So this is my newest newsie fanfiction. I plan on updating this about once a week, depending on the amount of reviews. The entire story is already written, so no worries about late updates this time. I really like this story, even though it's not too long. I don't own newsies, but I do own the girl-who-has-no-name in this chapter. Enjoy.

Chapter One

It had been seventeen years since there had been such a humidity-free summer. The usually oppressive summer heat was suspiciously missing the Independence Day of 1901. I'd lived in Manhattan for eighteen out of my nineteen years, and not once in my memory had Manhattan been as pleasant as it was that summer.

I was walking home from Harlem that night without the usual sweat dripping down my neck and plastering my unbuttoned white shirt to my skin. I had removed my cap and shoved it into the loose pocket of my trousers, striding along the sidewalk toward my home. High above the sky scrapers, fireworks were exploding in flashy displays of reds, greens, and purples. It was my favorite part of the summer, the part where I got to forget all my troubles and just be a kid again. The part where I didn't have to scrape up enough money just to get by every day, and I could just sit back and enjoy the holiday.

Even though it was a quarter till midnight, and I was supposed to be back at the Lodging House by half past when the doors were locked, I sat down on the stoop of a closed watch shop. My companion, a tall blonde boy half a year younger than myself, as well as either of us could remember our birthdays, stopped when he noticed I was no longer by his side. We'd been walking in silence so it took him a minute to notice.

"Hey," He said, coming back to the watch shop. He didn't sound annoyed that I had stopped without him. There wasn't much that could upset or annoy Kid Blink.

I didn't even bother looking at him. "Hey back." I replied, resting my elbows on my knees and turning my face up to watch the amazing display of brilliance far above us.

Blink sat down next to me, pushing his own cap back on his straight blonde hair. He followed my gaze upward with his good eye. His left one was covered with a faded brown patch. Funny that I had never asked him about it; I had wondered often enough. I suppose when one is in the situation that my comrades and myself find ourselves, one learns not to ask questions. Tempers run high, and fights have a way of breaking out.

As the last of the large fireworks displays went off above the skyscrapers, I thought I heard something from behind the watch shop, maybe in the alley back there where the local businesses dumped their rubbish in big metal bins. I perked up, cocking my ear to listen better. All I could hear was the crash of the fireworks exploding.

I turned to my companion. As much as I didn't want to get close to anybody, he had become my friend. My close friend. They all had. When you live and work with someone for so long, you can't help but feel connected to them somehow. "Hey Blink," I said, playing with the chain watch I kept in the pocket of my vest. "Did you hear something?"

"Are you kidding?" Blink turned to me with a look if incredulity on his face, which looked utterly comical. Kid Blink could make the most amusing faces when he wasn't even trying. "I can barely hear you over the fireworks, much less something else."

I shrugged. He did have a point. We watched the last big display fade away into oblivion, then climbed to our feet with the smaller fireworks still going off with pops above the tall business offices and hotels and apartment buildings. "Well, let's head on home." I suggested, smoothing out my trousers. For once, the creases didn't cling to the inside of my knees with sweat; there just wasn't the heat and the humidity that generally accompanied the Manhattan summer.

"Yeah," Blink agreed, readjusting his cap over his bright blonde hair. He climbed to his feet, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms, and followed me down the sidewalk in the direction of the Lodging House where we had lived for nigh on six years now. "Kloppman won't hesitate to lock us out if we miss the curfew."

"Not to mention we'll get arrested if the bulls catch us." I added, pulling a cigar out of the pocket of my trousers. It was a sweet-smelling Cuban make, and extremely expensive. I had had to save up five weeks of poker winnings in order to pay for a pack of five, and this was the only one I had left. I thought tonight was a good day to smoke it, what with the unusual weather and the magical fireworks going off above my head.

I put the cigar between my teeth, just tasting it at first. Then I produced a flimsy book of matches and struck one, lighting the end of the cigar and inhaling deeply. The first inhale is the best, and it filled my lungs with the sweetest smoke. I licked the taste from my lips, tossing the match aside and stepping on it to put the flame out.

We passed by the alley behind the watch shop, and Blink suddenly stopped. He peered down the narrow, dark space with his good eye squinting into the dark. "Hey, did you hear that?" He asked in a whisper, inching closer to the mouth of the alley.

"Oh, now you hear things." I rolled my eyes, taking another drag off the cigar. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had heard something from back there earlier, though. I cupped my free hand around my ear and strained to listen. Now I heard nothing. "Sorry buddy. I don't hear anything." I said.

Blink didn't move. "I really think there's something down there."

"It's probably just a stray cat or a rat scavenging through the rubbish." I muttered, flicking the ashes off the end of my precious cigar. "Now, come on or Kloppman will lock us out, and I saved my three cents for a bed tonight."

"I'm going to go check it out." Blink said, and he disappeared down the alley, stepping over piles of spilled rubbish and puddles that looked suspiciously like human waste.

I slapped my hand against my forehead. 'Jesus-friggin-Christ,' I thought to myself. Sometimes I could handle Blink's tendency to be overdramatic and overly-suspicious; at other times, like now, it was only a nuisance. I wanted a bed to sleep in, and we only had twenty-one minutes before Kloppman closed the doors of the Lodging House for the night.

I pulled my pocket watch out and checked the time again, tapping my foot impatiently as I puffed on m expensive cigar. Just as I was about to raise my voice and yell for Blink to hurry it the hell up, I heard him call to me.

"Race!" He shouted, and I could tell from his voice that something was wrong. One thing I learned about Kid Blink was that he didn't freak out about things unless it merited getting upset about. And he was certainly upset now, possibly more upset than I had ever heard him before.

I put my cigar out on a brick and put the remaining stub in my pocket to enjoy later. Then I jogged down the alley, sidestepping the same piles of rubbish that Blink had avoided. I found him kneeling by a lumpy object roughly the shape of a person at the end of they alley. He looked up at me, and I could see disgust and utter horror in the one blue eye that was visible.

"What-" I began, thinking that perhaps Blink had taken it upon himself to be overly dramatic yet again; then he turned the person over so I could see the face, and I stopped in my tracks. Then I promptly turned aside and vomited. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The weather, which had just seemed so pleasant and perfect, was now suddenly so oppressive that I wanted to run away, far away.

I took another glance at the body. Living on the streets, one learns to get used to seeing things you didn't want to see. I'd seen countless dead bodies in my time since I'd run away from my ma and father, but even that hadn't prepared me for this… girl, if that's what she could be called. She wasn't dead; I could see her chest rising and falling with each shallow, painful breath she took. This girl had been tortured, that much was obvious. She had been tortured almost to death by some sadist.

The first thing I noticed was her dress. It reminded me of some fancy frock I'd seen when selling down near Park Avenue. If the dress was any indication, this girl came from money. Old money, too. If her skin hadn't been covered in fresh blood and caked with mud, I would assume it was pearly and soft.

Her face was possibly the worst part. It was swollen almost to an unrecognizable point. It was black and blue all over, and she was bleeding freely from a broken nose and a split lip. She had a long gaping wound running the length of her cheek, starting just below her right eye and continuing all the way down to her chin. The top of her left ear had been cut away by a sharp instrument, and a large clump of her dirty-blonde hair had been pulled out, leaving her scalp bloody.

The rest of her body appeared injured as well. Two fingers on her right hand had been bent backwards as if she had struggled against her attackers. A finger on her left hand had been sliced cleanly off, with bloody flowing freely onto the cobblestones beneath her. Her right leg was bent at an awkward angle, indicating a probable break. There were bruises on her neck, indicating strangulation, and her wrists were badly bruised as well.

"What are we going to do?" Blink demanded, holding the girl's hand delicately between his fingers as he felt for a pulse. I was sure it was still there, but faint. She was fighting, but fading fast. "We've got to get her to the hospital before she dies on us."

A red light went off in my brain. "No, bad idea." I objected. Blink gaped at me like I was insane. "If we take her to the hospital, those doctors and nurses will think that we did this to her!" I'd been in jail once before for petty theft. It had been a brief sojourn, but not one I wished to repeat.

"Why would we try to kill someone and then bring her immediately to the hospital?" Blink demanded, laying the girl's arm down again.

I didn't want to risk it, but I had another valid objection. "The hospital is too far away to take her. Even if we took turns carrying her, we'd never make it in time. She's practically dying now."

I could see that Blink thought my point was valid. "Alright." He climbed to his feet and lifted the girl into his arms. She appeared fairly light, and her broken leg dangled at that awkward angle. "Let's get her to the Lodging House. It's only about two blocks away, and we should be able to make it there before curfew."

I led the way out of the alley and down the street. There were no more fireworks in the sky. "Isn't Kloppman a Civil War veteran?" I asked as we strode briskly. The girl's head bobbed on her injured neck as we walked, so I took it in my hands to steady it and prevent further damage. I immediately felt her warm blood running over my hands, and I fought another urge to vomit.

"Yeah, I remember him saying something about that quite a lot before." Blink agreed as we hurried along, huffing and puffing from our rushed efforts. "I also remember him saying how he was a surgeon's aide in the war, so he's the best choice to help this girl."

We were silent for a while as we neared the Lodging House. Finally, Blink said, "Do you think she'll live?"

It was a morbid question, but the circumstances were morbid. "I don't know." I answered, but I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Nobody, especially not a rich little girl from Upper Manhattan, could survive an attack like this.

Which got me thinking. What could this little, innocent young woman have done to deserve murder? That's what had been attempted, but somehow she had survived. Maybe Blink and I had stopped the attackers from finishing what they started, but I doubted it. I think they had been gone for a quarter of an hour or longer by the time my buddy and I stumbled upon the body. If we had been any later, she might already have been dead.

But was it fate that brought us to the scene of the crime? I don't believe in fate. I was raised Catholic, but I've never been religious. I don't particularly believe in the Bible, or the papacy. I think religion is forced on the world by people with too much imagination and too much free time. But the idea of fate was around before religion, before anything else really. And the main question was: did fate exist? Is that why this girl came into our lives? I had no way of knowing at the time whether she would live or die, but I somehow felt she was important.

I wouldn't find out until the end of the summer, but I had a feeling.

Blink and I arrived at the Lodging House just as Kloppman was moving out from behind his counter to lock the doors for the night. He liked all of us regulars, and knew almost all of us by name, but he was very strict about his curfew hours. If he didn't comply with the law, they could shut him down, and Kloppman was an old war veteran who couldn't have that.

He started to make a joke when Blink and I came stumbling up the walk towards the door. "Why, Racetrack and Kid Blink, I didn't think-" He stopped when he saw the girl lying limply between us, mostly in Blink's arms. I still had a hold of her blood-stained head, trying to avoid her severed ear. "What in God's name happened here?"

As Kloppman led the way inside the Lodging House, I relayed, in a rapid tone, what exactly had transpired and how we discovered the girl's body. The old man pushed open the door to the office, which was a tiny room in between the lobby and Kloppman's own private room. We were hardly ever allowed in the office, which was where extra cots were stored for nights, mostly in the winter, when there weren't enough beds in the dormitory.

"Alright," The old man said as we lowered the girl onto the cot. She let out a low moan, almost a whimper, as her broken leg bumped against the edge of the cot. "I need you to get me a bucket of water and some clean towels." He instructed us.

Blink and I didn't need to be told twice. We took the stairs two at a time and stumbled into the darkened dormitory. Everybody was asleep, oblivious to the drama unfolding downstairs. Blink and I were both covered in blood, but nobody was awake to see it.

Except Snipeshooter. He raised his head sleepily from his pillow and looked at me, blood dripping from my hands. "What're you doing, Race?" He demanded.

"Nothing. Go back to bed." I snapped in a low voice, grabbing a tin pail and pumping cool water into it while Blink snatched every clean towel he could lay his hands into.

We clomped back downstairs to the office with the tools required in our hands. Kloppman had retrieved a leather satchel from his private room, and we saw him open it and pull out a needle. Oh god, I thought to myself, and my stomach did another lurch. The old man's going to sew up the gash in her face. I could see he had already created a makeshift tourniquet to stem the blood flow from her finger. The ear was still bleeding, but the flow had slowed considerably from when we had found her. I suppose ears don't bleed as much as fingers.

"We brought what you wanted, Mr. Kloppman," I told him. Although usually I would have been witty and sharp, I had been scared by the circumstances into being polite.

The old man took a towel from Blink and dunked it into the bucket of water I was holding. Cold water splashed all over my hands, making little paths in the maroon blood dried there.

Kloppman looked at us as he began to gently mop the blood from her face, trying to assess the amount of damage done to it. "What are you still doing here?" He practically growled at us. I don't think I've ever heard Kloppman sound that way. "Get out of here!"

We didn't hesitate to comply. Blink and I raced out of the office, and the door shut behind us. Even though it was getting late, and we had been tired earlier, neither of us could sleep now. We sat out on the stoop, now not having to worry about the doors being locked behind us.

We sat there, the two of us, puffing away on hand-rolled cigarettes and trying to calm our disturbed nerves. The night was completely silent all around us. I shivered despite the warm air.

"What happens if she dies?" Blink asked, taking a long drag and exhaling smoke between his pursed lips. "What if we did all this and she still dies?"

I inhaled deeply from my cigarette. It was more calming than my cigar but tasted less appetizing. In any case, I needed to calm down. "Well, then at least we will have tried."

Okay, so I suppose the dialogue isn't quite that of New York street kids in the early 1900s, but I don't get into that whole putting the accents and atuff into dialogue. I've got a good enough imagination to do it in my head. Please review. XOXO