Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies.
He stared at the picture.
This must be a dream, a sick joke of some sort. This couldn't be happening, not here, not now. It just wasn't possible. All those years putting him in the past, and this one picture threatened to ruin all that he had worked so hard to keep a secret. Already the memories were flooding back. The pain, the shame of letting someone like him be in control, the helpless feeling that came with the shame, the claustrophobia that came with being in his presence.
He wanted scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to do anything to distance himself from that picture. But his body wouldn't allow it. He was frozen in time, in the memories. He was spiraling, but he must keep moving, he still had to keep up the façade he had perfected. There was still work to be done, things to steal, people to scam, rent to earn. But he was out. He was throwing a wrench into the perfect life Jack had created for himself.
"Hey, hey, hey! Whadaya still doin' here? I gave ya yer papes, now move it!"
Wiesel's voice slammed Jack Kelly out of his thoughts, and for once, he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he sat down on the steps, just out of the way of the other people behind him, and stared down at the picture again.
The man in the picture was almost too thin to be healthy, and obviously hadn't shaved in quite a while, giving him a scruffy sort of look. The dark facial hair hid his strong jaw, and threatened to take his sensual lips. Even through the black-and-white picture, the hair looked in desperate need of a cleaning, as did his skin, due to the dirt that covered it. His nose was thin and pointed, even from this angle. But he hardly noticed any of those things. What really got to Jack were the eyes. Those haunted, sunken eyes, almost unnoticeable from under the tangled mass of hair.
Those eyes that showed part of the madness that went through the man's mind. Jack didn't know how many times he had faced those eyes …
"Don' be 'fraid, Francis."
… in that room …
"This wont hurt a' all. Tha's a good boy."
"Such a good boy."
Jack jumped when he heard Racetrack call to him. "Ya alrigh' there, Cowboy? Ya look like ya seen a ghost or somethin'." Jack shook himself out of his daze. He couldn't let that happen again, couldn't let anyone find out what this really meant to him. He couldn't let anyone find out his past, not the part he fought so hard to hide.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Jis f-feeling a li'l sick. I'll be fine. Uh … do me a favor, will ya? Save me some papes. I … I, uh, gotta go somewhere." He couldn't exactly deal with people right now. He needed to pull himself together before he faced the crowd.
"You sure you'se feelin' okay, Jacky?" Race came closer. Christ, he didn't need this right now.
Jack backed away from Racetrack, willing him to see that there was nothing wrong. "I told ya I'm fine, so back off! Just watch me papes, and if I don't come back, sell 'em for me," he said throwing the Italian his papers, and then he walked out of there. He went straight to the lodging house. Jack needed to think.