DISCLAIMER: First off, I need to mention that this story more closely follows the moves, not the cartoons. Characters will resemble more closely those from the movies. And I'm talking the first two. I'm pretending the third didn't happen... Secondly, I don't own the turtles. However, I may express my creative license and make them act a little more to my liking. I do own Marlowe and her back story and the characters involved in it.
Sunrise was a little more than an hour away but already the bakery was buzzing with activity. New loafs being prepared, yesterdays left overs being thrown in a trash bag. In the alley, a handful of homeless ragamuffins crouched against the wall or stood leaning anxiously toward the back door. Every morning at 5:00 am, like clockwork, the baker's assistant walked through that door to take out the previous day's trash. Only he never threw it all out. He was a thin, scraggly man with a few too many teeth missing, but the warmth in his heart more than made up for his physical appearance.
As the door opened, those squatting amid the trash clambered to their feet and the small mob closed around the door. The baker's assistant, Murry by name, squeezed out with a grin. "Here ya go, fellahs. Got a couple of doughnuts left. Here's a french roll..." If Murry's boss ever caught him handing out free rolls, whether they were being thrown out or not, he would end up just like the rest of the lot he fed. But Murry had a soft heart, so every morning the group gathered. Every morning, one by one, they left with what was perhaps the only food they'd see all day.
After the last had gone, Murry ducked back inside. After a short moment he appeared again, a loaf of sourdough in one hand and a hunk of cheese in the other. "Little Lamb?" He called softly, looking around. A shadow moved from behind the dumpster and he smiled. "There you are. For a second I was afraid you hadn't come." He leaned back against the closed door as the shadow approached.
She was a skinny little thing, all skin and bones, but somehow she still managed to radiate grace. Dirty hair hung just past her shoulders, here and there a light yellow-white cream color peeking through the grime. It was obvious the girl tried to take care of her hair; it wasn't quite as matted as most of the other homeless. Her smile as she reached Murry also shone in large, round eyes the color of milky jade. Her hands reached out, porcelain skin contrasting greatly with Murry's calloused tan hands.
"If you're careful, Little Lamb, that could last you all day. But then," he grinned, showing all his missing teeth. "You already know that by now, huh?" Clutching her prize to her chest, she smiled up at him. Head shaking he turned to go, looking over his shoulder at her. Sixteen, maybe. Maybe a year less or more, by his guess. "I wish you would let me help more, ya know? Not knowing where you're gonna sleep..." She shook her head at him. Like she did every day.
"I know I know... I do enough already." She reached up and patted his cheek, always smiling. "Breaks my heart to know you're out there alone... But I suppose you're doin' alright if you're still coming here every day." Murry took her hand in both of his and patted it gently. So frail.. She seemed so frail. "If you ever do need anything, just ask ol' Murry and he'll get it for ya." She nodded, taking her hand back and turning to go.
She glanced over her shoulder once to see Murry disappear back into the bakery. He was a good man. There was no doubt about that. But she couldn't stay in one place for too long. She looked like her mother. Word might spread and then Murry, sweet kind hearted Murry, would be in danger. She shook her head as she walked, nibbling on the cheese. Yes... The cheese she'd eat now before it went to waste. The bread she'd save through out the day.
Sighing, she started down the stairs to the underground subway. Just past 5:30. Not too busy yet. She had time to find her hiding place before the business men and women of New York were swarming the platforms. At the edge of the platform, she paused, listening one way then the other. Satisfied that there were no near by trains, she nodded and jumped lightly off the platform. Always careful not to touch the rails, she took off down the tunnel at a swift walk. In less than 5 minutes she found what she was looking for. A small alcove off to the side, big enough for a grown man to enter only slightly stooped. The alcove led to a rusted, old, metal door slightly ajar. It was an old service tunnel no longer in use. It was the perfect hiding place.
After making sure the door was shut firmly behind her, she started down the corridor. There was no light here, but her eyes adjusted quickly and well enough for her to know where she was going. Her feet had traveled this corridor hundreds of times, bare toes and heels knew every inch, so she was not fully paying attention to where she was walking. Something troubled her. She could not remember leaving the door open. She supposed it was possible, but she always closed it before leaving. Deep in thought, she didn't notice the man in front of her until she nearly ran into him.
He was a big man, and had the unkempt look of someone only recently pushed to the streets. He smelled heavily of alcohol and sported a crooked nose that spoke of many fights and brawls. "I knew someone lived down here. I was hopin' for some one to steal from. Never expected something as pretty as you." He took a wobbly step toward her as she stepped back, clutching the bread and cheese as if they were her very life. "You might be my ticket back out of this mess. Yeah... I think you'd catch a pretty penny up there." He made a grab for her, but she ducked, his hand just brushing her shoulder.
Desperately she tried to scramble away from him. There was a hole in the wall only a few feet from her. If she could get there, he wouldn't be able to reach her. She had the bread and cheese. She could hold out 2 or 3 days in there. By then he'd get bored and leave, right? It was the only chance she had. A chance that looked grim when she felt a strong grip on her ankle. Refusing to lose her meal, she turned to her back and kicked out with her uncaught foot, trusting on luck to guide her foot to some vulnerable spot. A crunch and a grunt told her the man's nose would be bent the other way for a while. But his grip only loosened a bit. Not enough for her escape.
"Fiesty. I like that." He growled at her, using his grip on her ankle to pull her closer. "But you're going to pay for that." A thick hand wound around her throat and, forgetting the bread and cheese, she started thrashing. She kicked wildly, several times her bare feet connected with something soft. All her effort got her was a tighter grip on her throat and a few indignant grunts from her attacker. Spots started swarming her vision as she futilely clawed at his hand. She had to have been causing some damage; his hand felt warm and wet where her nails dug long gashes. He didn't let up though, and as blackness crawled in around the corners of her vision, she saw him grinning down on her like a fool. A drunken fool... She thought she saw a shadow rise up behind him, but that was all she knew before blackness engulfed her.