"I keeping havin' this dream."
Dark, too dark, black on the walls and ceilings. There are voices, men's voices, hoarse voices, a soft argument. The sounds of sleep are all around me.
"Well, not so much a dream as a nightmare."
The men have reached an agreement. How did it get so impossibly dark? The absence of color is blinding. I can hear Kloppman puttering around, and a voice oddly familiar cursing. "Here he is," Kloppman pronounces hoarsely.
"An' in dreams you know right away when somethin' bad's gonna happen."
There are the sounds of a scuffle, but they quiet almost immediately. Someone is making gagging noises, as though a rag's been shoved in their mouth. Only one other of the boys in the Lodging House stirs. I don't know why I'm awake.
"You get that nasty, gritty feeling in your gut."
Despite the rag, the boy is fighting heavily against the restricting arms. One of the men is kicked harshly and curses. Kloppman is making regretful noises, and I can just imagine him wringing his hands. Soon the men are gone with their load, the newsie still grunting against the rag and squirming.
"An' you wanna help, but you can't."
Horrible noises. Kloppman, strong, sturdy, elderly Kloppman, is crying. He's trying to keep the sound muted but he's having a hard time. I roll over and fumble for my boots, grabbing a long sleeved shirt to yank on over my underwear. I start to head out, then think better of it and grab a pair of pants, pulling them on with difficulty over my boots. I'm making so much noise everyone should be up by now.
"So you go, even though you know it's useless. 'Cause in dreams you always know when you've gotta go an' help someone."
Quietly as possible, I try to make my way to the door, even in this pitch black. Only years of trudging through the room sleepy-eyed keep me from crashing into the beds. Even so, I trip over Skittery's bag and swear under my breath. Kloppman sounds like his face is stuffed in a handkerchief- he's in his room now. I slide quietly down the stairs, unlock the front door and pull it shut behind me. Surprisingly, the night sky brightens the world around me.
"An' you know what way to go, too, 'cause it's a dream."
The two men holding the struggling boy are no longer worried about being silent. One of them bashes the newsie on the head with a stick, and his body immediately falls limp in their hands.
"Aw, what'd you do that for?" One of the men complains. The other smacks him in the knee, taking the body. The boy is tall, but very thin. There's something familiar about the boy...something around his neck, perhaps, or the way his hair falls...
"But youse can never remember what you want to remember, even if your life depends on it."
Where are they taking the boy? Suddenly they're gone, and I can't see them. Panic rises in my chest, bile in my mouth. My tongue tastes like iron, but I haven't even bitten my lip. The two men are carrying on a conversation, punctuated with grunts and callous laughter. They're in an alleyway, but I am too cowardly to enter. The truth is, I'm afraid of them.
"An' you can't even get your feet to move. You'd rather die than go an' face 'em."
They don't stop. They're hitting the boy, I just know it, even though he's unconscious. There's something so incredibly low about that, it makes me sick. I have to help the boy. I have to.
"But you do. You always do."
"Hey!" I take them by surprise, darting into the alley. I'm big, and am careful to stay in the shadows. The darkness hides most of me, and I tilt my head downwards, holding an impromptu weapon made of a stick I snapped off a tree moments before. "Get off 'im, you lousy scabs!"
The two are in shock. I can just see their forms, and am rather confident that I am mostly hidden from their sight. The outline of the boy on the ground gives me a hidden strength. I attack. I've never been one for fighting, but hitting someone when they're down is despicable. I run at the two, bashing blindly with the stick. I connect with the smaller one's face. The other grabs for me and holds my arm, hitting me hard with his filthy fist. He judges where my face is quite well. I would have staggered back due to the blinding pain, but he holds me and hits me again, this time his blow glancing off of the side of my head. I smack with the stick, getting him off of me. Using the stick like a club, I defend myself.
The smaller one grabs at my ankles, yanking me down with him. The other misjudges and loses his balance, tripping over the motionless body beside me. The fight is over quickly. The two are satisfied with the damage they've inflicted on the boy. They run, cowards that they are. I toss my stick after them, hoping to clip one on the shoulder, but I miss.
"You're shaking. You don't want to look."
I hold the boy's face in my hands, pressing it tightly to stop my shaking. I can't see who it is. It's stupid to move the body but my curiosity is overwhelming.
"Still, you have to."
I fumble in my shirt for my small pad of matches. Two left. I light the first, but it goes out before I can see the features of the boy. My hand shaking terribly, I light the last.
Jack.
It's Jack. Oh God.
"And you're in shock."
Jack, all bloodied up, his hat still around his neck. He's got a black eye- no, make that two. His nose is still bleeding, the blood fresh and wet, glinting against the matchlight. I don't think any of his bones are broken, except maybe his nose. Those two brutes just wanted to smash his face in, to ruin his beautiful features.
"Os...car..." Jack groans. My match goes out. My good eye has grown used to the matchlight, so the sudden darkness is leaving me limited sight.
The Delanceys. It was the fucking Delanceys that did this to him.
"No, Cowboy, it's me. Blink. Kid Blink. You'll be okay, I promise...those little fuckers, I'll kill 'em! I will!" My promise is so vehement it doesn't even sound like me. Jack cringes momentarily, which is a shock. Jack never cowers. Never.
"An you try to wake up."
He looks awful. I need to get him to a hospital. I should run back to the Lodging House, but Kloppman's already sold Jack off and I won't leave Cowboy for the Delanceys, or worse, the bulls. I have to wait until morning.
"But you find that you can't."
Jack slips into unconsciousness again. Morning is nearly six hours away. It's going to be a long night. My hands are slick with the blood from Jack's nose.
"Because it's not a dream."
Blood, red, and so dark. I need our boys to wake up and go looking for us. I can't stay in this alleyway forever. There are worse things that prowl the night than the Delanceys. I try not to, but I can't help it. I press my hands against the sides of Jack's face.
"It's real."
I cry.