Brooklyn 1909
It had been a long time. A long time of hurt and anger. A time of a burden heavy on my chest. I stood there listening to the woman I once knew. A woman who barely touched the world anymore. In the darkness of the lodging I studied what I could see, knew what was there, that I couldn't see. I knew every curve of her face and where the scar under her chin was. I knew every chopped off strand of hair and how the short blonde hairs near her ears and the base of her neck curled just slightly. I knew the look that came into her dark hazel eyes. These eyes so much like Spot's: guarded and worn like the cover of an old book. Yet where Spot's eyes commanded power and respect hers held that out of focus look. I had known her well and as she began quietly talking to herself I studied her, looking for the differences, the years time had written on her pages. Looked at the dullness her eyes held. Saw how the corners of her mouth dropped and her brow furrowed every time she would look out the cold glass next to her or simply at anyone as if trying to bring them into focus. Despite her ethereal stillness her hands were constantly moving, tracing the blanket fibers, melting the frost on the window or tracing the scars on her body that came with time. It was like the movement of her mind and voice were connected with her hands. As if one would stop so would the other two. So I watched her hands, watched them mime shrugging off a jacket and then putting it on again and as I watched, my mind not focused, my hearing picked up the quiet words she said. The name she whispered in greeting. My name. And the room went silent, without her knowing, the room was entirely focused on her. I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms as I felt wood splinters catch my leather jacket. Shifting into a comfortable position I crossed my ankles and waited. Waited to see what she would create in the silence before her. Waited for her to take notice and begin. Begin a tale I could see coming to life in her eyes and in her stance. Even from a distance I could tell that this tale would not be a made up one. This tale, as she whispered my name and stared at the space beside her, was one of the past. One that haunted her. And as she looked at the Newsies before her I saw the woman I knew begin her story. I saw Manhattan awaken and begin her tale. A tale that was mine, her tale of who she thought I had been. She told of Jack Kelly.
Manhattan 1899
I remembered the night well. Remembered the frigid air in the refuge that seemed to creep into your bones no matter how bright and warm it was outside or how many layers of clothing and blankets you had on. I remember the bitter and grisly meat we had for dinner and how you had to stuff yourself with water before and after eating so you could sleep without hunger pains, atleast for a few hours. I remember the stories. The stories Manhattan and I had made up that night on the roof. Hers had been one of seagulls forced from their homes by an inferno and mine had been the life of a man born with two heads. The roof, the sunset, and the night sky woke us up. We lived through the rest of the day just going through the motions half asleep, but there on the roof, before the tops of New York we came alive, we awakened.
I remember ignoring the cold, wanting to taste the freedom for just awhile longer. I could feel 'hattan shiver next to me as we laid in silence. Dragging my eyes from the freedom in the sky, I looked at her. Conveying what I saw in the sky into my eyes. I couldn't stop it, my dreams were always ones of freedom and she knew this. We stayed here for each other. It wasn't as if we talked about our decisions. It just was, that's who we were. Our relationship was unspoken. Always we had been both family and something closer. We just were, there was never a need to look deeper at it and never would be. Atleast I didn't think there was until later that night.
She said something about flying away and I had to drag my eyes once again from the sky where they had some how managed to return. Manhattan was no longer at my side but was kissing the edge of the roof. With a snap my mind was in the present. Fear and adrenaline bringing me to my feet and my mind trying to comprehend what she had just said. Her face was too somber, her eyes, something from them was fading, I just couldn't place it.
"If youse think I'm goin ta jump then da food heah has warped your brain." I said easing beside her and drawing her attention away from the edge. She smiled briefly and I saw her return from where her mind had taken her.
"Let's fly inside before Snyder finds our ghosts up here." She whispered and then stepping away from the edge she buried her cold face in my chest and held completely still. Automatically, as my mind tried to keep up with her 180 degree turn about, my arms came around her on their own accord. Giving her my warmth I rested my chin on her short head, enclosing her with myself, why did I feel like this was goodbye.
She pulled away first and I studied what I could see of her face and remembered the rest. Something was missing there. Dropping my arms and tucking my thumbs into my belt I followed slowly behind her as we climbed down the steps of the fire escape. I watched her freeze and then push me into the shadows. Intriguing. Raising my eyebrow I gave her my crooked grin. Instead her eyes spoke to mine in her somber face and that's when I heard Snyder. They asked me to stay, like I was a dog obeying my owner and scared of the whip. My smile dropped from my face like it was weighted down by the earth itself. I looked down into her eyes, reading what she planned to do, reading her suddenly unguarded eyes. Narrowing my own I went for her arm to stop her. Dodging me she ran, ran from us and I could do nothing but watch her, my eyes growing cold and my body unyielding.
Brooklyn 1909
Gritting my teeth I watched the woman pause in her story. I had to consciously unball my fists. The anger was still there, just waiting to explode. Why was I even here. Nothing was here anymore just memories not worth remembering. Turning I made to leave but a hard unyielding arm halted my exit, braced against the door frame.
"Sit Down." I looked into the cold, commanding eyes of the King of Brooklyn. Over the years he too had changed. Being King changes a person. He had become power incarnate, finally growing into a body of a leader. Where many people didn't cross him before because of his temper and respect. Now they had a Man before them, one that restrained his temper but in doing so gained a hard edge about him. He had respect, loyalty and a brain, this was a deadly combination with the strength in his body, the killer instinct of his mind and the determination he always had in his heart. He was no longer someone you crossed no matter who you were. Even friends knew that when he had the look in his eyes, the one that was in them now, you didn't push him because you knew he would push back harder and not be gentle about it. But who ever said I was smart.
"Move your arm Spot..." I growled through my teeth. My gaze moved from his arm to his eyes. "Before I move it for you." I met his eyes for almost a full minute before I dropped my glare. No one had a chance against Spot's will even the infamous Jack Kelly. Simply put his eyes said 'Try Me' and even I wasn't dumb enough to dare.
"Sit down Sullivan." Spot said calmly but in his eyes you could see the barely reined in temper. It flashed like lightning hitting an oak tree.
"Move Spot there's nothing to see here." I threw my eyes at the woman then so Spot understood what I meant. His fist connected with my face before I could blink an eye and from the ground it hurt like hell.
"Because of you." He said dropping his arm and moved towards the window.
"Low Blow." I said under my breath, wiping blood from my lip I got to my feet and took a few steps out the door before she started talking again. Like everyone else I was held by her power with words, slowly I sat down on the outside steps listening and remembering, my back to the lodging house. Something Spot said got her going again and this time it was like everything couldn't help but tumble out. And I saw it all as it replayed in my head.
Manhattan 1899
I watched with cold eyes as she raced towards the gates and didn't flinch when the shrill cry of the whistle blew but a few feet from my ears. I heard the hard beat of booted steps as Snyder's henchmen rounded the buildings corner. I watched as they gained on her, roughly tearing her from the gates and throwing her to the ground. Once where the sight of her blood being spit from her mouth would have made me destructive, I now stared unfeeling upon the scene unfolding before me. I saw them drag her to her feet and met her gaze as she looked pass Snyder while he approached, putting his face so close to her she could probably smell the roast beef he had for dinner. The whole time her gaze was glued to mine, begging me to take the opening she had left for me. There was nothing left for me at the refuge but as I stared coldly into her eyes I refused to escape by the sacrifice of someone I no longer cared for. I would escape by my own means, on my own terms, Me against the world as it would always be. I would have been a fool to believe otherwise. Tearing my eyes from hers I gave her my back and strode back through the shadows of the refuge. It was no longer a prison but an impenetrable fortress separating me for 'hattan and like the building around me it would not crumble in my lifetime.
The refuge was dark as I eased into one of the bunk rooms. Finding an empty mattress I laid on my back and untied my bandana from around my neck. From there I stared into the darkness and listened as their voices carried through the barred windows and the desolate halls. I heard her sentence and said sentence being carried out. I listened to the silence, waited for the henchmen's muted boot steps and the dull slide between them as they dragged her behind them. I heard the hinged door of solitaire being opened, its loud groaning unmistakable, and the heavy thud as they threw her in with the finality of the metal bar sliding in place and the snick of the lock. Closing my eyes again I had to consciously relax my muscles and eased open my fists. Fists I hadn't known I had made as I listened to the sounds of the punishment of the refuge.
Brooklyn 1909
She spoke of a letter, the woman in the window. I could hear her talking about a betrayal and how the Newsies around her discussed this new view of the woman before them. The type of discussion where the person changes right in front of your eyes, no matter how long you knew them. The type of discussion that Spot would not let go on for very long. All the while the woman talked to herself and seemed to listen, if the tilt of her head was any indication, to the empty space beside her. I was right; Spot would not let either talk stand. His voice whipped through the crowd, catching even the attention of the rat scuttling across the cobblestone street and mine as well.
"To keep Jack alive" I scoffed at Spots voice but remained silent. I could hear her respond.
"Maybe, or maybe it was selfish… Who knows what the heart and mind keep a secret even from their owner. Who knows the conscious…" I didn't have to look behind me to know that Spot would not let that retort stand without a glare, but I also know he wouldn't say anything else. He understood that you couldn't necessarily explain ones motives even if they needed to be. Like my motive to be here, that I couldn't even explain to myself. Spot would simply wait for her to continue, I didn't need to I already know what comes next but I listened anyways and remembered.
Manhattan 1899
It had been a week since the solitaire door had been closed and locked. It only took the next morning for the rest of the refuge "delinquents" to deduce who was behind it. I never said a word. A few came up to me wanting the story but I just looked at them and lied to their face. Improving the truth a little became my new motto in life, it was a new beginning for me. It kept people away whether they realized it or not. On the seventh day I waited in the bunkroom. No matter how long they told you you'd be in solitaire it was always seven days later that you got let out. So I waited against the far wall, waited as the door to solitaire was opened, I watched and waited as they left her in the middle of the floor of the bunkroom. I waited to see what would come out, I waited for answers.
She barely dragged herself three feet before she collapsed. I watched unmoved as again blood dripped from her lip. She looked beaten, bruises and cuts showered her body and her skin was pale, drawn and sallow. Resting her head on the ground I saw her whole body sag. She was broken and I could have cared less.
"Are you so easily broken?"I asked with disgust as I lifted her into the bunk I had slept in seven days again. I gave her my back and made to leave, she was alive that's all I needed and wanted to know.
"Jack…" her voice, no her plea stopped me. "Only when someone closest to you is taken away are you broken."She finished. Despite myself I cared, I needed to know.
'Tell me." I commanded more harsh than it needed to be. She pulled out a letter, the letter.
Brooklyn 1909
That night I left the refuge, the letter in my pocket as I rode through the gates, hidden on Mayor Roosevelts carriage. My protective instinct kicking in as I went in search of the person closest to Manhattan, her brother, none other than the leader of Manhattan herself. Where Spot is king of Brooklyn now. Liam Kelly was king of Manhattan, maybe even of New York. That kind of power isn't easy to control of bring down. That kind of power was held by one name. Kelly.
When Francis Sullivan became Jack Kelly I never questioned why Manhattan chose that name. Now I knew. In a way I had become the king of the refuge, I was no longer the weak Sullivan but in her eyes, I had become a Kelly. She had given me her brothers name to be closer to him. Or so I had originally thought. No, she was giving me power and preparing me for my freedom, the whole time. Jack Kelly became a legend because of her, Francis Sullivan never would have made it without her. And despite me saying I'd get out of the refuge on my own terms she had once again taken the choice away from me. That kind of betrayal, the kind that takes the right to be a man away, is the kind that cuts the deepest.
Manhattan 1899
I stood in the edge of the lamp light, waiting for my mind to adjust to the growing dawn. My eyes were tired from staining into the dark and my muscles were cramped from being crouched so long in the back of the carriage. Pulling out my Bandana I opened it to reveal stale bread, following the street I chewed and walked enjoying the silence of the ever busy city. My bread eventually gone I tied the bandana around my neck, stuck my hands in my pockets and took the turn that would take me to the lodging house of the Manhattan Newsboys. The building stood squished between two old crumbling buildings, each one used by the rich and left for the poor. Shaking my head I walked up the steps, avoiding the Italian sleeper whose snores should have waken him up yet seemed to run him deeper into sleep. Leaning against the door jam of the lodging house I took my one last smoke from behind my ear. Rolling it back and forth over my knuckles I waited, my eyes scanning the inside of the building. Walking inside I boosted myself onto the counter, flipping though the book and found the one name I knew. Kelly. Closing the cover I swung my legs up onto the counter and leaned back against the wall. Resting my hat over my eyes I tried to let go of my anger, I tried to let go of my protective nature. I tried to let go of Francis Sullivan.
On the long ride over I had had a lot of time to think. A lot of time to draw connections that I should have drawn before I left. When Francis Sullivan became Jack Kelly I never questioned why Manhattan chose that name. Now I knew. In a way I had become the king of the refuge, I was no longer the weak Sullivan but in her eyes, I had become a Kelly. She had given me her brothers name to be closer to him. Or so I had originally thought. No, she was giving me power and preparing me for my freedom, the whole time. Jack Kelly became a legend because of her, Francis Sullivan never would have made it without her. And despite me saying I'd get out of the refuge on my own terms she had once again taken the choice away from me. That kind of betrayal, the kind that takes the right to be a man away, is the kind that cuts the deepest. Consciously I relaxed my body, trying to ease the rage rolling inside of me.
"You gonna smoke dat of spin it round your fingah forevah?" My fingers stilled, raising the brim of my hat I looked around, slowly my legs lowered and I pushed myself away from the counter, using the silence to figure where the voice had come from.
" 'pose your new ta these parts otherwise you'd a known to look closah at da shadows, 'hattans not so friendly these days." He sat on the railing leading up the stairs, partly hidden by shadows and the rest of him touched by the rising light of the sun. The light striped across his face, making his eyes even more shadowed and yet I got the sudden feeling that though he wasn't looking at me and his focus was distant he was aware of my every move, ready if I advanced on him and prepared to break me if I tried. Yet his body was relaxed, almost tired and I knew it wasn't real. But I wasn't stupid enough to test him. It wasn't my place.
"Ise just waitin for a light" I let my grin spread across my face, holding my hands away form my body as I approached and sat on the steps below him. I was like keeping a lone wolf in your peripheral vision knowing it wont bother you if you don't taunt it. I heard a match strike and a deep inhale. He held out his own cigarette out to me while he blew smoke out the side of his mouth, all the while never taking his eyes away from what he saw in the distance. Manhattan hat the same look. Her attention lost deep in her own mind, yet no matter how deep she was she always knew everything that was going on around her, a type of constant awareness of life but for the man above me it wasn't just that it was also a deadly readiness the radiated off him. This stillness, the lost look was controlled simply by her, by him, and immediately I knew they were one of the same. This was Kelly.
The smoke swirled lazily around our heads as we inhaled the sharp slow burn of nicotine. Time slowed and all that was around us was the silence and the early morning light with both dust and smoke particles flowling in the space, glinting off light beams.
"Who are you looking for?" His accent changed, more cultured, revealing another one of his masks. I knew who this boy was, no I knew who this man was and yet I didn't. I had a name and now a face but he was versatile. I just couldn't believe he needed protection, not even in the form of his sister.
"You" I said simply. Finally his eyes moved towards me, locking on my face, memorizing every aspect and searching for a hint of motive.
"Manhattan" I thought I heard him breathe.
My jaw clenched as I waited for him to begin to pry and drill me with questions. I tried to contain my anger. It wasn't a betrayal, it wasn't hurt or pain. I had no right to truly be angry. I knew she had spoken when she had to, only revealed parts of herself, kept who she was separate from who she had to be. Even more than that I knew she though she was saving me from myself, that she was just as easy to read to me as I was for her. No my anger came from the fact that she thought the worst of me. That I was easily manipulated, that I would use her and let her fall, for me to be free. That she could use my protective instincts against me. No I now knew the age of this letter, I knew her motive and I knew her actions belied the pain inside. So I left. I left so my presence wouldn't hurt her anymore, so she would survive with out me and I her. Bullshit I thought to myself. I didn't know the reason for my anger but it sat on me like a heavy weight. Removing my hat, I unclenched my jaw and ran my hand through my hair. I took one more long drag, letting it soothe my growing anger and let it out. Knowing full well that I was only burying the anger beneath the surface, I crushed my butt on the heel of my boot and slipped my fingers beneath the brim of my hat, pulled out the aged paper.
"Keep it" he said and I looked at the paper in my hand. "if it was possible she would have been here. I don't need a reminder that family wasn't enough to free her." Raising my eyes to his, Kelly curled one side of his lips in a self mocking smile. "She used her one chance of freedom to get you out. Will your life be worth it?" Anger made his voice hard and yet his eyes spoke of sadness and challenge. "If not make it so" with that he slid down the rest of the banister, raised his hand in departure and disappeared out the door.
Above booted feet hit the floors and the stairs beneath me began to move with the pounding feet of the Newsies off to sell. Standing I moved down the steps, my boot heels making muffled steps along with the rest of the Newsies that flowed down the steps.
"Youse knew?" A young kid with Spectacles blinked at me.
"Yeah lookin that way, names Cowboy." I introduced myself, sticking out my hand and putting on my best lopsided grin. I was free might as well enjoy it. He just blinked at me.
"Well Cowboy, welcome to da Manhattan Newsies" The Italian one that had been asleep on the steps spoke up. Stretching he spit in his hand, around a huge cigar in his mouth, and clapped mine. It was a start. Looking ahead at the silhouette of the leader of Manhattan, I nodded. It was a darn good start.
Brooklyn 1909
Turns our Liam Kelly was know as Hawk Kelly to the newsies. Before Brooklyn Manhattan was the king of New York. As a King Hawk often trashed the title. He simply rubbed people the wrong way. They didn't understand the silence he would get lost in. Often times they'd forget her was around, say the wrong thing and blamed him for reacting to it, blamed him for their soaking, for their stupidity. He wasn't cruel or really hard but he expected order and respect. In that day and age it was hard to earn if you weren't cruel, hard or even vicious. It was troubled times, people underestimated him, other Burroughs mocked him; saying he was absentminded. Little did they know when he was absent behind his eyes he saw only too much. Even I never understood it.
None of us understood that he was disappearing. Right before our eyes our leader was preparing us for when he was no longer there. He was our leader, even though we loved to hate him, even though he was the only sane leader in these hectic Burroughs and even though he was severely faulted he led us and we were still there because of him. He had our order and our respect because he could lead us. At the time Manhattan was where the wild were sent, those that weren't quite right or had the need to act out. We were the rebels, those shunned in the society of the newsies, thost that couldn't be controlled, nor tamed except by one word, Kelly. He knew the power of speaking only when there was a desperate need. He only pulled us in when he thought we were itching to leap over the boundaries or right and wrong, of life and death. Because of this we began to set our own boundaries, those more acceptable to society but also to Manhattan. He knew what was too much because he was one of us. He stood where we stood and because of that he was the only one that held out honor and our loyalty. The only leader among us. Sure there had been times when someone would try to lead us without him, try to cut him off and take the reins themselves. Every time it ended badly.
The freedom I found among Manhattan was like nothing before. Leaning back I propped my elbows on the step above the one I sat on. I let my head drop back and watched the smoke of my smoldering cigarette curl up into the air. Among them I had become Cowboy. And Hawk became my brother. I left behind the past and embraced the future. I didn't forget. I did not forget. I just buried the anger and the memories making room for newer ones, For Cowboy's past. Only Kelly knew the truth and every so often I'd catch a look of disappointment in his eyes when he looked at me. Nevertheless only he knew the truth and never spoke of it, as only I knew the truth about Manhattan. Eventually Conlons came to know of it too.
"I didn't forget." I growled under my breath " I just chose to ignore the past and create my own"
"The problem with you fake past is that it almost destroyed you as a leadah." Spot stated, he leaned against the doorjamb and stared hard at me.
"I know I almost lost the strike Spot." I said bitterly. "But my past wasn't the reason." He scoffed at me, shaking his head he barely smiled, more curled his lip in an almost sneet.
"Yes it was and if you cant see that you are a fool. You left your past and became Cowboy. Only Cowboy would have let his picture get taken. Only Cowboy was enough of a Cocky ass ta get caught. It was Cowboy that put your friends in danger."
"You act like we were two separate people" I said with distain.
"You were." He said. "To Hawk and 'Hattan you were Jack Kelly, to everyone else you were Cowboy. Only two people knew that. One is gone and the only one left is vanishing before your eyes. Evah wondah why? They never forgot your past and as Jack Kelly was smothered by Cowboy they too began ta disappeah . Hawk was first. He knew he couldn't watch his "Brother" vanish so he left before it happened."
"Liam Died! He was killed!!" I roared at him. Immediately on my feet and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him into the door frame, my vision blurred with anger.
"If that's what ya dreamed up to let Cowboy live." He sneered openly, easily disengaging my hand and smashed me into the ground, holding my arm behind me. Only a few eyes from inside had turned towards us with my out burst.
"But look in their and the truth can't be denied. She knew Jack Kelly and watched him disappear into Cowboy's freedom. Sure she's glad you found freedom but she can't let go of his past. If she did he would be gone forevah. Open your eyes Sullivan, you cant let Kelly go because if he does so does she. Would your freedom be worth that? Is your life worth that again? Is you life worth losin 'Hattan? Damn it!" with that he let me go and stiffly walked back inside. I stayed on the ground, my eyes closed tight and breathing heavily willing my anger away.
Francis Sullivan was the beginning, when he could no longer survive in the refuge he became Jack Kelly, the only one who was real despite the fake name, but Kelly was lost into Cowboy and Cowboy once again turned into Francis Sullivan. Yes, he won the strike but what had he done after that. Nothing, he had dined and reveled in the fame, he led by his fame and left the newsies in search of more Fame, because what he had wasn't enough. Now he was back. Him and Spot the oldest Leaders in the history of the Newsies. No his life hadn't been worth it in 1899, though then he didn't it see it that way, and it was worth less even now. Hawk had been right as Spot was now. Neither Sullivan nor Cowboy was worth Manhattan; neither city nor the girl. They both were worth so much more. So I left them, Sullivan and Cowboy where they were meant to be, on the ground. Opening my eyes I rose, finally awake. And Jack Kelly walked into the Brooklyn Lodging house for the first time in a really long time, that night.
I stood in the back once again listening to Manhattan, she was coming to the end of her story and there was a finality to it. Her Silhouette was a dark contrast against the window and in the dim light one could see her eyes light up with life that hadn't been there before this story began. I stood that as the Jack Kelly she knew, the one she spoke of so passionately, no longer the nameless, changing man I had become. Still I had the past again, the past that involved her and the past that though I tried to ignore never truly left me. Yes I had grown, changed and lived through a lot of anger. Brooding against myself and against her but I had come back, Jack Kelly was back and now was simply waiting for the time to wake Manhattan
"I felt sick to my stomach as bile rose up in my throat, bile with the dirty taste of manipulation. I wasn't like other women. I couldn't stomach manipulation or deception, it ate at me from the inside and maybe that's what's slowly destroying who I pretend to be now. The burden of what I've done simply driving me down until I disappear altogether. Jack being the honest soul that he was never saw it as deception. I doubt he even knew that with that letter I knew what he would do. Always, always he was protecting me, from others, from reality and I never let him know that not even him, famous Jack Kelly, could protect me from those things. I just let him believe and I used it against him. I used what made him Jack, what made me love him as if it was nothing. Did I ever second guess myself, did I ever regret what I did. I'd like to say I did, but in reality even if it eventually kills me I would do it again. No regrets."
I listened as she talked about deception that I had seen through even in the beginning. She still had no idea how wrong she was, yet she didn't regret it. That was the Manhattan I knew. She mad a decision no matter the cost and stuck to it. And as Spot and her traded a secret look, I understood the nod he gave her. They both knew about sacrifice, her and Spot were one of the same person. It was weird. I had always seen Spot as an individual, alone, aloof, strong and powerful. He kept himself separate and yet he connected with his Newsies on the level of loyalty and respect and with her…with Manhattan he knew her as he knew himself. He knew that she would let herself disappear before she let others see her pain. Stubborn and proud both of them, both would sacrifice themselves for their responsibilities, those that in their minds belonged to them or were under their protection. Their sacrifices were their burden. I watched.
I watch her remember the last times she saw me. I saw the pain in her eyes and the way she gasped, as if she was reliving my daring break in and my long night of solitude. I was never use to it matter to someone if I stayed of if I left. Now I knew how self-centered I had been. Biting my tongue against the anger I had that was only against my self. I couldn't believe what I let her believe, what I had left her to become.
"My heart stopped when I heard him say 'We was beat when we was born.' That wasn't the Jack I knew. I stayed there all night and I watched silently as he left again. I never knew I could die inside more than once . Yet I had all I had ever hoped for; he was living his life in the present, never again to remember the past, never again to look back and see who I had become. He forgot me the way I had always hoped life would pull its blinders over his eyes once he got out of the refuge. He was Free."
I had let her think I had forgotten her when it took all my will power to stop my self from saying her name instead of Crutchy's when they asked who I was looking for. To stop myself from scanning the rooftop for her silhouette, even from talking to her when I knew she was just outside, above my window. Instead I hadn't looked back, I made a bigger name for myself with these daring acts and I sang when I could no longer hold my tongue. Little did she know she had been the Santa Fe I was singing about, that with her being a part of my past I could never be free, would never want to be free.
She looked at the space beside her and smiled. A smile that I had only seen her use when we were on the rooftop, fully awake and it looked like she hadn't used it since them. She shrugged off her blanket as if it was something else to her and stood. Walking through the bodies around her feet and the boys and men alike that had stayed to listen to her story and as she passed my shadow where I stood, head cocked and ear trained on her voice I heard her final end to the story.
"Goodbye Jack…"Looking up I swear I caught her eye and a slight recognition showed in the depth of it.
"Goodbye" She said with finality and disappeared into the night, followed by a slight chinking of the fire escape being put to use.
Breathing a deep breath I leaned deeper in the shadows and met the fierce gaze of the king of Brooklyn for the second time that night. This time I did not challenge its power. I simply nodded in acceptance, in thanks and in respect, for he had seen what I had refused to acknowledge. She was my sacrifice and one that I should never have let go.
His eyes calmed as I pushed myself off the wall. Nodding again I let him know with my own eyes it was time to Awaken Manhattan and this time for good. He inclined his head back and I turned towards the night outside and began the steady climb to the rooftops above. All the while knowing that if Spot could have he would have done so with out me and even now he would rather soak me than let me take another step up this ladder. For Manhattan was not Brooklyn's responsibility and Spot's sacrifice. The word all three of us knew better than our own names. The cold grey eyes on my back were a quiet reminder of this, Manhattan was under Brooklyn's protection, had been for awhile.