and a voice, then suddenly someone stands above me, sinking down on their knees.

"What the hell?" a man swears loudly, panicky. "What were you doin' in the middle of the road? I didn't see you! Christ, boy, answer me! You all right? Shit, I can't believe I -"

He grabs my arms and helps me to sit, and I groan, feeling hurt all over.

"Oh god, ye're bleedin'!"

"Where's my book?" I mumble, noticing my hands are empty, and the man blinks in confusion.

"Book?"

I try to push him away, make him let me go so I can stand up. "My book! I need my book!"

"Boy, I hit you with my car, calm down a sec -"

Ignoring him, I manage to loosen myself from his grip and stand up on shaky legs. My right leg hurts like hell when I put my weight on it, but I can walk, and I start looking around. I won't lose it!

The man stands up too. "You should sit down! C'mon, get in the back seat, I need to take you to the hospital!"

I stare, not knowing what he's talking about. Hospital? "No, I need to go home," I tell him.

He rubs his forehead. He's a bit fat, with grey hair and a grey beard, and he takes a step closer, making me flinch away and almost lose my balance. I put my hand against the car to steady myself.

"Where are you hurt? Shit, where are all the blood comin' from?"

I look down, see that my hands and t-shirt are covered in red. But it's dry, it's not mine.

Aidan.

Getting scared he will notice it, wondering about it, I limp out from the headlights.

"I'm okay," I say, trying to sound like it, too. "I just need my book."

"Did you hit your head?"

"No," I say, but maybe I did. I don't know. There is pain but I can't really tell from where, other than my leg. I take another step and then I see it, Gone with the Wind, lying close to the ditch. When I lean down to take it, the world spins, and I have to sit down, force my head down between my knees.

There is a shadow close to my left. "Kid, please. You dyin' on me?"

Dying. I'm not dying. I won't die tonight. I shake my head slowly, but I don't know if he can see it in the dark.

"You need a doctor."

"No!"

"I can't just leave you out here. Where do you live?"

I only hesitate for a short moment. "Tulsa."

"Tulsa?" he repeats, sounding surprised. "Then what the hell are you doin' out here in the middle of the night?"

I can't come up with a lie, so I remain silent.

"Well, I can't drive you all the way up there, but I can take you to the city."

I guess that's better than sitting here. I take the book, and the man helps me to my feet and to the passenger door, opening it for me. I hear Mom's voice somewhere back in my head, telling us to never ride with strangers, but hell, I have only been with strangers the past two years. One more can't hurt.

I don't care to buckle up and the man seems not to care. He just turns the key, and his car sputters to life.

"Lucky I saw you in time," he says to me as he drives, glancing at me worriedly now and then. "It wasn't that hard impact, was it? You feel fine?"

"Yeah," I say quietly, knowing that's what he wants to hear.

xXx

I'm dropped off at the bus station, but I have no money. I have no shoes either, no jacket, only my book and blood on my skin and t-shirt. The man seems relieved to get rid of me as I once again say I'm fine, that I don't need anything, and he drives off as quickly as he can, leaving me all alone.

I limp to a public restroom to wash up. The warm water stings, and I notice some abrasions on my arms, mostly my right elbow. I drag my t-shirt over my head to wash it too, but the red won't come off. I'm glad it's blue and not white - maybe I can say it's paint if someone asks. I try to dry it with paper towels, but it's impossible, so I have to wear it wet afterwards.

I'm trying to avoid the mirror as much as I can, but I get short glimpses of my face now and then when I move - tired, pale, bruised, it doesn't really look like me. Maybe it's not me.

I shake my head at the thought. Of course I'm still me. I'm Ponyboy.

It just doesn't feel like it.

I leave the restroom. More people fill the station now, and some look at me a bit funny. I guess I look like a mess; limping, dirty, wet, with bruises and wounds, barefoot. I avoid them, sneaking out to the buses' parking lot, finding one that will head to Tulsa in half an hour. Studying it for a while, I realize that there's no way I can sneak aboard without anyone noticing; the bus driver keeps his eyes on the passengers and I know I stand out. I can't risk trying if they will call the cops on me.

I have to leave Oklahoma City by foot, but I know it's about a hundred miles walk home - I know I can't do it. It would be impossible even unhurt, and now my leg is killing me. I have to bite my lip with every step.

When a car drives by, I stick my thumb out, but no one stops for me. Sighing, I limp forward, knowing I have to keep moving. I just hope the police don't drive by, I guess they would be able to tell I'm a runaway just by looking at me.

I'm all alone with my thoughts as I stride. Aidan's dead. But he's not. It's just like it was with Johnny and Dally. It took forever to realize what happened to them, and then I wrote my theme. Shit. What's going to happen now? I won't go to jail, right? I didn't do anything, I was just in the room. I'm a victim too. I stop and close my eyes, wishing Soda was here. I almost feel him; almost hear him talk, telling me everything's going to be fine. I just need to come home and we'll fix it.

I hide behind some trees when I have to pee, and when I'm done, my stomach grumbles. I'm hungry and thirsty and exhausted. I feel like crying again, I'm so scared, but then I try to think of Dally's words, and Johnny's. Be tough, stay gold. Is it possible to do both? I wipe my face even if it's dry.

At least the sun is warm, I think, as I start walking along the road again. It dries my shirt, I'm not cold.

I have to stop eventually, unable to walk more because of my leg and feet and the lack of food and water. Everything hurts so much. I sit down on the verge, in the shadow of a tree, and then I'm closing my eyes just for a second.

xXx

"Um, kid?" Someone is shaking my shoulder, and I groan, turning around, but the mattress is strange underneath me. Then I realize it's not a mattress, it's grass, and I hear the sound of traffic nearby. I open my eyes and sit up, surprised by the dusk. I just stare as it slowly dawns to me that a whole day has passed as I slept.

"Kid?" the voice urges, and I turn my gaze, meeting a pair of blue eyes in a freckled face. The guy in front of me wears a cowboy hat, and he can't be much older than Darry. He smiles relieved.

"I thought you were dead," he says. "I got a flat tire and stopped over there." He points backwards, and I follow his finger to his car. "I changed the tire and then I saw you lyin' here."

My mouth is dry and I try to swallow.

"You were asleep," he informs me. "Shit, I thought I would touch a corpse."

I don't feel good. All I want is to lie down again and continue to sleep.

The guy rests on his heels. "I should be goin' but I can't really leave you here."

I don't even care to ask why not. I would leave me here. What's the point in doing anything? What's the point in trying to go home? I won't make it anyway.

"Can I drive you somewhere?"

I mutter something, and he raises an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

"Tulsa," I say louder, forcing the words out. My throat feels like a desert. "I need to go to Tulsa."

"That's like, over an hours drive."

I look away. "Yeah."

He sighs heavily. "Fine. C'mon."

"Um, what?"

"Well, I'm headin' in that direction anyway. It's not that much of a detour for me."

"You'll drive me to Tulsa?" I say perplexed.

"Yeah. Told ya, I can't really leave you out here. It's gettin' dark soon and you look like hell. What happened to you?"

I pick up Johnny's book. "Nothin'."

"Where are your shoes?" he asks as I stand. I have a hard time doing it.

"Forgot them."

"You forgot your shoes?" He looks at me as I'm crazy. Maybe I am.

"Will you drive me or not?" I just ask quietly, and he nods, motions for me to come along. I limp after him, nearly falling by every step.

In his truck, I fall asleep again. I know it's stupid of me when I close my eyes and lean my head against the cold window - I have no idea of who he is, what he wants, where he's going. Maybe I will wake up in the other end of the country. Maybe he's a killer and I was running from Joey just to wind up dead anyway. But eventually he nudges me, and I jolt up to sit, suddenly staring out at my home town through the windscreen. My heart beats faster.

"So where do you live?"

I open my mouth and close it. What am I going to say? I bet the state knows I'm gone by now, maybe Ms. West is sitting in our couch at home, with the police, just waiting for me to turn up.

"Kid?"

I give him an address. I hope it's the right one, that I still remember. I haven't been there a lot, and it was over two years ago since the last time.

"'Kay," the guy says. "You have to point me the right directions."

I do. As we drive along familiar streets the knot in my stomach tightens and loosens up, I feel nauseous and dizzy, and one time, just when we pass a street close to my own, I want to scream at him to pull over. I'm so close now, but I can't ... I can't let them find me, take me away again. I will have to contact my brothers later.

"Over there," I finally point. The guy stops the car, looking at me a bit curiously.

"You live here?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

He looks at me as he doesn't believe me, but then he shrugs. "Take care, then."

I nod. "Thanks," I say, trying to sound like I really mean it, because I do. I open the door and jump out, gritting my teeth against the pain. I close the car door, and wait until he has driven away before I limp up to the front door. I knock, but no one answers. I knock harder, hoping someone will be home.

I jump when the door opens and Tim Shepard suddenly stares down at me.

"C-curly home?" I ask him, and he squints his eyes.

"Sodapop?" he says, sounding really unsure.

I shake my head. "It's Ponyboy."

Pony's back in Tulsa!

Thank you so much for reading & reviewing and everything, really - I hope you know how much I appreciate your support!