Porcelain

Chapter 11

Dallas Winston didn't even know what he was feeling. He'd been stuck in the hospital for three days, three days wasted. His arm would be fine. It wasn't any worse than cracking a few ribs, something he did almost every week.

In truth, he was worried about Johnny. Babydoll had grabbed him and tried to get him out faster, but his spine was still cracked and he was still covered with burns. If he survived, he'd still be crippled for life.

There was going to be a rumble that night. For the Greasers, it was technically for Johnny. It was now being told that he was the one who killed Bob. For the Socs, it was for Bob. It didn't matter to them who killed him, they hated all Greasers the same.

He knew he wasn't supposed to go, and that no one was expecting him to. But he had Two-Bit's prized knife, and that had already gotten him out of the hospital, so there wasn't really much stopping him from showing up.

His feet took him nowhere, he was wandering around without a destination in mind. He heard a scream in the distance, from the direction of the old house. It made him shudder. He didn't really believe in the "haunted" nonsense surrounding the house, but it was starting to get hard not to.

But his feet took him closer, to the house. Now that he was closer, he heard someone screaming in a way that said they were hurting. Maybe not physically, but whoever they were they weren't okay.

Of course they weren't, they were crying in a haunted house, he amended.

He stood, not sure what to do next as the screams tapered off, and he heard the sound of a record being played in the background. Sick curiosity got the best of him, and he opened the old door and took a tentative step inside.

_____
Estelle heard the door open and stopped in her tracks.

"Who's there?" She barked, in the low husky tone most people knew to be Babydoll's voice.

She quickly picked up a kitchen knife beside her, her switchblade still in the jacket she was wearing in the fire, which must still be at the hospital.

A turn of her head revealed the wary face of Dallas Winston.

Estelle smiled a humorless grin. "What good timing, Dally."

"What are you doing here, screaming your lungs out in this creepy ass house?"

Estelle turned to him, a fire in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I could have prevented this all from happening. While we were standing there, I thought, that if I grabbed you all we could leave safely. And if I did that Ponyboy wouldn't have burned his back. You wouldn't have burned your arm. And Johnny would be able to walk!"

Dally was taken aback. No one ever apologized to him. But Estelle continued.

"I keep thinking about what I could have done differently. If I'd woken up a few seconds earlier. I could have taken them home. Hell, I could have taken them anywhere. That soc would still be alive. Johnny wouldn't be a supposed murderer. The church would have never burned, those kids would never have the trauma of that. So many people would still be alive had I made better choices."

He shook his head. "I ain't here to make you feel better, but it ain't your fault. You did your best to keep Ponyboy and Johnny safe. The Socs would have followed you, anyways. They were just looking for a fight, and they got it."

"Even still. I knew that church was real flammable. We all did. I could have been more careful. I could have made sure we were all more careful."

"That still ain't your fault. You didn't start the fire, it was an accident."

Estelle turned to him, tears filling her blue eyes, voice shifting back to that of a teenage girl and not that of a Greaser boy. "Don't you get it? Don't you get it Dally? If I had done things differently, the way I should have, Johnny would get to live his life, the way he deserves to! Don't you see? I love them both. But Johnny, he's the brother I never got. When he dies, almost everyone I love will be dead!"

"Don't say that!" He snapped back at her. "He's gonna make it! Sure, it's never gonna be how it used to be, but he's strong! He'll make it!"

Her face crumpled. In that moment, it was all Estelle. "Please don't say that. We both know it's not true."

Those words hung in the air, thick and heavy.

"We both know he's not gonna make it."