Deceiver

Chapter Two - The suspicion

Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1966

Every time I look at Soda, I hesitate. He notices, of course, asks me what's wrong. I'm not sure what to say to him. I'm so afraid of making the wrong desicion. Yesterday, it seemed right to lie, but today, I just don't know. Suddenly I don't even know if the man really said those things to me, or if it only was one of my nightmares again, mixed up with reality. I can't really recall what happened on the cemetery, after he punched me down. My memory of it is a bit blurry, everything. I almost don't even remember how I got home. If my face hadn't hurt, I think I would've thought it all was a bad dream.

But I have to say something. Soda's waiting.

"You know that Soc?" I start, settle myself down on the bed. I'm still wearing my pyjama pants and the tee I slept in. Soda is standing on one foot on the floor, pulling a sock on the other. His face changes at my words.

"If I ever see him," he says harshly, "I promise to smash his fuckin' face." He puts his foot down, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe they actually jumped a little kid. What have you ever done to them?" He grabs his shirt hanging over the back of the chair. I smile meekly, pretending not to hear the 'little kid-thing'.

"Yeah, but it wasn't..." It wasn't a Soc.

"Wasn't what?"

My throat gets tighter. I swallow, start coughing.

"I hope you ain't gettin' sick because of yesterday," Soda says a bit worried, stepping up in front of me. He puts a cool hand on my forhead. It's tempting. It's very tempting to say I feel bad, and stay home. But instead I say,

"I'm not." Then, "We have to hurry if we wanna get to school in time." I rise, pick up my clothes to take them with me to the bathroom. Soda doesn't move, and I turn my head.

"Yeah. About that," he says with a voice that makes me freeze. His eyes don't completely meet mine. "I ain't goin' today."

"What?"

This time, he looks at me sadly. "I told you. I'm gonna drop out. Figured it's pointless to go anymore. I start workin' full time at the DX next week. They had an earlier opening for me."

"Oh." Somehow I had thought he would at least end the semester. Not that that hade made anything different for me, I still will miss him in High school. I don't know what else to say, so instead, I just grip my clothes tighter, throw a last glance at my brother before I walk out of the room.

xXx

My face in the mirror is bad. The nose looks better but has a nasty color around, my lip is swollen, the wound crimson red. I wash myself carefully, then get dressed. While I drag my sweater over my head, Darry yells at me to hurry up, and I hear the sound of a car stopping outside our house, car doors slammed, front door opening up. I unlock the door and leave the bathroom. Steve walks past me, heading for Soda's room, I'm sure. He stares at me, but he doesn't say anything. I guess he knows Soda will tell him all he wants to know about my appearence. If he wants to know anything at all. I know I'm not high on his priority-list.

Two-Bit and Johnny stand in our kitchen when I enter, our sideburned friend munching on a sandwich. When he sees me he puts the other hand above his heart.

"Golly, look at that one!"

"You saw me yesterday. And you don't have to talk with food in your mouth," I snort at him. I'm about to sit down and eat, but Darry stops me.

"You okay, Ponyboy?"

"Yeah."

I can see Johnny watching me. I give him a little smile, to reassure him it's true, even if that's a lie. Darry gives me my breakfast at the same time Soda and Steve drop in.

I told my brothers about the Soc yesterday. I told them I went to see Mom and Dad and that I was sorry for breaking my promise, and that this blonde guy came when I waited for the bus home. For some reason, I have almost even convinced myself that it was what happened by now.

I wish it badly. It's better than the truth.

xXx

Lawton, Oklahoma, 1966

He doesn't have a phone, but there's a payphone in the little cornershop a mile from his new apartment. He puts a dime into it, dials. It takes five signals before someone picks up.

"Hello?"

He dips his head, looking around before he says, quietly, "It's me." He doesn't say his name, it's still not him. He never got used to call himself Matthew. Luke will take even longer, because the Luke in his head is someone else.

"Where are you? Finally on your way? I told you to leave Tulsa earlier."

He grips the receiver tighter. "I know. Somethin' came up. I'm in Lawton."

"You're not goin' back, are you?" The voice in the other end sighs. "Don't do anythin' stupid, Henry."

"Don't call me that."

"Fine. Matthew-"

"Luke! I'm Luke! Goddamnit." He frowns, wipes his nose. "I have to go back for a little while."

"Why? People knows you there, Luke." She says the name with emphasis. "What did you do?"

"I just forgot somethin'." There's a little tone in the receiver. "Time's up. I have to go."

"Wait, Luke-"

He hangs up.

xXx

Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1966

Someone stops me in the hallway before the first bell, and I look up. It's Mrs. Thomas.

"My God, Ponyboy. What happened?" Her voice almost jumps up a pitch.

I feel uncomfortable under her stare. "I - it was just a fight." I shove my hands down in my pockets, trying to look casual. She grips my chin, but I take a step back, not wanting her to do that. She frowns.

"A fight?"

I nod. She hastily throws a glance on the clock on the wall. It's only five minutes left to first class.

"I'll have to take you to the nurse," she says a bit stressed. "Come along."

I can't see why. "It's okay," I hurry to say, not moving. "My brother already checked it. I'm fine."

Her eyes narrows. "Your brother?" she echoes, sounding a bit worried.

I'm afraid I said something wrong. The way she looks at me make me realize what she's thinking. "It wasn't him!" I burst out, feeling myself go pale at the unspoken accusation. I take another step back.

Her mouth turns to a thin line. "You need to see some medical staff, Ponyboy."

I sigh, knowing it won't matter what I say.

"Follow me, " Mrs. Thomas continues, and I know I must, even if I really don't want to. She takes me down the hallway, first stops by the office, makes me wait outside when she speaks with a free colleague to take her class for a while, and then she takes my arm, leads me to the nurse. I almost find it hard to breathe.

I have to sit on the gurney while the school nurse, Mrs. Sullivan, examines my face. My teacher stands with her arms crossed behind her, watching all the time. I sit on my hands so they won't shake. I don't know why they do.

"It's nothing serious," Mrs. Sullivan finally says. "Just keep it clean and don't poke at it, and you will heal just fine." She throws a glance backwards, then faces me again.

"Take off your sweater, please."

I blush hard. "Um, why?"

"I need to check you."

Fortunately, my teacher leaves the room before I start to drag my shirt over my head. Mrs. Sullivan tells me to stand on the floor, and I do, and she feels at my ribs, turns me around to look at my back. I'm not stupid. I know she's looking for signs of abuse.

"You can get dressed again." She leaves the room too, and when I'm finished with my sweater, I don't know what to do. If I have to stay, or if I can leave. I feel miserable.

I chew on my nails when they both come back after ten minutes. I quickly drop my hand.

"Ponyboy, who did this to your face?" the nurse asks me.

"It was- it was a, um... a Soc." I know my stutter will make it worse, but I didn't mean to. I just don't know what to say.

"A Soc?" Mrs. Thomas asks, eyebrows slightly raised.

"You know... uh, a rich kid." I can tell she doesn't believe me. I'm scared.

"You know his name?"

I try to come up with something, but realize I can make the situation even worse if they can prove that I'm lying. So I shake my head, looking down. "No."

Mrs. Thomas watches me in silence for a moment, and then she says, "You know I will have to report this to the social services. It's my duty as a teacher if I suspect abuse from home."

She can't do that! The world starts spinning. I have to grab the gurney with one hand, the other cover my mouth. I feel nauseous.

"Talk to me, Ponyboy. I can help you." I think she tries to smile nicely, reassuring, but to me, it almost looks evil. "You don't have to be afraid. Just tell me the truth."

I drop my hand. "Please don't report it. It wasn't my brother, I promise. It really wasn't him, he would never do that." I know I sound desperate. I have to convince her. "Please. Don't take me away from my family. I need them."

But all she says is, "I'll take you to your class. Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan."

"It wasn't Darry," I say again, clenching my fists, feeling the pain start to throb in my head. She doesn't answer me, just looks at me, with a sad expression. I hate her.

xXx

Lawton, Oklahoma, 1966

He paces the room. It's not easy, it's almost completely covered because of the couch, the bed and the table, and doesn't leave much floor for walk on, but he can't sit still. He has to move, to think. He has already smashed his fist into the wall.

He knows he has to be careful. Sometimes he thinks the best he can do is jump into his car and drive to California, or Mexico, or Canada, and be Luke, like the plan. Even if the boy talks, and he's sure he' has already did, he has the time to get away. But something stop him.

It's like he can't be Luke when the boy knows he's not. Somehow it haunts him. It makes him Henry.

Sarah knows of course. But she's different. She's... she's... God, she's waiting for him. He grabs his keys from the coffee table. Damn it. He doesn't know what to do. Going back north, or going west.

xXx

Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1956

He kiss her on her cheek.

"Hello, dear."

She turns around, smiles big. "Darrel? You're home early." She puts her arms around him for a second. He hugs her back.

"Yeah." They let go, and he sits down at the table. Through the open door he can see Pony playing with his blocks in the living room. His small hands grab one piece after another, determined to build a tower, but it falls all the time.

"Where's Darry and Soda?"

Anne picks up the bowl and the whisk, continues to stir the batter. "They went to the park." She watches his face. "Darrel, what is it?"

She always can sense when something is wrong. He can never hide things from her. He clears his throat. "I met someone at Don's a couple of days ago. Actually, Soda and I bumped into him earlier that day and I asked him to come there."

Her eyes narrow, her hand stops. "Who? Why do I have a feeling I ain't goin' to like this?"

"You probably won't. Remember Henry Morgan?"

Anne stiffens. Then she sighs. "I wish I didn't. Darrel, you didn't- oh, no, you did!" Her eyes widen.

He looks desperate. "It just feels like I owe him somethin'."

She puts the bowl down on the counter, drags out a chair to sit down in front of him. "You certainly don't!" She takes his hand. "I don't want him in our lives, Darrel. In your life!" She almost pleads him, and he shakes his head.

"Please, Anne. You've always been forgiving before. It's in your nature." He looks down. "He was my best friend once, you know that."

"He also almost put you in prison. And you know how much he disliked me. You can't mean-"

"Anne," he interrupts her. "Give him a chance. It's all I'm asking for. For my sake."

She hesitates. Then, "No. No, Darrel. I can't. I'm sorry." She rises, disappears out into the living room. He follows, and for some reason, he reaches out and grabs her arm, turns her around to face him.

"You don't know how bad I feel!" he almost shouts. He just needs her to understand. Her eyes fill with tears.

"If you love me, you won't see him again."

"Anne. I do love you. But I have to talk to him."

"You chose him over me?"

They almost never argue. It feels strange when angry words fly, both unused to hissing at each other, both unsure what to say and how to stop it. They try to keep it low, for the boy. Ponyboy places a block upon the other, turning his head, looks at them. They both get silent. Anne disappears into the bedroom, crying.

xXx

Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1966

My backpack feels heavy. I drag my feet after me when I walk home, my thoughts occupied of what happened in school. I'm afraid to go home, to meet my brothers. It feels like I've failed them. All I do is keeping secrets and lie to them and not using my head, and then I get into trouble. But this time, Darry might be in trouble too. Maybe we don't get along that much, but I know he would never hit me. I wonder what will happen now.

I reach our house and walk inside. Soda's not here, but I'm not surprised by that. Why would he? He might not be in school, but he would never stay home a whole day long all alone. I walk to my room and stand there for a while. I wonder if I should start packing already. But I can't. Instead, I walk to stand outside another door, touch the surface with my palms, leaning my forhead against it. I haven't been in there since before the...

...since before the murder.

I open up. Their bed is made. Mom's reading glasses and a book lies on top of the quilt, waiting for her to come home and finish the story. On Dad's nightstand lies a newspaper. I don't dare to walk closer, to look at the date. I'm sure it will show the date they died. In here, the time stands still. It's dusty. A shirt hangs on its hanger on the closet door. A shoe lies halfway under the bed. I can feel their scent, Mom's perfume, Dad's after shave, the scent of childhood and safety.

I close the door behind me, sit down on the floor to lean against it.

"I miss you," I tell them. "I really do." I try to cry, but I can't. I feel too empty.

Reviews are very, very much appreciated.

Don't own it, Hinton does.