Categories > Books > Outsiders > Red Hot Moon

Chapter 12

by TWBasketCase 0 reviews

About a year and half after the events of the book, a new gang arrives in Tulsa and stirs things up. The soc/greaser war is at an all time high, and our gang's lives will never be the same.

Category: Outsiders - Rating: R - Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama - Warnings: [!!!] [V] [X] - Published: 2007-01-28 - Updated: 2007-01-28 - 3120 words

Chapter 12
... ... ...

Steve stared down at the swirling puddle of water; the sink was filled up about an inch high with a pink tinted, foamy liquid. The swirling motions had sent him into his subconscious; for the first time that day he was caught up in his thoughts.

He had watched a boy die that afternoon.

He was only sixteen years old. There was another boy out there, a younger brother, 15, who was missing his last piece of family. He had no parents to go home too, no sisters or other brothers, just a stupid rusty-haired piece of shit who could give a shit less.

He couldn't help but be painfully reminded of his old friends.

There was so much death that had plagued them in Tulsa. First, his best friend had lost both of his parents in one night. It took them months of fighting the state, each other, the socs, and just about everyone else to get adjusted. It had lasted months. They had suffered financial loss, scholarly loss, and heartbreak. They had pretty much lost everything with the exception being each other.

Eight months later they lost two of their gang which had both stemmed from soc/greaser warring. It would have been easy to say that Johnny died the tragic hero. He was a boy with no good home or family, only a few older boys who considered him a friend. He had been beaten, kicked, spit on, laughed at, made fun of, and went down as a hero for not only defending the life of his best friend, but those of a few dozen school children. He had sacrificed his own pathetic life for those that he thought deserved it more. Despite popular opinion however, there was one person out there who loved Johnnycakes. Dallas Winston, the anti-hero who was complete opposite to the younger boy. It was easier for the boys to admit that he had died of breaking down - or a broken heart - rather than by suicide-by-police.

Steve couldn't say that he had much of a family himself. His mom wasn't home often - she was always running 'errands' - and his father was a good for nothing drunk who saw Steve as nothing more than an inconvenience who he could buy off with cash. Steve got thrown out of his house more times than he could count on his fingers and toes, and had been told more times than that that he was of no value to his family.

The boys were all he had. He had seen Mr. and Mrs. Curtis as more than his best friend's parents. They gave him a bed to sleep in when he needed it. They gave him food to eat when he had none. More than anything else, they made him feel like his life wasn't worthless; they would tell him that he was important and they enjoyed having him around. When they had died, it felt like his own parents had passed on.

Dallas and Johnny were his brothers. Their gang had been an extremely tight knit group. They had seen each other at their worst and at their best, they leaned on each other for support, and they trusted each other with their lives. When the two boys had lost their lives - in the span of an hour or so between them - the gang had taken a huge blow; things were never to be the same again.

For days, weeks, and even months afterwards they had suffered the aftermath. The issues with the socs had never eased, and they always had to watch over their shoulders. More and more people ended up hurt or worse, dead. Steve's emotions had always gotten the better of him; since the deaths he had seen no point in expressing them. Friends were always coming and going and there were only two constants left in his life: the gang and Evie.

He could no longer see the socs the same. Before there was great dislike and envy. Now, there was nothing but pure, unadulterated hate. They were the reason all the death had happened, in his eyes. He was sure that they were the reason his life had changed for the worst.

And now, another one of them was dead - and once again, he had been witness to it all.

And once again, the socs were the cause - the problem.

He looked up from the sink and took in his appearance; he had blood spatter on the left side of his face. His lips were molded into an angry and bitter frown. His usually perfect hair was unkempt. His eyes - his eyes told the real story - they were dark and cold. He could no longer see any emotion behind them; they showed how empty he felt at that moment.

He sighed and grabbed the bar of soap once more and began to rub it on his face. The caked blood had finally started to get to his stomach. It was that poor kid's guts that were stuck to his face. His mind began to spin and he quickly jet out a hand to grab the bathroom sink. He took a few deep breathes and then slowly opened his eyes.

Once more, the first thing he saw was a dead boy's flesh splashed on his face.

He keeled over the toilet and let the contents of his stomach go. All the flashes of the disturbing images he saw that afternoon caught up to him, making him sick all over again. When he finished, he wiped the edges of his mouth and leaned back against the cool surface of the bath tub.

He couldn't get the images from his head.

... ... ... (FLASHBACK) ... ... ...

Steve swallowed hard and watched as the boy raised the gun up in the air. He put his hands over his ears and watched - almost as if in slow motion - as Ray jumped forward and knocked the gun off to the side. Unfortunately, at the same time, the trigger was pulled. Steve heard the bang and instantly hit the ground.

He pulled himself up after a few moments; screams filled his ears, and he almost forgot that he was lying on the floor of the DX garage - in his mind he was in a park surrounded by cops.

He looked up to see a boot in front of his face; it was a regular, beat up looking cowboy boot, and it was huge - probably a size 13. He followed up the leg attached to said foot and noticed the blood - it was everywhere.

He jumped to his feet instantly at the sight of the blood. "What the fuck did you do?" He screamed. He yelled at the scared looking soc boy in front of him. Steve was livid.

"I-I didn't mean to! I swear to..." The soc boy was almost in tears. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat and his hands were shaking so hard that he dropped the gun to the floor with a distinct 'clank'.

Steve glared at him and pointed to the boy on the floor. "You didn't mean to? He's fuckin' dying!"

"Save it, greaser! This is your fault! If you good for nothin', dirty punks woulda just minded yer own business this never woulda happened!" Another soc boy pushed out from behind his friend - the shooter.

"I did not ask for your dumb ass to come to my garage and shoot up the place!" Steve screamed. He was trying to keep himself from going hysterical.

"Fuck it; let's get outta here, boys!" Another soc yelled. He grabbed two of his friends by the elbows and they all bolted from the garage and into the awaiting mustang.

Steve watched their retreating forms and cursed them. "Fuckers!"

He surveyed the area around them. The boy on the floor was bleeding from what looked to be two different wounds. There was another greaser boy with the same unruly dark hair crouched over him wailing for his brother to stay awake. Ray was the last one in the room; he stood leaning against the Studebaker with nothing but an angry frown on his face. He made no move to help his friend.

Steve looked at the crying brother. He had never seen such a big guy break down so fast. He cradled the other boy's head in his lap as if it were his life line. Steve bent down in front of him. "What's your name?" The boy didn't answer him, only screeching the name of his brother. Steve, getting increasingly panicked, yelled, "What the hell is your name?"

He looked at Steve with tear stained cheeks. "Robert..."

Steve nodded approvingly. "And who's this?"

The boy's bottom lip began to quiver. "David...he's my older brother. He's only 16!" He began sobbing again. Steve frowned, not quite knowing what to do.

"I need you to go call an ambulance. There's a phone on the wall right behind me." Steve leaned over the wounded boy and began to apply pressure to the more serious wound, which was located on the boy's abdomen.

"I won't leave him! He needs me!" Steve rolled his eyes; that was something that Soda would have said had it been Ponyboy or Darry. He looked at the still unmoving Ray and glared.

"Go call 911, now!" Steve pointed to the phone over his shoulder.

Ray only glared at him as he walked past. Steve was no medic, nor did he know first aid. He only remembered such things from television shows he watched in the afternoons at the Curtis house. He rolled his sleeves up to his shoulder and began to reapply pressure to the boy's wound. He let out a loud grunt, which had scared his brother.

"What are you doing?" He shrieked. "You're hurting him!"

Steve tried to keep his cool. "I'm not hurtin' him. I'm tryin' to stop the blood."

That seemed to have had a calming effect on the younger brother. Steve pushed down harder on the wound. He could feel pulsing in the boy's body, as well as warm liquid squishing underneath his palms; it was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Ray approached them from behind and leaned against the garage door. "They're on their way." It was all he said the entire time until he was reunited with his girlfriend. It angered Steve that he couldn't stop to assist with one of his fallen boys.

He stared at the face of the wounded boy, David. His breathing was becoming more labored and blood was beginning to bubble up between his lips. Steve wasn't a doctor, but he knew that wasn't a good sign.

Steve pushed down harder, to the point where he could feel panicked and frustrated tears build up in his eyes. David was taking gasping breathes now - as if he were drowning,

"Come on, brother! I need you! You can't do this to me! PLEASE!" the younger brother, Robert pleaded with the dying boy. Steve could feel his heart twisting in his chest.

A few seconds later the garage door was pushed open, and Christine's younger brother flew in and dropped to the floor beside Robert. "What happened?" He sounded frantic.

"He-h-he got s-shot!" Robert yelled at him. For the first time Steve realized that the boys were probably the same age. If David was 16, and Robert was his younger brother, it made sense. The boys looked way too tuff to be that young.

"How?!" Pete yelled. "How the bloody hell did this happen?" His question was answered. He only stood from his place and sat against the Studebaker in shock.

They were joined by Sodapop and Christine then. He could see the relief on Soda's face, until he looked at the dying boy on the floor. The sirens were heard at that moment, and Steve was even more relieved.

"Is he okay?" Soda asked as he knelt down beside him.

Steve finally managed to find his voice. "I don't know, man! These guys are fuckin' freakin' out, and this guy might be dead!" His emotions were finally catching up to him, making him realize just how scared he was. Soda stood watching Steve and gave him an encouraging smile. He then stood up and made his way over to Petey and took him out of the garage.

Christine was also hysterical. Ray got so sick of her crying that he took her outside of the garage and began to yell at her. Once again, Steve was alone with David and Robert. Time was moving so fast; he looked down at the boy and noticed that the whole bottom half of his face was now covered in the oozing blood from his mouth. His chest was rising and falling at a very slow rate.

Robert hugged his brother once more as his eyes rolled back. "David, please! Please wake up! The ambulance is coming now, I hear it!" He sobbed and moved David's hair from his forehead. "Please?"

Steve frowned as the fallen boy took one more breath before his body slumped. Steve could feel the sudden release from under his palms and he let the body go. David Young had died. He stood up and looked down at Robert's face; he had a complete look of anguish. His face tensed and his forehead wrenched downwards. "No...y-you can't die! You bastard!" His head dropped so it was resting on his brothers and he began to sob.

Steve took a shaky step back and his breath caught in his throat; there was blood all over. All over David, Robert, and himself, as well as the floor of the DX, the Studebaker - he could see his own imprint on the floor. His stomach lurched and he walked shakily from the garage and out to his best friend.

It was a disgusting feeling that he was all too familiar with.

... ... ... (END FLASHBACK) ... ... ...

He opened his eyes at the sound of a loud bang. He shook his head from his thoughts and wrapped his arms around his torso as he sat next to the porcelain toilet.

"Steve?" It was Sodapop.

Steve wiped the sweat from his forehead and stared at the door. He cleared his throat. "Yeah buddy?"

He opened the door a crack and frowned when he noticed Steve sitting on the floor. He closed the door behind him, and in one swift motion sat next to his best friend on the floor. "Are you alright?"

Steve stared down at his pink stained hands and sighed. "I don't know, man..."

Soda frowned and slung an arm around Steve's shoulders. "You've been in here for about forty five minutes now. I got worried."

Steve frowned and closed his eyes again. "I was just tryin'...I was tryin' to get all of his..." he stopped and cringed slightly. " of my hands."

Soda swallowed shakily and nodded his head. "It's all gone."

Steve stared confusedly at his hands which were still looking rather pink. "I can't get it off..."

Soda looked quizzically at him and grabbed his hands and inspected him. "No, it's all gone. You was just scrubbin' way too hard, man."

"Yeah, I guess so." Steve was still a little confused, but decided to take Soda's word for it anyways; he had never led him astray before. "Okay."

Soda smiled at him. "Darry made some chocolate cake if you want any."

Steve snorted at his friend and stood from the floor. "I don't think I can stomach any chocolate cake at the moment." Steve winced at the memory of losing his lunch. He opened up the bathroom door and gave his friend a small smile. "Thanks anyway, buddy."

Soda nodded and walked past him out the door. "No sweat."

"Soda! Telephone!" Darry yelled from the living room. Soda bounded past Steve down the hallway and out to the Curtis living room. Steve just made his way quietly into the living room and sat on a couch with Two-Bit and Ponyboy.

He threw an arm over his eyes and sighed as he sat back on the couch. He wouldn't admit it to the others, but he couldn't get the image out of his head. The boy had actually died in his arms.

"Steve?" He heard Ponyboy from beside him. Usually when he talked to him it would annoy Steve to no end, but today was different; he just wasn't in the mood to fight.

"Yeah?" He didn't move his arm from his face.

"I'm glad you're okay." Steve's eyebrows perked at this and he finally moved his arm from his face so that he could see the younger Curtis. By the time he had actually made the effort to look at him, however, he had moved his face back down to his novel that he was reading. Steve looked at Two-Bit, who only could cock an eyebrow in response.

Steve sighed. "Thanks, kid."

Soda sauntered into the room and sighed. "That was Rusty."

Steve felt his heart drop. "What did he say?"

Soda forced a smile. "Well, he ain't mad which is good. But they're closing down the station for at least a month while they get evidence and clean the place up. He just wanted to say he was glad that we were okay..." He looked down at his hands and back up at Steve. "And that he was sorry for makin' me work a double, and that you had to deal with that."

Steve sighed. "It ain't his fault..."

Soda rolled his eyes. "I know, but you know how he is..."

Steve growled with frustration. "Something has to be done about this! I ain't about to sit back and let those fuckin' dirt bags get away with killin' another one of us!"

Soda and Two-Bit nodded in agreement, the latter cracking a goofy smile. "We'll get 'em back even if we have to do it ourselves!"

Soda snorted at Two-Bit's announcement, but grinned nonetheless. "Yeah, we need to get 'em back for jumpin' us anyhow! I'm still peeved I lost that fight!"

Steve rolled his eyes and threw a pillow at him. "You'll lose another one if ya don't quit your whinin'."

Soda's eyebrow perked and his eyes twinkled with mischief. "Is that a threat, Randle?"

Steve shrugged lazily. "And if it is?"

Soda grinned at him. "Then you're a dead man!" he threw the pillow back at him and body splashed onto the couch, crushing Steve and knocking Pony's book onto the floor in the process. The younger Curtis sighed overdramatically and attacked his older brother back. Steve grabbed Soda's foot - which was inconveniently in his face - and threw it off and onto the floor, causing the blonde to go crashing into Two-Bit.

"Damnit, watch the hair!"

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