A/N: The only character in this chapter that I own is Scattah

Midday on a Monday my friends would be found either scrounging for lunch or gambling at the Statue. Not me though. Headlines stunk but I managed to sell half of my papes before giving up and dragging myself to the Lodging House. I quietly entered the building that had been my home for the last ten years of my life. I was alone. Good. I needed the quiet. It had been a horrible day, an unpleasant current trend of my life.

When did my life get so screwed up? I'm not that bad of a person. While life was never easy being a newsie, my problems were bigger than the average working kid's. And no one knew, not even my best friend. And that was without today's fiasco.

*Earlier that Day*

"Hey you kid! Come back here!" a burly man bellowed, his voice booming over the general hubbub of the busy street. I chanced a glance at my adversary before I turned and ran the opposite direction. My feet pounded the uneven pavement, my worn out boots flopping as I ran. A woman and her child stood admiring a flower wagon and I threw myself under the display, nearly knocking the woman over.

"Sorry 'bout that." I whispered as softly as I could. I felt the woman appraising me. Her nose turned up and her eyes squinted. 'Street rat,' I could practically hear her thinking. Well, that was fine by me as long as my hideout remained a secret. The thud of heavy boots slammed the ground-and passed me. Whew.

I didn't even know why I was being chased, I hadn't done anything wrong. Despite the reputation that a newsie automatically gets, I was a pretty good kid, soaking and smoking aside. Other than the strike, my record was spotless, and even those charges were dropped when Roosevelt got involved. Maybe I just looked like I was trouble. Maybe the man was having a bad day. Perhaps he just needed someone to blame for life's infortunes. Well, stratch that, I knew why I was being chased but not why the man was targeting me. It had been almost a whole since the incident. The incident that was too commonplace among the street rats.

The day had dawned bright and early, a crispness in the air that hinted at the upcoming fall. Autumn was pretty and a relief from the summer's hot sun so in one way it was welcomed. To the orphaned and runaways of New York though it signaled the frigid winter that would soon arrive. Too many kids had died or became crippled over past winters' furies. Older kids like Jack, Racetrack and me loathed the season, young kids like Tumbler, Boots and Snipeshooter still held childish dreams of playing in the upcoming snow. I wondered who would be the first to become deathly sick. Last year it was a seven year-old boy who had only a month before joined the newsies. I doubt any of us would forget Scattah; the sickness had been long and unbearably harsh. It was a relief when the child finally died; at least he was at peace.

We though the young boy had no family. After all, most little kids who show up at the Lodge were orphans. Very few children under the age of eleven ran away, and so we had assumed Scattah had no family. We were wrong. And I was paying for it. The man, Scattah's uncle, was alive and had supposedly taken claim of him. I didn't and probably would never know the details but if his uncle was as brutal to the young child as he was to me, it was no wonder he'd run away.

Earlier that day, I had been busy trying to sell my papes, gathering sympathy for my 'disposition,' people called it. How I hated being different, yet how lucky I was too, at least it helped me earn a living. I wasn't the only one who felt that way, Crutchy did too, he said. The crippled boy just handled it better. In any case, the headlines were horrible and even counting my 'disability,' had only sold thirty of my seventy papes.

"Mayor sets fire to government property!" I bellowed, making a last ditch effort to sell. In reality, the mayor had accidently let his cigar get a little too close to a box and was it was quickly put out. My effort was rewarded with five woman and a couple of men flocking to buy my pape. That's when I saw him, a big boon of a man walked as stealthily as he could towards me. Which all considered, wasn't that stealthy but to him, I bet it was.

"You kid, you a newsie?"

Was this guy drunk? I was hawking headlines and selling papes how could I not be a newsie? I decided to humor him. My curiosity always got me in trouble.

"Yes." I slowly answered, eying him to the best of my ability. It wouldn't be as chilling as if Spot was giving you the look but it was more menacing than, say, Mush attempting it.

Apparently it wasn't that intimidating at all, I reflected as I dodged a punch the man suddenly shot my way. Backing up some, my own hands balled into fist, I grit my teeth.

"What the hell?" I really wished for Jack or Spot to suddenly appear. I could hold my own in fights with other newsies but this guy outweighed me by a good two hundred pounds. I wasn't picky, if David or even Crutchy appeared, I'd be grateful.

No such luck. I was alone and too far from any of my fellow newsies for them to be of any help. Now, when a guy is involved in a fight against bum odds, there are only two options, fight and possibly die or run as fast as you can and hope you can lose them. I knew what I had to do.

"Well it's been nice talking to you but I got to scatter!" I turned to flee but the man suddenly leaped and grabbed me by my shirt collar.

"You'll listen to me boy!" Ugh, his breath reeked, I thought as the pungent smell reached my nose. "You live at the Duane Street Lodging House?" I remained silent. I had no desire to talk with this thug.

"There was a boy there. A seven-year old boy. Damn parents went off and died two years ago. He ran off last year and the government found out. They stopped sending me, his uncle, money for his upkeep. I finally found out where the brat lived and went to collect him. Imagine my surprise then, when I learned that he'd died! Now, I don't care for the little heathen but he was my money! And to think I lost my money to a sickness. I know what condition those lodging houses are in, and how everyone gets a measly cotton blanket. You should have given him your blanket and he would still be living."

"Look mister. It's a tragedy that the kid died but no one could have prevented it. And you only care about your money anyways!" I bit out as I wiggled from his grasp and took off running.

I had come to the flower cart only minutes after the encounter with the drunk. Peeking out from the cart, I noted that I had lost the man and that it was noon. I wasn't hungry, indeed, I felt sick to my stomach from the encounter and from the memory of Scattah. He was too young to die.

*Present*

I sat on my bunk and stared off into the distance. While the drunk was definitely crazy, he did have a good point. Scattah's death should have been prevented. Maybe if the older kids had offered the little ones more blankets, more food, Scattah would still be around. Maybe all the kids who had died would still be alive. Sure, some died due to violence but the majority died of the harsh elements.

I didn't blame myself for all the deaths, but I did feel Scattah's death was on my hands. Each of us older kids often looked after a few of the young ones. Scattah had been my responsibility. I let him get sick. I let him die.

When the boy had died, I had felt a little bad but thanks to the loon of an uncle, it was all rushing back to me. Being an orphan, I didn't have many responsibilities to anyone. I wasn't like Dave whose family was depending on him for their income. How could I have failed so badly to one child then?

Newsies have a code of ethics between each other. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. It helped keep serious fights to a minimum. Who would really want to start a fight knowing that if you won, anyone was free to do whatever damage you had caused someone else to you? Not many people. Sure we weren't shy about fighting against people who weren't newsies but to each other we usually were loyal.

Scattah had been my kid to look after. I failed him and he died. My debt to be repaid. Scattah revenged, my problems gone.

I stood up and walked to a window. With shaking fingers I opened the latch. With a gentle push, the window slid up. I crawled out of it and on to a two-foot ledge. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.