East of Eden

by caprising

In the summer of 1971, Eastside Tulsa is as dangerous as ever. The drug trade is booming, an elusive killer called the Tulsa Slasher is murdering young women, and the Vietnam War is taking young men. The greasers are all grown up now, but their problems have grown too. (Sequel to Moonlighters. OCs. Rated M for violence, drug/alcohol use, adult themes, and language.)

1. Prologue: The Mourning After

East of Eden: An Outsiders story by caprising

A/N: This is technically a sequel to another story of mine, Moonlighters. I do recommend reading that first if you'd like the full context of the original characters, and the relationship between Ponyboy Curtis and Rosalie Matthews. However, if you come from Moonlighters, I want to stress that this story will be a bit different. There are much more adult themes (drug use, murder, violence, sex, just to name a few) and a much wider cast of characters. The characters all are adults now, and I want to portray that accurately. It's been a lot of fun to work on, though, and I hope y'all enjoy.

Disclaimer: Most of these characters belong to S.E. Hinton, and none of my original characters would exist without her work. This is Susie's sandbox, I'm just playing in it.

Prologue: The Mourning After

August 13, 1971

The greasers cleaned up well for funerals.

Of course, it had been a while since any of the boys had put grease in their hair. Most of them didn't even have long hair anymore. Teenagers surely had a new word these days to describe those who lived on the fringe, but it didn't matter. The kids of Chickasaw Street and their friends, who were no longer kids, now, still referred to themselves as greasers. At least amongst each other.

They were well prepared for funerals by now. The men all had black suits. For most of them, it was the only suit they owned. Their girls knew the routine, ironing those suits earlier that morning while they put on their own pantyhose and dark eyeliner. The cemetery was hot in August; they were all sweating under the dark clothes, occasionally shifting uncomfortably.

It just wasn't the heat that made the air so thick you could cut it with a switchblade that day. The greasers had gotten a little bit better about allowing themselves a few tears over the years, depending on whose funeral it was. But this one was noticeably more somber.

They weren't as many of them in attendance today as there once was. Some were in Vietnam. Some were buried in this very cemetery, out on Walnut Street. Some of them were married, though, with their own growing families. Some of them were still lonely and lost.

As the greasers all stood around a closed coffin, listening to a clueless preacher, it was obvious how much had changed in the last few years. Really, the only thing they had in common these days, the one thing that always brought them back together, was the neighborhood they'd grown up in.

Well, that, and the fact that they truly weren't kids anymore.

There was one more common thread on between the greasers on suffocating summer day, though. Like all of their ties, it was a bitter one. Sinew connecting muscle to bone, barbed wire wrapped at the top of the fence.

The truth was, they all felt hot and smothered that day, because every single one of them were wondering whose funeral they would have to attend next.