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Most of us have it mixed up. You don't start with courage and then face fear. You become courageous because you face your fear ~Laura Davis
L*I*E*
Sodapop's back was drippin' glorious sweat, and his voice was wild with laughter as his thirteen-year-old legs ran like a horse let out of the stable. His white t-shirt gleamed in flashes under the early June sun, and Darry's old shoes were slapping the dying grass under the rustling shade of gold burnt trees. It was a Sunday afternoon and felt like it, and Soda loved it as he lopped back at his mother's command to wait up for 'em. They were headed to the park for a day, just the three of them. Dad had taken Darry off somewhere in the country for hunting Friday morning, and wouldn't be back till Monday next. They'd invited Soda to come along too, but he'd declined. Hunting involved standing still, laying flat, and being quiet as a church mouse more often than not.
All things which Soda had zero inclination to do to-day. Dad and Darry had to be crazy, he reckoned, cause days like these were made for livin' runnin' jumpin'. Or for trying to improve Ponyboy's football toss. To be fair, the kid was only eleven, and a bit on the small side. But he was smart, way smart. Soda could tell from the way his auburn brows furrowed and his tongue poked out as his pale hands ghosted over the smooth pigskin, like a blind man reading what-ya-call it books. Learnin' it.
"Like this Pony," Soda advised patiently, moving Pony's hands with his tan ones, guiding him to a firmer grip. Darry would honestly of been the better person to teach Pony this. Soda like football. Darry lived, breathed and died by it. But No one who knew 'em would ever put Darry Curtis Jr. in charge of teaching anything or anyone. Most of all Ponyboy. Darry like results the way a rattlesnake like its venom, and hated to repeat himself.
"Like this, Soda?" Pony asked again -for the sixth time. Soda grinned and ruffled the kid's hair.
"Just like that," he assured him, before jogging backward, still grinning lopsidedly. He nodded once. "Throw, Pony!"
Pony did, and while it still lacked the power to make it go far (Soda had to nosedive to catch it) the aim was much improved.
Soda whooped, slapping his hand together as he came bouncing back. "Great toss, Ponyboy!"
Pony's ears went red. "Wasn't that great."
"Nah, but it was better," Soda insisted before his stomach rumbled its displeasure at all the activity and not enough substance. He tossed an arm around his brother's thin shoulders. "Now come on, Mom packed lunch."
And she did, three ham sandwiches with apples on the side spread on one of the parks' rickety old tables, though the boys felt their heads cock as they took in the figure standing beside their mother, talking to her.
Course, in and of itself, that wasn't so odd. It was a nice day, and there were other people moseying around. But still. This lady seemed...nervous. High strung. She was about twenty years old and Italian-looking, or maybe Mexican, with dark hair and dark eyes and a dark dress like Johnnycake's mother. Maybe that was what made Soda rest his hand on Pony's shoulder as they drew close enough to hear her talk.
"Really a lovely boy," she was saying. "Does...does he look like his Papa?"
Molly Curtis laughed gently, too gracious just to turn anyone away. "Not much. I'd ask Dare to come out so ya could see, but he and our oldest are out hunting. No Soda mostly me."
"And that's no bad thing, Miss," the woman hastened to assure her, and Soda's brown eyes flickered to her hands -small, olive, but covered in long thin scars. They wrung themselves together before gripping her dark skirt (how the hell could she be wearing such dark clothing? Lady had to be boiling to death.) before away.
"Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too," Molly returned. And the woman left, quickly, though Soda could've sworn he saw her lips move ever so slightly in an inaudible, I'm sorry.
Sorry? Soda stared after her. Sorry for what? Wasn't a crime to talk to people.
"Who was that, Mama?" Pony asked a soon as the lady was out of earshot -taking the words clean out of Soda's mouth.
"Oh," Molly said, turning to sit herself down at the table. "Just someone who saw you boys playin' together. She thought it was the sweetest thing, is all."
"She seemed kinda jumpy," Soda remarked, scooting in next to Pony, who nodded rapidly.
"And did you see her hands?" he blurted, though he shut up under Molly's stern look.
"We don't talk about people like that, Ponyboy Curtis," she said sternly. "Not everyone can help it."
"Sorry, Mom," Pony muttered sheepishly. And Molly smiled, reaching out to touch Pony's cheek before turning to the food.
"Now who's hungry?"
*L*I*E*
" King Darius shouted out, "Daniel, servant of the living God, has your God Whom you serve continually, been able to deliver you from the lions?" Maybe he didn't expect an answer. But Daniel replied! Daniel called out, "O king, my God sent His angel and shut the lions' mouths, so that they have not hurt me! And also, O king, I have done no wrong before you."
Molly Curtis' voice had a unique way of flickering, no different than like a candle's light when she read. Warm and golden as the tumble of her wheat-gold hair that fell like swan wings. It gleamed to the eyes of her two youngest children, who were sitting with her on the living room couch.
It was a tradition that Molly read the Bible after dinner was cleared away. Usually, she read silently and alone. But with the house empty for once and Dad and Darry gone, Pony felt safe enough to ask her to read out loud. Soda didn't mind either, though he wasn't much for reading himself. He did like the stories though, and there was something mystical about his mother's voice, a touchstone to a time when not so long ago, he'd been curled against her heart.
NOT that he'd ever admit this to Steve or the other guys though. Who knew what they'd said if word got out that Soda still enjoyed being read too? he shuddered at the thought. His gradually forming rep would never survive.
"King Darius was delighted! He ordered Daniel to be lifted out of the pit. And the evil men who made the law were cast down into the pit and the lions devoured."
"Happy ending!" Soda announced, grinning. "Gotta admit, doing it that way had to save taxpayers a bunch."
Molly and Pony both burst into giggles. Exasperated, his mother tugged him closer and kissed the wheat blond hair they shared.
"Oh, Soda," she murmured, in that same lovely voice, the once that almost made Soda shut his eyes. Relax. Well, he nearly did, when the door creaked opened. And familiar coal-black eyes flickered as their owner shuffled inside.
"Uh...hey," Johnny Cade muttered, nudging his toe into the carpet.
"Hey Johnny," Pony called out to him, straining his neck to better see. "How's it going?"
"Um...good," Johnny's eyes burned twin holes in the floor, and Soda knew the only thing going on in his house was a shit storm.
"Uh is the couch open, tonight?" Johnny finally managed to ask.
Molly was already standing up, ushering him properly inside.
"Always, Johnny Cade, don't never you doubt that," she murmured in that same candlelight voice. And for the first time that night, Johnny's mouth gave a flicker of a smile himself.
L*I*E
The woman wrung her scarred hands as she waited under the darken tree. She'd returned there the moment the brothers and their mother left, her last words towards them still hung around her mouth.
I'm sorry.
And she was. And watching a beat-up old pick-up truck pull up to the curve, she knew she'd be feeling even sorrier soon, as the driver got out. While tall, their was something in his broad face that was as nondescript as his clothing, save for his eyes -a hypotonic, intense blue of the forget-me-not. And the brown stubble under his chin, near to a recent cut, and the fullness of his lower lip and...and...oh.
And she knew she would be following through with his commands to tell what she knew. Like she always did.
"Anita," the man greeted, his smoker rasp two decades older than her, making her knees quiver. He quirked his brow, and she was a goner. "You find out what I needed to know?"
She nodded egerly, like a dog barking. "Yes, Kurt. Yes...two brothers like you said. Best friends as well. The older one's protective of the younger."
Her man smiled now, at last. Slow and sure, and rewarded her with a stroke to the cheek. "Lovely. And their parents?"
"Just the mother in the house," Anita answered, feeling her soul fall free to the devil with the sentence, chiming with thirty silver coins for the fare to hell -there was no coming back from this. "Their Papa's out with the eldest. No trouble."
Kurt nodded slowly, like molasses, drinking it in. Then nodded some more. "Perfect. Well done, Anita. I think it's time I meet these new additions to the Household."
L*I*E
Blue shadows danced on the walls, the ghost of tree branches swaying in warning as Johnny tossed and turned on the couch, restless even though he was exhausted. He couldn't understand just way though. He wasn't one to suffer nightmares in his sleep (not when his day was one long one) and normally had no trouble getting some shut-eye.
But tonight, his mind refused to turn off, instead taking in sensory of everything up to ten. The color of the shadows, the blow of the wind, the...hemm...tired after all...the grown-ass man standing in the middle of the Curtis living room...
Wait.
What?
Suddenly on red, blaring alert, Johnny's embers for eyes flashed open on the couch -and the first thing they saw was a mean-looking knife pointed his way. And the first thing he felt was a hand the size of a baseball mitt clamping over his mouth and holding his entire head still in the process.
"Easy there son, sorry for spokin' ya," the man soothed, as Johnny's eyes darted wildly, trying to find features in the darkness or anything that could pry him out of this situation. There was nothing though, as his fingers gripped and clawed at the trunk of a wrist. He may as well been going at him with toothpicks for all it did.
That's enough of that," the man ordered softly when Johnny continued to thrash, as best he could, a trout desperate to get off the line. The bear-like clamp on his mouth suddenly tighten minimally, bringing no pain, but the unspoken realization of just how easily this man could snap his neck.
"Stay Still."
With sheer will-power, Johnny did, but his muscles stayed tensed, and his breath whistle harshly out of his nose.
"Now, we got to move quick. Let's go get your brother, and there won't be no trouble," the man said, slow and deliberate, making sure Johnny very clearly understood what was going on. And it was a good thing it was dark, cause he didn't see how Johnny blinked.
Brother? What in the hell-
Then he understood, and a cold chill rippled like ice-water over his skin. This guy thought he was one of the Curtis boys. He was after his friends.
"Show me where he is."
Piss up a rope.
If he'd been Steve, he might've said it. But Johnny had more cautious ways to be defiant. He licked his lips when the man released him. Then shook his dark head.
"Ain't got no brothers," he said, low and honest 'round the heart going double-time in his throat. Not so honestly, he added, "There's no other kids in this...my house."
The man clicked his tongue, and the knife glinted in the glow of a werewolf's moon. Sharp as a tooth, a fang.
"Now I don't appreciate you lyin' son. I know very well that you got an older brother. Let go get him and have done. I want us gone before your mother wakes up. Don't want to involve her in this do we?"
Johnny's mouth had gone dry as a grave at this point. Which was where he was starting to think he was headed. The man patted his shoulder, then hauled him to his feet with one harsh yank.
"Now lets go get your brother."
Brother. Johnny felt his mind whirl. Brother. One. Singular. He didn't know where this guy got his information from, but apparently, he didn't know that there were three Curtis boys instead of two. That meant Johnny had a choice here, in who got dragged into this. Soda or Ponyboy.
For a moment, his eyes blurred and the room swam like a fish tank. He felt like the most cowardly piece of shit that ever walked the earth. Cause it wasn't no choice of who'd he would choose. Who would beg to be chosen. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
God, Soda, man. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorryi'msorryi'msorry.
Sorry wasn't good enough though, as Johnny, escorted with a meaty hand on his back, lead the intruder down the hall towards the room Soda and Darry usually shared. (Christ, what he give for Darry to be here, at seventeen, he was nearly as big as his old man.)
"Ouch," Johnny hissed, once he'd accidentally-on-purpose stubbed his toe into the corner of a wall, with a decent enough noise.
WakeupwakeupChirstsomeonewakeup. But no one did. And the hand on his back went to his black t-shirt's shoulder again as his reward.
"Careful, now," the man drawled in warning -apparently not buying that it was an accident. Johnny's gut sank to somewhere around his bare feet. This guy wasn't an idiot, whatever he was.
When they got to Soda's door, Johnny couldn't bring himself to open it, not even with coaxing. He just couldn't, as if touching that knob would open the door to hell. Which was sure as heck where he was going for this.
Eventually, the man got tired of trying to make him do it, and just opened it himself. Soda's murmured with the ray of moonlight that fell on him, turning over in bed, an arm drawn across his eyes.
The man holding his shoulder nudged him. "get 'im up."
God Soda, I'm sorry...
"Soda...wake up man," Johnny muttered, shaking him gently.
It took a moment, but eventually, his brandy brown gaze opened, then blinked and squinted. Confused.
"Johnnycakes? What's-" Soda's question trailed off when his brain comprehended the stranger standing behind his friend, the knife in his hand, his eyes going very wide.
"Get up son," the man said once again, still that same pleasant tone of voice. "Throw on a jacket and help your brother pack a bag with some clothes. You have five minutes."
Johnny positioned himself carefully so the intruder couldn't see the flicker of confusion (and cold fear) that crossed Soda's face at the mention of the word brother. Locking gazes, Johnny gave a small almost nonexistent shake of his head, mouthing "he doesn't know 'bout Pony."
Soda got it, and pressed his mouth tightly. Pushing back the covers, he stood in the same white tee he'd worn today with red briefs, walking quietly over dreser to pull out some clothes while Johnny hurried to get Darry's spare trundle bag.
"Four minutes," the man hummed, standing there arms crossed. Panicked, the boys looked at each other and speed up, trying hard not to let their hands shake.
They failed pretty badly on that account.
"Three minutes."
Mary, Mother of God, the countdown was gonna kill them before anything else got the chance. But Johnny swallowed it back and tapped Soda on the shoulder.
"I'll finish," he muttered. "Get some pants on, man."
No need to be more vulnerable than they were.
Soda nodded, eyes gleaming gratefully behind raw fear, and did just that, fumbling with the jean buttons. Finishing just as the guy called, "Times up."
He beckoned them with a flick of his wrist. "Come on, boys."
Soda turned to look at Johnny, for the briefest half-second, something in his face reading, asking...are we really doing this?
Don't have a choice, was what Johnny's own face answered. Throwing the trundle over his shoulder, he followed his friend out of the bedroom, back down the hall.
"Ouch," Soda muttered, when he accidentally-on-purpose stubbed his own toe into the lampstand, also making good noise. Johnny cringed, but their captor chuckled.
"Brothers, alright," he said, before making them move faster, across the living room to the open window that had it's screen cut.
Soda nearly gave a hysterical snigger at the sight, and even Johnny could appreciate the irony. If only the guy knew the front door was always unlocked.
And for the first time, a spasm of hope lit in his belly. When Pony or Mrs. C found the screen in the morning, they would know what had happened. How far could the guy walk them in a few hours? Since he'd made them pack clothes, Johnny didn't think he meant to murder 'em right off the bat. Maybe they'd be alright.
He clung to the hope and knew Soda was doing likewise as the guy made them crawl out the window with him, all while down the hall, currently hiding out under his bed, Ponyboy was shaking like a leaf, trying to judge if it was safe to run to get his mother yet.
Stay still, a stern voice that sounded a lot Darry said in his ear. Stay still and wait it out. Otherwise, the guy might take you, too.
He'd wait, Ponyboy decided, trying to swallow, clenching his fists. He'd wait a bit longer. Then he'd get help.
L*I*E
The guy hadn't let them wear any shoes, and the pavement was unforgiving. They had to look funny, as they did their best to step around rocks, bits of glass, and garbage. All the while one single question dominated their minds.
One Soda finally decided to chance asking.
"Why ya doin' this?" he asked, trying to keep his voice soft and searching, reasonable. The man was holding a knife to his back after all.
"Cause ya needed," was the decidedly unhelpful answer. "Stop here."
Both boys started, and stare. Stop here? They hadn't even gone beyond the sight of Sodapop's house. And soon the sun would be up. What-
They got their answer though when a passing pick-up pulled to a stop before them, right on the curve, red as flames of hell. They stared in horror as the devil himself rested his bear-like hands on their shoulders.
"Get in."