Disclaimer: Newsies is the property of Disney. I own nada!
A/N: I've read fics where everyone is so out of character, you couldn't cringe anymore if you sucked on lemons. Because of this, I'm going to try to keep things in character. Oh, btw, I know how much reading Newsies fics where the accents are way too extreme bothers me, so I'm going to assume it bothers others as well. So, while New Yorkers will have accents, they won't be too strong.
*~*~*
St. Louis, Missouri – October 5, 2002
The sickly sweet smell of Lysol combined with medicine made Caroline Bequette want to gag. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and scowled at the wall. Ugh! If the doctors' don't kill me, the smell will! Carrie longed to get up and shut the door, unfortunately, that was completely impossible at the moment. She bit her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes as they started to tear up. I will not cry! I will not cry! She sniffed as she glared at the wires attached to her legs.
Carrie was jerked out of her reverie, as there was a tap on the door. Almost timidly, it was pushed open the rest of the way, and Carrie's father stepped through.
"Hey, Care-bear. How're you doing?"
Carrie allowed a small smile. "Fine, Daddy. Have the doctors found out what's wrong with me yet?"
Mr. Bequette's smile faded. "That's what I need to talk to you about, sweetie."
She almost felt her heart stop. "Dad…tell me. Am I…d-dying?" She tried to sound brave, but her voice faltered on the last word.
"No! But…well…perhaps I'd better let Dr. Garrison explain it to you." Her father studiously avoided her eyes.
Apparently that was some sort of cue because the doctor in question walked in at that moment.
Dr. Garrison was the kind of man you thought of as a typical grandparent. He had gray hair, and twinkling gray eyes, and a kindly smile. "Hello Miss Carrie! How are we doing today?"
Carrie fought the urge to roll her eyes. "'We', would like to know what's going on with me. Why can't I walk properly?"
His expression turned solemn, and he pulled a chair next to her bed.
"I don't see any other way to tell you this: you have a disease called Cerebral Palsy, or CP. It's a congenital disorder, which means that it is a problem that happened before or developed at birth."
Carrie's expression blanked and she stared out into space.
Mr. Bequette frowned, darting a glance at his daughter. "Then why are you only discovering the existence of the disease now, if it happens at birth? And how does it affect a person?"
Dr. Garrison pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Sometimes the symptoms stay dormant until a certain age. In Carrie's case, her teen years. CP affects a person's ability to coordinate movements, and muscle tone." He inhaled swiftly, and began again. "There are three types of CP: Spastic, Athetoid, and Ataxic. Carrie has Spastic CP, which makes your movements stiff, and you will find it difficult to move."
"How much can I expect to recover?"
After remaining silent all this time, Carrie's soft query caused both doctor and parent to jump.
Her father looked at Garrison and he in turn shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry Carrie. So far, there's no cure, and limited treatment. We can start you on physical therapy, but sooner-or-later, you most likely will have to depend on crutches or wheelchairs to get around."
A cold expression of indifference affixed itself on her face. She shrugged, and resumed looking out the window.
Garrison cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well…I'd best be on my way." He stood and gathered his files. Pausing next to Carrie's bed and Mr. Bequette's chair, he said softly, "If you have any more questions, just give a holler." He shut the door on his way out, and the sound echoed with a sense of finality.
Silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity.
Her father coughed. "Well…ah…hey Care-bear," he said, attempting to sound cheerful, "look at what I have for you." He pulled a book out of his coat. The cover simply had one word: 'Newsies'.
Carrie smiled weakly. Her father knew her love of the musical, Newsies. She had been searching for the book for a long time. C'mon Carrie! This is as hard for him as it is for you! Be nice. "Thanks Dad. But I'm kinda tired right now. Could I be alone for a while?"
"Sure. I'll go down to the cafeteria." He stood, almost hesitantly, and placed the book on the nightstand. "I'll see you later."
"'Bye Dad." After he left. She snatched the book off the stand, desperately seeking something to take her mind off of reality. Flipping to the back for the summary, she read, "In 1899, the streets echoed with the voices of newsies…"
*~*~*
"Carrie. Carrie? Wake up, Princess."
Carrie blinked rapidly as her eyes refocused. "Huh? Daddy? What is it?" She asked groggily.
The shadowy form that was her father hovered over her bed. "I'm going to the house to get some sleep. I'll be back first thing in the morning. Do you want me to bring you anything?"
A pause.
"My Newsies movie on VHS?"
"All right. Go back to sleep. I love you."
"Love you too." Her father bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Carrie shoved the memories of her mother doing the same to her out of her mind, and gave him a weak smile in response. Mr. Bequette stood, and with a final smile, left.
Carrie sighed and turned her face to the window. A moving light caught her eye, and, getting a better look at it, gasped in delight. It was a shooting star! "Star light, star bright. First star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight: I wish I was anywhere but here!" All this was said in a low whisper, but the end was spoken vehemence. As she rolled over to go back to sleep, the moonlight showed a lone tear making its way down her cheek.
The wind picked up and blew open the windows. A voice drifted in…As you wish…
*~*~*
Location: Unknown, Date: Unknown
Carrie twitched and irritably swatted at her nose, making the annoying tickling sensation disappear. Not now! I was having the best dream! She shifted uncomfortably. That was odd. Carrie knew that hospital beds were hard, but she almost felt like she was sleeping on…concrete. She disregarded this, however, in favor of sleep. She was almost asleep when she felt something again brush her nose. But this time a giggle accompanied it.
Carrie pried her eyes open then gasped, and clamped them shut again. The sun felt like it was burning holes in her eyes! "Ugh," she groaned, "someone close the curtains!"
"What curtins'? There ain't no curtins' here!" A young boy's voice said with a heavy slang dialect, sounding puzzled. "Are ya all right?"
Forgetting the sun, Carrie's eyes shot open and her heart stopped in reaction to what she saw. A little boy, perhaps eight or nine years old, with baby fine golden blond hair, and sea green eyes was crouched beside her where she laid on the…ground?! But the boy wasn't what shocked her. The sun rising behind him, illuminating the Brooklyn Bridge in all its glory, had.
"What is that?" Carrie managed to get out, pointing.
The boy turned and seemed to find nothing unusual about the fact that the Brooklyn Bridge was in Missouri. He returned his gaze to her. "What'sa matta? Ain't'cha never seen da Bridge?"
"Yes, but it's supposed to be in New York!"
The boy looked as if she had just proclaimed Britney Spears a saint. "Are ya all right?" he repeated. "'Cause that is da Brooklyn Bridge, an' it is in New Yawk."
Carrie was, by now, sitting up, and was shaking her head firmly. "No, it can't be in New York because then that would mean that I…" she trailed off, seeing the pile of what looked like newspapers, next to him. "May I see one of your papers?"
He shrugged. "Sure," he said, and gave her one.
She all but snatched it out of his hand, scanning it almost frantically. Her face went white when she saw the upper right hand corner. Trembling, she raised a hand, gesturing to the date. "Is that…the correct date? October fifth nineteen-oh-two?"
"'Coise it is!" He said indignantly.
Carrie moaned and buried her face in her hands. "Oh lord! This is not happening! This is so not happening!"
She felt the boy place a hand on her shoulder. "Hey…are ya lost? Is that why yer sad?"
She laughed miserably. Lost in time. "You could say that."
"Well I found ya! That means yer not lost no more, so ya don't have ta be sad!" He smiled proudly.
Carrie offered him a small smile. Don't want to scare the kid. "So what is my rescuer's name?"
"Ev'ryone calls me Trouble, 'cause I'm always in it. What's yer name?"
"It's nice to meet you Trouble. I'm Carrie."
Trouble beamed. "Hi Carrie! Now c'mon!" he said, tugging insistently on her hand. "I want ta show ya ta Spot! He likes girls!"
Carrie allowed him to pull her up. Spot? No Carrie, it's just a coincidence! Must be his dog. How original. Oh well. Trouble's the only one I know here, and maybe his parents can help me. "All right," she agreed, "but we have to walk slow, because I…um…I hurt my leg." Good job Carrie! That was believable.
Trouble just nodded, still smiling. Apparently he was still excited about the prospect of showing her off. Chattering nonstop, he led her in what seemed like circles, until arriving at the Bridge, where he stopped. Good thing too. Her legs were starting to ache again.
Trouble brought a hand to his mouth, and, after sticking two fingers in, blew a shrill, bird-like whistle. A moment or two passed, and another whistle was heard. He motioned for Carrie to come on. "We can go. Da coast's clear." He immediately started talking again, but this time, Carrie tuned him out. Note to self: next time when time traveling, remember pain medication.
After what seemed like hours, they came to the harbor where a circle of boys was playing a card game. Really big boys. They all looked up, and smirked at her, one even going so far as to lick his lips. Carrie gulped. Trouble didn't seem bothered.
"What'cha got dere, Trouble?" One of them said. He had a jagged scar running from his left eyebrow, to his jaw.
"A girl I found sleepin' in Death Alley. Her name's Carrie, and I'm gonna show her ta Spot!"
Scar boy seemed to choke back a laugh. "Sure kid. He's in da usual place. Good luck," he said, directing the last at Carrie.
Carrie, meanwhile, was getting a bad feeling about all of this. Too many coincidences. The Brooklyn Bridge? Nicknames? Someone or something named Spot? Oh yeah. Definitely not good.
Trouble startled her out of her thoughts by dragging her towards some crates stacked up on one another. Pushing her down on one, he whispered, "Wait here", and bolted before she could say anything.
She shifted on the hard, uncomfortable surface of the crate. Minutes passed with no sign of anyone. Carrie sighed and absently scratched her neck. She froze and patted the material there. Oh no! I'm still in my hospital gown! A red flush traveled up her neck and settled on her face. What I would give for at least a jacket! The cool sea air helped to dampen the fiery heat in her cheeks.
When ten more minutes had passed and Trouble still hadn't shown up, Carrie started to get nervous. Especially when a rough looking boy strolled up to her with an arrogant yet malicious air about him.
"Hey dere, pretty t'ing. How about me an' you havin' some fun?" Saying this, he reached out, and ran a finger suggestively down her profile.
Carrie jerked back, but it was too fast for her already shaky legs to endure. She collapsed on the dock with a 'thud'. This didn't stop the boy. He advanced on her and, grinning eerily.
"Come here, girly. I ain't gonna hurt'cha. Much."
Carrie whimpered and scrambled backward. The boy's eyes narrowed and he lunged for her. Carrie screamed and closed her eyes, waiting for the feel of his grimy hands on her skin. When nothing happened, she cautiously opened her eyes, and gaped at the scene in front of her. Another boy was blocking her attacker and was jamming what looked like a walking stick into his gut.
"What da hell do ya t'ink yer doin', Snap?" he said slowly. His voice was quiet but icy. Carrie shivered.
"S-sorry. I didn't know she was yers." 'Snap' sounded frightened.
Carrie's protector didn't relax an ounce. "Git outta here. Now." Snap appeared surprised that he was let go. After a second or two, he left hastily.
The other boy turned to face her. Carrie squinted in the bright sunlight, trying to see what he looked like.
He tilted his head, cutting off the sun, and Carrie gasped. It couldn't be! It was crazy, absolutely impossible!
Spot Conlon frowned at her. "Who're you?"