Slashed Tires Chapter 32
A/N: This is it. Sorry for those who don't like it, but the story demanded to go the way it does. Rated R for angst.
P.S. Angst may turn out to be sap. Wrote this sleep-drunk.
~
There was blood, dripping slowly and surely down the leg of his jeans covering his feet. Dallas watched it, wanting to laugh. He'd managed to stain his shoes after all. He'd never imagined they'd turn out red.
There was a phone in his hand, and Darry's voice, tiny and canned, was calling out faintly.
"Hello? Hello? Dallas. Dally where are you. Dallas…hello?"
Slowly Dally brought the phone to his face. "Darrel?" he asked, in a voice rough and hoarse. Why was Darry on the phone?
"Yeah. Where are you."
"I robbed a store." There was a gun in his hand, slick with blood. Dally leaned on the brick wall behind him. His gun wasn't loaded. Someone else had shot him.
"Yeah. Yeah you told me. Where are you."
Dally pulled the phone away, staring at the blood running down his fingers, dripping onto the black receiver.
"Dallas, WHERE ARE YOU."
Slowly, Dally leaned forward again, pressing the payphone to his mouth. "Darrel I'm going to say this once, so you listen." Darry was silent. "The cops are after me-"
"We'll hide you."
"LISTEN." Dally tapped the phone rhythmically with his finger. The siren was loud, wailing, and in another minute they'd have him. But time is not a concern of a madman. "I will meet you, Darrel, by the vacant lot."
"Which-"
"The one beside your house. The one, where we-play-foot-ball." Dally said this slowly and patiently, making sure Darry understood. "I will meet you there. Now." He heard Darry speak, but he didn't need to hear anything else. He needed to get to the lot.
~
Darry hung up the phone, his heart in his mouth. There was something wrong. Something horrible in Dallas that he couldn't understand, something besides grief for Johnny.
"That was Dally. He phoned from a booth. He just robbed a grocery store and the cops are after him. We gotta hide him. He said he'll be at the lot in a minute." Darry's voice was shaking. Soda stared at him, his eyes watery and his face chalk white. Steve was gazing at Ponyboy in horrified realisation and Two-Bit was on the verge of tears. Ponyboy was sick, his eyes feverish, looking like he was going to faint. But every one of them stood, and, gathering what little energy they had left, they began to run.
~
Gravel and grass and dirt: he'd made it to the lot. Dally scrambled down the sidewalk, the light shrieking above him. A wail, in his ear, so close he could taste it…they were coming for him. 'Johnny,' he thought desperately, 'wait for me.' Closer, closer, the siren came, it was a scream now, screaming something at him, something he couldn't understand and didn't want to. Standing, panting, the light pooling around him, harsh and yellow, Dallas jerked the gun from his waistband. He didn't aim, didn't pull the trigger, he barely held the weapon. But the police did. 'Go on, shoot!" he urged them. His brain was so empty and everything was suddenly so clear, but for a tiny, loving voice, ringing in the back of his head. 'I'm coming Johnny!' he thought, his heart beating hard, thump, thump, thump, and he saw death bearing down on him. Eagerly, waiting for it, he saw them lift their guns, saw them shoot, the bullets rippling through the air and then with the sudden harsh and cruel timing of life, his mind returned and he thought,
'WAIT!'
And then…pain. Clear and soundless, poised just before him, a sweet release he no longer wanted, pausing, like a breath held…
And then it broke upon him like water, and wave after wave after wave it crashed down upon him, searing, hot white pain that made his soul scream in agony and he didn't want that.
It was too late. But he called for Johnny, desperately, 'Johnny! Johnny…' and receiving no answer, a terror he couldn't escape filled him. The world around him faded, the details blurred, the colours washed out, and he wished suddenly that he'd done something that he could have remembered now with pride. His mind a whirling torrent of emotion, he could do nothing in his agony but wait, his entire being craving the end of this torment. Then he was falling, down to the ground, not feeling it, but seeing, suddenly, the horrified faces of the only people he'd trusted. A part of him, screaming louder than any siren, a part of him that shone with the brilliance of gold was sobbing for him now, pushing past the glassy surface of insanity, to tell him that he was dead and then…
…peace.
the end.
A/N: This is it. Sorry for those who don't like it, but the story demanded to go the way it does. Rated R for angst.
P.S. Angst may turn out to be sap. Wrote this sleep-drunk.
~
There was blood, dripping slowly and surely down the leg of his jeans covering his feet. Dallas watched it, wanting to laugh. He'd managed to stain his shoes after all. He'd never imagined they'd turn out red.
There was a phone in his hand, and Darry's voice, tiny and canned, was calling out faintly.
"Hello? Hello? Dallas. Dally where are you. Dallas…hello?"
Slowly Dally brought the phone to his face. "Darrel?" he asked, in a voice rough and hoarse. Why was Darry on the phone?
"Yeah. Where are you."
"I robbed a store." There was a gun in his hand, slick with blood. Dally leaned on the brick wall behind him. His gun wasn't loaded. Someone else had shot him.
"Yeah. Yeah you told me. Where are you."
Dally pulled the phone away, staring at the blood running down his fingers, dripping onto the black receiver.
"Dallas, WHERE ARE YOU."
Slowly, Dally leaned forward again, pressing the payphone to his mouth. "Darrel I'm going to say this once, so you listen." Darry was silent. "The cops are after me-"
"We'll hide you."
"LISTEN." Dally tapped the phone rhythmically with his finger. The siren was loud, wailing, and in another minute they'd have him. But time is not a concern of a madman. "I will meet you, Darrel, by the vacant lot."
"Which-"
"The one beside your house. The one, where we-play-foot-ball." Dally said this slowly and patiently, making sure Darry understood. "I will meet you there. Now." He heard Darry speak, but he didn't need to hear anything else. He needed to get to the lot.
~
Darry hung up the phone, his heart in his mouth. There was something wrong. Something horrible in Dallas that he couldn't understand, something besides grief for Johnny.
"That was Dally. He phoned from a booth. He just robbed a grocery store and the cops are after him. We gotta hide him. He said he'll be at the lot in a minute." Darry's voice was shaking. Soda stared at him, his eyes watery and his face chalk white. Steve was gazing at Ponyboy in horrified realisation and Two-Bit was on the verge of tears. Ponyboy was sick, his eyes feverish, looking like he was going to faint. But every one of them stood, and, gathering what little energy they had left, they began to run.
~
Gravel and grass and dirt: he'd made it to the lot. Dally scrambled down the sidewalk, the light shrieking above him. A wail, in his ear, so close he could taste it…they were coming for him. 'Johnny,' he thought desperately, 'wait for me.' Closer, closer, the siren came, it was a scream now, screaming something at him, something he couldn't understand and didn't want to. Standing, panting, the light pooling around him, harsh and yellow, Dallas jerked the gun from his waistband. He didn't aim, didn't pull the trigger, he barely held the weapon. But the police did. 'Go on, shoot!" he urged them. His brain was so empty and everything was suddenly so clear, but for a tiny, loving voice, ringing in the back of his head. 'I'm coming Johnny!' he thought, his heart beating hard, thump, thump, thump, and he saw death bearing down on him. Eagerly, waiting for it, he saw them lift their guns, saw them shoot, the bullets rippling through the air and then with the sudden harsh and cruel timing of life, his mind returned and he thought,
'WAIT!'
And then…pain. Clear and soundless, poised just before him, a sweet release he no longer wanted, pausing, like a breath held…
And then it broke upon him like water, and wave after wave after wave it crashed down upon him, searing, hot white pain that made his soul scream in agony and he didn't want that.
It was too late. But he called for Johnny, desperately, 'Johnny! Johnny…' and receiving no answer, a terror he couldn't escape filled him. The world around him faded, the details blurred, the colours washed out, and he wished suddenly that he'd done something that he could have remembered now with pride. His mind a whirling torrent of emotion, he could do nothing in his agony but wait, his entire being craving the end of this torment. Then he was falling, down to the ground, not feeling it, but seeing, suddenly, the horrified faces of the only people he'd trusted. A part of him, screaming louder than any siren, a part of him that shone with the brilliance of gold was sobbing for him now, pushing past the glassy surface of insanity, to tell him that he was dead and then…
…peace.
the end.