Chapter 11

I think…

Angela was grinding on Laine's nerves.  Though only two years younger than herself, the only girl of the Shepard household acted as if she were a five-year old.  Granted, Angela had her moments when she spouted off phrases as mature as her brother Tim, but on other occasions rivaled even Margie—Evie's baby sister—in immaturity.  Presently, she was tutoring Laine on the many uses of blood red lipstick.  "An' you can use it for blush 'n as liner an'—"

Momentarily, Laine remembered why she preferred hanging around men to girls.  At least Dallas didn't spend his breath lecturing her on the best colors for her skin.  Laine scoffed.  That boy would sooner admit liking the fuzz than he would show some sort of interest in makeup.  Her lips twitched absently at the idea.  At one point in their relationship, Dally had become quite the joker…and if not the joker, then certainly a tease.

"Where you goin', doll?"

Dallas had raked inquisitive eyes over her leather clad body, raising an eyebrow at the lack of clothing the outfit consisted of.  Laine had shrugged, amused and intrigued at his being so nonchalant about her going out the way she was.  That always piquied her about Dallas; he had absolute confidence in himself.  In his eyes, Laine could go walking around naked, as far as he was concerned, all that mattered was that she was with him and no one else.

"Drive-in."

"Alone?"

Laine turned leisurely towards the young man, reclining herself comfortably against the bureau behind her.  She shrugged.  "Maybe."

A growl reached her ears, but that was all that did.  While Dallas was possessive and could get jealous under the right circumstances, he wasn't the type to fall for that kind of bait.  Laine had tried to make him jealous previously, and while it worked, he didn't get quite that riled up.  Dallas had just gotten rather quiet—he'd looked at her oddly for a couple seconds before asking why she'd done it. 

"Oh, an', doll?"

"Yeah?"

"I might be goin' out with Tim later."

Laine felt herself stiffen.  Dallas could have been a human block of ice as far as she was concerned, but the young New York girl was about  as jealous as she was fiery.  It wasn't that she doubted her qualities; it was more that she knew how positively seductive Dallas tended to be.  He didn't do it on purpose, either.  Women were just drawn to him. 

"Where?"

Another shrug.  "Jay's.  The Dingo."

Laine narrowed her eyes.  The Dingo?  Tim and Dallas alone at the Dingo?  "Who's Tim goin' with?"

Dally shrugged.  "Sandra."

"Sandra?"

"Doll from Shepard's gang."

"Sandra?  The one with that—"

Dally chuckled amusedly.  "Glory, doll.  It ain't that bad.  She ain't goin' with me."

"Then who're you goin' with?"

Again, the tow-headed youth shrugged.

"I know you, grease.  If you ain't goin' with no one it means you're goin' to find someone there."

A dark grin spread over the boy's lips.  "There ain't nothin' else to do."

            "Let Tim go alone…you know all they're goin' to do."

            "That's half the fun, doll."

            "C'mon," Laine approached the seventeen year old from the front and pressed a smooth kiss to his lips.  In response, Dallas hooked his thumbs onto the loops of her skirt at both sides of her hips and pulled down gently, so that she fell comfortably into his lap.

            "C'mon, what?" he questioned, nuzzling his cheek against the side of her neck.  Before she could respond, he tugged her closer, so that she was trapped in the confines of his arms. 

            "Stay."  She wanted him to stay.  It was easy enough to say it, but convincing Dallas was another story.  He was liable to walk out at any moment without a look back. 

            Not bothering to acknowledge her remark, Dally let himself fall backward, the small weight of the young girl gathered about his abdomen as he bounced back slightly from the surface of his mattress.  Laine, not having expected the sudden turn of events, caught herself seconds before plowing into Dallas, pressing her palms at either side of his head.  "I might."

            "You will."  Dally smirked at her reply, raising his arms so that they brought her crushingly close to his body.  Having successfully captured his prey, the young man shifted directions, tumbling so that he was atop Laine, his weight supported by his elbows. 

            "Move up," he whispered slightly, nudging her absently with his cheek, motioning for her to adjust herself to the middle of the bed.  Laine complied. 

            Dally made little work of her clothes, sneering at the translucent cloth of the skin-tight top as he pulled it off Laine's body. He stroked the exposed area generously, smirking to himself at the young girl's attempts at curbing her desire. He knew she didn't like it.  If there was something Laine hated, it was showing that his hands made her crazy; it was a weakness she didn't readily admit. 

            "Ya're still dressed," came the ragged notice, coupled with a longing tug at Dally's white blond locks.  Disregarding it, he only let his fingertips come around Laine's back, feeling her body arch against his as she sought to make the removal of her bra easier.  It helped, and it certainly made Dallas all the more aroused when the bare nips of her breasts rubbed against his clothed chest. 

            She was still wearing her boots, Dally absently noted, wincing a bit as a heel dug into the inside of his calf.  He didn't mind that sort of thing.  Normally, he was quick to rid Laine of that particular dressing item, what with her preference in shoes centering around those with high, thin heels, but he needed release then and there, and shoes simply weren't an issue.  Shifting, he was only mildly aware of the fingertips stumbling to undo the buttons of his jeans.  Damn those buttons…

            Top stripped bare, Laine closed her eyes at the onslaught of sensation.  Dallas was all too good at what he did…he could make her feel so…and it all happened so quickly when she was with him.  With everyone else it just wasn't as fulfilling—it wasn't as urgent as it was when she was with Dallas…

           

"Hey, Dal—"

A male voice broke through the previous silence of the room.  Laine felt Dallas stiffen against her, anger and  frustration coursing through his body at having been interrupted at that particular moment. 

She shifted upwards a bit, squinting her eyes slightly and catching sight of a bewildered Tim Shepard.  He certainly hadn't expected the scene before him.  Laine groaned inwardly and let her head fall dejectedly back into the bed.  He must've stopped by to pick up Dally and head over to the Dingo.  Argh…

"Hi there, Laine."

Laine grunted a greeting and pushed Dallas roughly away, curling a spare sheet about her bare chest.  All the while, she glared murderously at Tim.  Though Dally was just as ticked as Laine, he kept his distaste less evident.  "Get out, Tim."

            The Shepard leader simply grinned.  "Loved to, but me and Dal are due to meet some dolls over at the Dingo."

            Dallas glared.  Was Tim looking to be shot?  Well, that could certainly be arranged.

            Laine cast Dally an annoyed glance but smirked seductively at Tm, letting the sheet about her bosom drop a bit.  "Have fun, then."

            That was all Dallas needed to lose his resolve.  As much as he hated being at the command of a woman, his hormones often controlled him, and this time was no exception.  Laine, however, had had her share of irritation for the day, and seemed to have to interest in crawling back into bed with him.

            "Shepard?"

            "Yeah, doll?"

            "Send Curly my regards."

            At the mention of Curly, Dally nearly growled.  As of then, nothing had yet happened between Laine and the younger Shepard, but Dallas had taken notice that Curly hadn't been particularly discreet in his attraction for Laine.  He didn't like it. 

            "What're ya menain' doll?  You know Curly ain't got nothin' with you.  Stop teasin' Dal."

            Laine merely raised a finely arched brow.  "Didn't know you was into voyeurism.  How'd you know if me and Curly did anythin'?  I don't 'member seein' you there."

            Despite his tough attitude, Tim's cheeks burned mildly.  "I ain't into voyeurism…whatever that is."

            Laine smirked and swung her legs to the side of mattress.  They barely reached the floor, she was so small.  Cocking her head interestedly to the side, she approached Tim, naked toes padding against the cushioned surface of the carpet.  She was still holding the sheet against her breasts, but didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that he was there…and seemed to have even less modesty about being topless near him. 

            "It's when you like to see others….like that."  She was so close he could almost feel the heat radiating from her body.  He glanced awkwardly ay Dally from his position, torn between running and saving his dignity.  He was surprised to see the towhead eyeing Laine curiously, his expression more amused than anything else.

            For a brief moment, Tim wondered if Laine was as shameless with Dallas as she was being with him.  Well, it would certainly explain why his friend was so taken with the girl, but still…he didn't like it.  It made her less trustworthy in his eyes…a liability.  Tim didn't like the idea of her flirting with anyone other than Dallas.  Sexist, perhaps, but both Greasers had reputations to protect.  Remembering she had only just said something to him a few minutes ago, he added, "An' I ain't into that."

            Laine smirked.  "Not too many people are."

            "Sayin' you are, doll?"

            "No.  I ain't"

            Tim scoffed when he spotted her sudden discomfort.  "Sure 'bout that, doll?"

            Her features hardened.  "I sure as hell ain't.  I ain't  sick like that."

            "Oh?"

            "I've been worse places than you Shepard.  Where I come from, there ain't no such thing as sleepin' alone.  Someone's always watchin'…and someone is always—sure as hell exists—ready to follow you around for somethin' afterwards, too."

            "Y'all stop fightin',"  Laine paused in her ranting and shifted her glance towards Dally.  He was looking ready to go.  She pouted.  Did he have to go?

            "C'mon, Tim."

            Ushering out the curly-haired Greaser, Dallas turned back and placed a smoldering kiss on her lips.  "Don't worry, doll."

            "I ain't worryin'"

           

            He eyed her oddly then, flashed her a seductive wink, and was out of the room in all but five seconds. 

            A few minutes later, she herself had gone out with Evie, keen on finding a Greaser to spend the night with.

            They'd been so careless then…so uninvolved.  She had been jealous to hear that Dallas was going to meet with another girl—Sylvia no doubt—but she hadn't been hurt that he was with another woman.  She was just possessive about what she thought belonged to her; she hadn't liked sharing…she never had.  But as time wore on, things had changed…now, at the prospect of she and Dallas moving away—the idea that he would be with someone else—it hurt…it hurt and it confused her.  When had their relationship turned from sex to…well…love?

(    *     *      *   )

            "Jay's?"

            Angela nodded absently.  "Meetin' someone there?"

            Again, Angela answered, this time with a mischievous grin.  "An' Tim'll never know 'cause he's with Dal, somewhere.  If he asks I'll just say I went with you."

            Laine shrugged.  It was all the same to her.  She hadn't gone out in a while and she was yearning to be in a crowd again…More than anything, however, she wanted to test out a theory.  The other day Dallas had muttered something about her only being uncomfortable with him.  And, well, it had been true—at least partially so.  At the moment, she was wondering whether or not she'd be able to be with another man intimately again…she knew it wasn't going to happen with Dallas anytime soon…but maybe it would work with someone else?  "Let's go then."

            The place was packed.  Greasers inside, Greasers outside…news of Sodapop's attack had spread fast, and it had made Jay's more of a hotspot than it had been.  Everyone wanted to see where the fight had taken place and how events had unraveled.  It didn't bother Laine much, though.  She was used to the hustle and bustle, having lived in New York City, but couldn't help the feeling of anxiety that manage to seep into her bones.  "Hey, doll."

            The remark hadn't been meant for her, Laine noted, carelessly eyeing a Greaser that had approached Angela.  He was of slight built and looked vaguely familiar.  With a smirk, Laine rolled her eyes at the glaring resemblance; the Greaser was practically the spitting-image of Ponyboy Curtis.  Well, she should've known—Angela was always complaining about the boy.  "Laine—I'm goin' out for a while."

            Laine nodded and watched the thirteen year old disappear into a rusty black T-Bird, the Pony-lookalike trailing close behind.  She's too young to be doing that, she couldn't help but think, then, smirking at her own age, pushed away wheat bangs. 

            Figuring she might as well get something to drink to help pass the time, Laine sauntered over to the bar and sat down on one of the stools, crossing right leg over left out of habit.  "Beer?"

            She eyed the bartender questioningly.  What else had they to serve?  "Nothin' else?"

            The auburn-haired man shrugged.  "Combinations of sorts.  Jay's ain't jus' beer and rumbles, doll."

            Laine smirked at that.  She never would have thought that Jay's served anything other than beer…it was practically cannon.  "What else can ya get me?"

            Taking the statement as an invitation to continue, the bartender—who couldn't've been older than twenty—smirked in a manner that was very similar to Dally's.  "Nightcap."

            "Ain't that expensive?"

            A slight shrug of the shoulder.  "Ain't no one gotta know."

            Smiling at that, Laine pinned the man with a piercing gaze.  "What's your name Greaser?"

            'Wait…what's your name, doll?'

            "Anthony—Tony, actually.  You?"

            "Laine."

            'Laine.'

            "Do you…?"  Laine trailed off, feeling awkward for a moment.  She wasn't used to this—wasn't used to feeling insecure when dealing with men.  Normally, she'd have pressed a teasing kiss to his lips and sauntered seductively towards another room, signaling with her eyes for him to follow, but now…

            Tony smiled apologetically.  "Can't."

            "Oh…"  That might've been the first time she had ever been turned down.  Maybe…

            "I'm workin'.  Need the money."

            Laine felt herself nod numbly.  "The drink?" she murmured softly, feeling just like she had that night when she and Dally had tried to be together, only for her to push him away in tears.  She was feeling that way again…helpless. 

            "Comin' up, doll."  As Tony whipped together her drink, he glimpsed at her from his position behind the bar. 

            "Ain't you Dally's doll?"  the young man asked, placing a tall glass in front of her in a smooth motion.  The words, though heard, went unheeded, as Laine merely took a long sip of the drink.  Figuring she hadn't heard him the first time, Tony posed the question again.  He knew she'd seen her with him a couple of times—it wasn't the first time she'd come to Jay's after all, but still…

            "Dallas…?"

            "Yeah, doll, ain't you?"

            "I…I don't….I ain't really know."

            Surprised at her sincerity, Laine bit her lower lip uncertainly.  She didn't like this new facet of her persona…didn't like exploring all the new and unknown emotions coursing through her.  With each passing day, she was beginning to feel more vulnerable and small.  More like a child…

            Maybe that was what bothered her.  She'd never had a childhood after all, so feeling neglected and scared like a child didn't sit well with her for two reasons:  she'd never experienced the feeling before, having grown up very much alone, and she'd never had to deal with pressing emotions.  Usually, she's pushed them away; she'd never had a chance to analyze much of anything…

            "You ain't know?"

            Laine felt herself shake her head no.  And then, "…I ain't seen him in a while."

            Tony's lip twisted into a frown.  The look wasn't fitting in his face.  It made him look too much like a Greek statuette.  "Can you get me another drink—beer, please?"

            That was perhaps the first time she had ever used the word—please had never been in her vocabulary before then.  Complying, Tony pushed an uncapped bottle in her direction.  "Be right back," he murmured when another Greaser unpleasantly smacked a fist against the counter to grasp his attention.

            Her father had been an alcoholic.  Her uncle was one, too.  Johnny's dad, that is.  Laine absently wondered if she was one too.  Dally'd told her before that she drank too much.  'I ain't wanna carry you to Buck's no more, doll…' he had protested the last time she'd drank herself into oblivion. 

            Glaring into her glass,  Laine tried to summon the memory of the last time she'd been drunk.  It hadn't been to long ago…just about a week ago—maybe more…that night with Mark.  That had been the last time. 

            Shaking her head, Laine took a hearty swing and finished off the bottle, pressing a smooth palm against her lips to dry them off.  Had he been there, Dally would have told her to use a napkin—or her shirt.  That kind of thing bothered him.  Well, she decided angrily, somewhat tipsy after that last of sip of beer, he wasn't there, and she certainly didn't have to tend and adapt herself to his every peeve.  "I ain't no toy."

            She didn't know who she was speaking to, much less if she had meant to say what she had aloud…she just wanted to…

            "I'm thirsy."

            " 'Course you are, doll.  Water?"

            Laine brushed off Tony's mild attempt to keep her sober.  Managing a glare she continued, "Jus' beer."

            Tony couldn't deny her the request.  Were someone to receive wind that he had—which would certainly happen, probably at her own hand in an angry frenzy—he'd be fired.  He really couldn't afford to let that happen.  "Sure, doll."

            Laine had heard somewhere that 47% of people who had parents addicted to any type of substance were more prone to use it themselves.  She managed a lopsided smirk.  That virtually sent her into an inescapable abyss.  Glory, if her future was being influenced by her parents, Laine was as good as dead already. 

            She wondered if Dally's parents had been alcoholics.  He'd never talked about them, though she certainly hadn't expected him to.  If they had been—or were, for all she knew—he had definitely broken the mold.  Dally didn't like to drink…at least not on such a regular basis as she did.

            "Tony?"

            A slight nod of acknowledgement was all the response her inquiry received.  He was too busy fixing a drink.  "Do you know a Mark?"

            The man paused as if in thought, before nodding.  "Lives 'round here.  From Shepard's outfit, you mean?"

            Laine nodded.  Yeah, that was him.  "Yeah.  He was here earlier.  Was complainin' about somethin' or other.  Why?"

            "No reason.  Get me a drink, will ya?"

            Nodding, the boy disappeared for a few seconds, squatting and pushing some things aside on the storage cabinet, opening a box when he found it.  He placed two more bottles in front of him so that she wouldn't ask him for another later on.   "D'ya know where he lives?"

            "A house off Prospect.  'Round the corner.  Why?"

            Laine shrugged, downing the Heinsse labeled bottled.  "Curious.  Dallas got in a fight the other day.  Jus' wanted to know who he was."

            Not convinced, Tony hesitated before turning to another customer.  As he was pulling out a few new glasses, he heard a smooth, 'Thanks,' and the rustle of clothing.  At the same time, a stool in the bar squeaked as a weight was pulled off it.  When he looked up, Laine was near the door, clumsily pushing past another young girl who called out after her.  He glanced at the bottles scattered about the counter and counted under his breath.  "Ten…"  She should've passed out by now…

(    *     *    *   )

            He wasn't in his room.  Laine incompetently maneuvered her way through Dally's room, faltering here and there from the alcohol. 

            She opened his drawer noisily, steadying her swaying form by holding onto the bureau, and impatiently pushed aside boxers and undershirts.  She knew he had it somewhere.  He couldn't have taken it with him either, as he was probably with Tim.   Losing her patience, Laine gritted her teeth and began throwing aside what was in the way, leaving Dallas' drawer nearly bare in the process.

            And then…she found it.  Banned to the back of the drawer and shielded within a small hand towel, Laine had almost missed it.  Breathing out slowly, she palmed it, feeling the cold metal sting her frantic, warm hands.  'It ain't loaded, doll—don't worry, I ain't goin' to shoot you.'

            Laine frowned.  It wasn't loaded.  But…there had to be bullets somewhere…

            Digging deeper, the young woman found what she had been searching for.  Then, before losing her resolve, hastily exited the greaser's bedroom, heater snuggly hidden within the folds of her skirt. 

            He'd had a long day.  Sodapop had been his usual self when he'd awakened and had even teased him about Laine's absence.  Hell, everyone had.  Even Tim—who was the closest one to knowing what had actually happened—couldn't seem to hold back biting remarks. 

            The only thing that had gone wrong, according to Darry, had been the whole issue with the juvenile court. 

            "I ain't got time for this…"  Pushing his key into the room Buck had graciously—after a punch or two in the face—designated as his, Dally made his way inside and shut the door closed after him.  He was had pulled off his shirt and was halfway done with his jeans when the hair on the back of his neck prickled.  He felt as if he were being watched.  Turning curiously, he was surprised to come face to face with Laine. 

            He hadn't seen her in over a week, and he was surprised by the warmth that flooded his insides at the sight of her. 

            "Hey…" she whispered quietly, he voice so soft he had to strain his ears to hear. 

            "Hey."  Dally almost cursed his lack of originality.  Where were his playful remarks?  His teasing innuendos?

            She was sitting in the very far corner of the room.  He wondered why he hadn't seen her before, but dismissed the thought when she began to speak. 

            "Where were you?"

            Her voice was so low…

            "Hospital.  Sodapop got shot."

            A spark of interest in dull eyes.  "Yeah?"

            Dallas eased himself down beside her, imitating her posture and letting his back rest against the wall beneath the window.  She was hugging her knees to her chest, and her eyes curiously followed his movements as he did the same, the only difference being that he stretched his legs out before him, open in that innocently sensual manner most guys manage.

            "He's okay?"

            "Fine."

            A silence settled over the room then, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one.  The young man was the first to break it.  "I would've sworn you'd get yourself in trouble without me, doll."

            It was said in a smiling tone, but the teasing grin disappeared when its beholder took in the downward glance and stiffening of the body beside him.  "You ain't get into trouble, did you, doll?"

            "No…"

            Again, her voice was so soft he feared he'd miss her say something. 

            "Are you feelin' alright, doll?"

            A slight nod. 

            "Say somethin' will you?"

            Laine seemed to consider this option.  "You got cut."

            Dally was momentarily lost.  Cut?  Then, he followed her gaze and sheepishly pressed a palm to his chin.  "Yeah.  Blade slipped."

            "You ain't never done that before."

            "An' you ain't never been this long without sayin' somethin' sexy."

            Laine smiled detachedly at the words.  "I like you like this."

            Dally felt his lips quirk into a frown.  "How?"

            "Confused…your shirt open like that—hair messy."

            Dallas ran a habitual hand through his hair.  "I ain't confused," he complained.

            Laine shrugged.  "Had fun?"

            "I jus' told you I was at the hospital."

            "An' before that?  At Jay's?"

            The young boy's frowned deepened.  For some reason, Laine's comments seemed devoid of emotion.  It was almost as if she didn't care for his answer—almost as if she were talking to him for the hell of conversation…

            "I ain't had time to, doll."

            "I was there, too."

            "I ain't see you," by then, Dallas was near shaking Laine into sense.  Her eyes were glazed as she spoke to him, her gaze penetrating through him as though he were an apparition to disappear any moment.

            "I went before you."

            "Are you drunk…?"

            Laine looked at him oddly for a few moments before breaking out in an almost frenzied looking grin.  Her eyes flashed dangerously with an emotion he had no time to register.  "I was."

            Dally sighed.  Well, at least she wasn't drunk now.  He wasn't sure he could deal with that on top of everything else.  "Why ain't you at Johnny's?"

            "Was there earlier today."

            Dally remembered what Johnny had mentioned to him in the hospital.  "It's late.  Let's get to bed."

            "What time is it?"  Laine seemed to contemplate something.

            " 'Round 5 in the morning…a little later, maybe."

            She nodded and perked up to Dally's next words.  "I didn't think you'd come here."

            "It was late," she whispered, letting her eyes return to the floor when Dallas rose from beside her, "an' I ain't have no place else to go."

            "C'mon—let's go."

            Laine was quiet.  Disinterestedly she picked at a loose floorboard near her toe.  She could feel Dally fall back next to her, heaving a silent sigh as he did.  "You ain't goin' to make me carry you, are you, doll?"

            No response.  Dally tried again, "Ain't you tired?"

            A slight, almost undetectable shake of the head.  He was about to open his mouth to say something more when Laine's doleful pale blue eyes rose to meet his.  Dead, her expression seemed to scream.

            "I didn't know…" 

Her voice practically died before it reached his ears. 

"What, doll?"

            "I ain't know."

            Concerned more than he liked to admit, Dally pulled the young girl into his arms and briskly stood—they could talk about this later.  Right now he was more troubled with her state than with what could've happened.  He ambled toward his bed and set her gently down upon it, kicking off his shoes and tugging her into the center, his embrace strong and unyielding. 

            He could feel her breath on his face, smelling faintly of alcohol and mint.  She cuddled close to him, body shivering slightly as she held on tightly to his bicep.  She didn't want him to pull away.  Shifting almost minutely, Laine buried her face in his chest, long hair cascading in waves behind her.  "Laine?"

            Laine let out an unsteady breath.  It was one of the few times he'd called her Laine.  Just like she had a habit of calling him Dallas, he had one of calling her 'doll.'

            To show she'd heard him, Laine raised her head to meet his eyes.  He was looking at her with a combination of concern and uncertainty.  "I…I need to change."

            It was his way of easing the tension in the room.  Nodding, Laine sat up a little, moving away just enough so that he'd be able to pull off his unbuttoned shirt and jeans.  She studied him with blank eyes as he undid the only remaining button of his shirt and tossed it carelessly aside.  She watched him hesitate and ponder for a few seconds before finally jerking off his navy blue jeans. 

            That was how he slept.  At least, that was how had always slept when she was with him…with just boxers and a smirk. 

            Tentatively he lowered himself beside her, surprised when the small bundle of warmth once again returned to his side, a small sigh escaping her lips.  She seemed to relax against him, breathing deep and regular.  And, as much as he wanted to deny it, Dally had to admit that he'd missed this…he'd missed having her pressed against him—not in a sexual manner, but just…just being held by him.

            "Dally?"

            "Don't speak, doll."

            Laine paused for a moment, before, "Why not?"

            As if to answer her question, the boy shivered as her breaths landed unintentionally against his exposed neck.  His breathing hitched a bit and certain parts of his body tightened despite himself. " 'Cause of that."

            Laine silently complied and nestled closer to the young man.  His heart beat steadily beneath her cheek, its rhythm comforting amidst all that had happened over the past week.  She almost didn't want to break the perfection of the moment.  "Dallas?"

            "Hmm…?"  He was sleepy, his eyes were shut and his tone was distant.

            "I think I killed him."