I Don't Know How the Story Ends by J.B. Cheaney Page A

shot was fired— bang! Sylvie and I jumped a foot.)
    The shot was not fired by the Boy but by the Friendless One, a woman who’s jealous of Mrs. Boy. She (Friendless) was crouching on the fire escape during the fracas. But when the police arrive, they assume the Boy is guilty, and back he goes to court. In spite of his wife’s pleas for a pardon, he’s sentenced to hang!
    â€œOh no!” I gasped, immediately embarrassed that I’d said the words out loud. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ranger’s smug smile.
    Finally, tormented by her conscience, Friendless confesses to Dear One that she pulled the trigger. The two of them, with the help of a kind policeman, set off in pursuit of the Governor, who’s bound somewhere on a train. Meanwhile, the Boy receives last rites from a priest and leaves his cell for the gallows.
    â€œBut he’s not going to hang, is he?” Sylvie whispered.
    â€œHush!” I whispered back as the scene switched to Dear One chasing the Governor’s train in a borrowed automobile.
    â€œFaster!” Sylvie shouted.
    Back to the gallows, where the Boy is slowly climbing the steps—
    Back to the auto, which is catching up to the train. I vaguely noticed that Ranger had moved the needle to the overture from William Tell —
    â€œHuuuuurry!” Sylvie was almost in my lap by now.
    Back to the gallows (sad violins) where three hangmen pause, each with a knife, ready to cut the drop.
    â€œNo,” I whispered. “No, wait—”
    Back to the Governor’s train, which has stopped. Everyone piles out of the auto and crowds into the Governor’s car, where Friendless makes her confession.
    But how will they stop the execution? Back at the gallows, the Boy has a black scarf tied around his eyes and the noose settles around his neck.
    â€œArrrgh,” Sylvie groaned. I noticed my fingernails were in quite a sorry state.
    Then a loud bell jingled next to my elbow, startling a cry from my agitated throat. On the screen, the prison warden stopped the hangmen so he could answer the telephone, and I realized that Ranger had rung a bicycle bell.
    I also realized that he had arranged this whole performance to soften me up.
    What’s more, he succeeded.

Chapter 5
    A Start in the Pictures
    Such is the power of art—I was swept up. What I had just seen was so large and real (while it lasted) that it blocked out sensible questions, like where did the boys get their camera and film, and what did their parents think of this, if they even knew?
    â€œWhen can we start?” Sylvie asked.
    â€œWell.” Ranger knitted his brow while sliding the gramophone record into its sleeve. “Your sister hasn’t said she’d do it yet.”
    â€œBut she has to!” Sylvie cried, as though someone had to make me.
    You’re the responsible one , I kept telling myself. “How do we know you can even do this?” I asked. “Motion-picture-making takes a lot of costly equipment and experience—”
    Ranger just said, “Roll it, Sam.”
    The projector whirred again and the screen flickered. I threw myself back into my chair with a flustered sigh. Were we ever going to get an answer by just talking ? The screen flashed with countless little flags of gray and white, or perhaps ripples on a pond.
    â€œThis is our first attempt,” Ranger said. “The light’s all wrong—too much contrast. All that shows up at first are leaves in the trees—it was a windy day—but keep watching…”
    Even as he spoke, I saw a spot of black take shape in the center of the screen and quickly grow larger. And something else: something that sprouted arms and legs and resolved itself into human form. A running human form. And as soon as I recognized that much, the setting resolved to a bridge and the thing he was running from became a locomotive, bursting with steam and rushing right at us!
    Sylvie screamed,