Disclaimer: The character Rafe Edwards is the creative property of me, as is Stress, Dice, Switch and various other characters. The character Jack Kelly (among others) is the property of Disney. The words following each chapter heading are from the Bryan McFadden song, "Demons in my Dreams" and are used in order to help create the context in which the plot was conceived.

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DEMONS IN MY DREAMS

Have you ever been lost in a different world?

Rafe Edwards is a leader eager to try his luck out at going straight.
What happens when his gang wasn't what he thought it was?
Or his newfound loyalties are questionable?

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I. ENTER RAFE
Have you ever been lost in a different world
where everything you once knew is gone?

Carelessly tossing a two inch blade from one hand to the next, eighteen year old Ralph Edwards sat on his crate, preoccupied. His jet black hair flopping in his hazel eyes as he kept his head down, he only looked up when he heard cautious footsteps approaching. "What you got for me, Dice?"

Dice lifted the brim of his faded black derby and watched the motion of the blade. "Not much, Rafe. Only was able to get a few nickels today," he replied as he handed over the loose change he held in one hand. The other hand, however, stayed ever moving as he jingled a pair of dice, nervously.

Rafe palmed the blade as he held out his right hand, accepting the change from the younger boy. "Twenty-six cents? That's all, Dicey? You sure?"

Dice nodded quickly – too quickly. "Yeah, boss. It's been slim pickings lately. Ever since that whole newsies strike thing, it's been kind of hard to steal money off of people who ain't got none."

"You got a point there, Dice," Rafe replied thoughtfully before pulling himself up off of his crate. "You got a point."

Dice, slightly reassured, smiled. "Yeah. If only those kids hadn't screwed up last summer, we could get back to running our business."

Rafe looked down at Dice. "But, do we want to go back to running our business?" he asked as he slipped his blade into the back pocket of his black breeches, before, subconsciously, beginning to rub the three inch scar on the palm of his left hand.

Dice watched Rafe's hand move slowly across his flesh and grimaced. He remembered the fight that caused that scar – the fight that claimed Quick's life.

It had happened in an abandoned warehouse in Midtown. A territory squabble between the Marks and the Sharps had gotten out of hand. The result: a meeting between the heads of both gangs.

Quick, the leader of the Sharps, had just arrived, with Rafe at his side as his second. Smyth was there for the Marks, as well as Deuce. The four boys met at the table in the middle of the building, and, almost immediately, began arguing over who had claim over all of the boroughs of New York.

"We get Manhattan and Brooklyn," claimed Quick.

Smyth shook his head. "I want Brooklyn."

"Nothing doing, Smythy. You already got Queens and the Bronx," replied Quick indignantly. Brooklyn and Manhattan had been Sharp territory ever since Quick had started pick pocketing when he was seven.

"Listen, Quick. Me and Deuce here agreed to this silly little meeting, but if I don't get what I want, I'm done. Are you going to let the Marks have Brooklyn or not?"

"No."

"Very well, Quick," Smyth answered before nodding to Deuce. Deuce, to the surprise of both Quick and Rafe, inserted two of his fingers into his mouth and let out a short, piercing whistle.

With a smirk, Rafe looked across the table at Deuce. "What was that, Deuce? Practicing for Irving Hall?" When his remark failed to garner a laugh from his partner, Rafe looked at Quick. Then, when he saw that Quick had turned around to face the entrance of the warehouse, Rafe did the same but, when he saw what was waiting for them there, he gulped. "Shit."

Quick spun back around and glared at Smyth. "What's the deal, Smyth? I thought we agreed it would just be the four of us? And now I see that you brought all of your cronies with you. What the hell is going on?"

Smyth just waved his hand as if to brush aside Quick's comments. "I'm tired of cooperating with the Sharps. We're going to take all of New York – today."

Rafe, anger coursing through his slim frame, knocked the card table on it's side and lunged towards Deuce, his hands outstretched as if to push the other boy away.

Deuce, however, was faster than his counterpart and, before Rafe knew it, had his knife out ready to meet Rafe's hands. Before Rafe could steady himself and pulls his arms back he felt the shock of the blade cutting into the fleshy pulp of his left palm.

The pain was enough to cause him to pause in his attempted strike. He yanked his hand back and jumped away from Deuce's crimson-stained blade. "Damn you," he swore bitterly before jamming his hand against his brown button down shirt, blood covering it almost instantaneously.

Deuce smiled wickedly as he raised the blade up and began advancing towards Rafe. Rafe, not wanting to be stabbed again, backed away in time to the bigger boy's steps. But, before he could make any sort of clearance between himself and his adversary, he saw Quick, surrounded by a group of four Marks – Smyth and three others – get struck and go down just off to his right side. "Quick," he cried, turning his head and leaving an opening for Deuce to strike.

But the Mark boy did not. Instead, all fighting ceased as, on Smyth's signal, Deuce let out a whistle, softer than the one before but no less piercing, which caused all the Marks present to scatter and exit the warehouse. Smyth, however, paused just as he was leaving the room. "And that is the end of the Sharps," he sneered before spitting on the ground.

Rafe fought with himself for a moment: should he go after the Marks and deal with them or stay back with Quick? Quick's wheezing and moaning on the dirt floor of the warehouse answered the question for him. Kneeling beside his friend, he whispered, "Boss, are you alright?"

"Rafe? Is that you?"

"Yeah. Where did they get ya, Quick?"

As slowly as he could, Quick rolled over. When Rafe saw the blossoming blood stain on his upper left side, he knew Quick would be gone in moments.

Quick also knew that he was dying. "Listen here, Rafe. They got us. Those lousy stinking Marks got us," he whispered venomously before breaking into a fit of coughing that left a stream of blood dribbling out the side of his mouth. But, even so, he continued. "But that ain't important now. What's important is that you swear that you'll get them back for me. That you don't let them get away with this."

"But how can I do that without you, boss?" Rafe asked, trying not to notice the eerie air of stillness that surrounded his fallen comrade.

"You will be the new boss, Rafe. I know you can do it, kid. Alri—" Quick never finished that sentence. Instead he just shut his eyes and let his head loll to the side. He was gone.

Rafe stood there, covered in both his own blood and that of Quick's, for so long it felt that time had stood still for the young man. It wasn't until the cut on his palm had finally stopped bleeding that he stood up and made a decision. Smyth was right – the Sharps were done; the death of Quick meant that. But a new gang, Rafe's gang, the Wraiths. They would make the Marks pay.

Pushing aside the memories, Rafe stopped fidgeting with his scar and carelessly kicked his crate to the side. "I think I got an idea, Dice. How would you like to keep an eye on the gang for me for a little bit?"

Dice looked interested but said nothing for a few minutes. Then, "Are you sure, boss? Me, in charge?"

"Sure. You've been at it as long as I have and the boys all respect ya."

"Ya think so?"

"Yeah," Rafe replied and winked. "I'll think you'll do a good job running the Wraiths."

"Yeah," Dice answered, a wistful quality in his voice. After all, he had wanted the job when Quick was killed and was a little upset when it had gone to Rafe. But, why, after only a few months, was Rafe backing out? "What are you gonna do, Rafe?" he questioned, expecting some sort of catch.

Rafe laughed haughtily at Dice's cautious tone. "Don't you worry there, Dicey. I figure I'll just take some time to get back out on the street. I feel like I've been holed up in this ghetto for ever just waiting for you guys to split your takings. I'm tired of being the boss. I want to be working out there."

Dice nodded though he did not understand. There were not any of the boys who would not give up their stealing to be able to sit on the boss' crate all day and be handed money. But, who was he to question Rafe?

"Good, then it's settled. Now, listen, Dice. I'm leaving, leaving now, but you ain't to tell no one what just happened here. If any of the boys' want to know what happened, shut him up. If that don't work, get rid of him, alright? You understand?"

Dice nodded again, as confused as he was moments ago. "Why don't you want the boys' knowing you left?"

"I got my reasons, Dicey. Now, before I go, I got two more things to tell ya. One, don't expect me to report in and split my takings. I may be gone for a little bit of time, but Quick still put me in charge. And, two, don't get too cozy on my crate. I will be back, alright? Just give me a week or two to get my head straight," he finished, slowly rubbing the scar on his hand once more before reaching under the crate. He pulled his dirty handkerchief from his back pocket and set it on the floor. With Dice's questioning gaze on him, he began to place a few of his belongings – mainly coins and a few trinkets – inside of it.

"Sure thing, boss. I know my place," Dice answered before helping Rafe tie the cloth into a knot, making it easier for him to carry it.

Then, with a smirk and a slight wave, Rafe ducked out of the small room and was gone. Dice waited a second before pulling a handful of pennies from his pocket and, plopping himself down on the crate, beginning to count the money that he had hidden from Rafe.

--

"'Corpse seen taken out of the Mayor's house'! Just a penny a pape to read all about it."

Rafe turned his head towards the young boy standing at the corner. "Really?" he smirked before continuing down the crowded Manhattan streets.

Taking in the sights and smells surrounding him, Rafe smiled at himself as he thought about his plans for the next few days. As it was still unnaturally warm for a day in late September, it would be perfectly reasonable for him to spend a night tucked away, outside. He did, however, grab a bit of money with him before he left Dice, so he could also afford to find lodging.

The only problem lied in where he would find such a place. But, before he could contemplate that consideration any further, a snippet from a neighboring conversation caught his ear and his attention. "...that Snipes had a run-in with the Wraiths?"

Trying to be conspicuous, and succeeding in blending in with the other occupants of the street, Rafe got down on his knee as if to tie one of his frayed bootlaces. In that position, he quickly looked around to find the source of the mention of his gang.

There were two girls standing on the nearby corner. One of them was extremely short, with matted dark brown hair that went down to her shoulders. She was itching (most unladylike) at her knee, riding up her skirt as she did so. Her companion, a girl with at least a head on her (and possibly quite a few years), had hair lighter, wavier and longer. The second girl wore a similar blouse as the shorter but, instead of a matching her ankle-length skirt, she wore a simple pair of boys' trousers.

As interesting as their appearances were, Rafe disregarded them as he began to eavesdrop on the conversation that they were currently having.

It was the shorter of the two girls turn to speak again. "Blink found him this afternoon, can ya believe it, with a nasty cut upon his cheek. One of those hooligans got him with his knife when Snipes refused to turn over his profits this morning."

"Damn Wraiths. I don't know who they think they are, but if they don't stop nosing in on our territory, they're going to have me to deal with," snorted her companion, a fiery look in her emerald eyes.

As the first girl giggled at the idea, Rafe dared to sneak a closer look at them both. Because their clothes were worn and faded, and their faces smudged, it was easy for him to recognize the pair as newsgirls. However, Rafe caught a glimpse of sparkle under the blouse of the second girl. The thief in him hungered as he realized that there was a genuine piece of jewelry hanging around her neck.

That could fetch me quite a bit if I handled the merchandise right, he thought to himself as he stood up and hurriedly wiping his hands on his slacks. He ran a quick hand through his dark hair, slicking it back in what he hoped was an attractive manner, before approaching the pair.

Brushing aside their mention of his gang, Rafe grinned at them both. "Afternoon, ladies. What's a fine pair of gals like you doing hanging out on the street on such a swell day as this one?"

While the shorter of the two just looked at Rafe in disgust, the taller girl turned her nose up at him and sneered. "Hey, buddy, beat it. This is our selling spot."

Rafe continued to smile, though it definitely took some effort. "Yes, miss..?"

But, if that was a bid at trying to continue the conversation, it did not work. "You heard her. Beat it," echoed the shorter girl, mimicking the expression the other girl wore.

Ignoring her, Rafe continued to look at the girl who wore the chain. Now that he was in front of her and could look past the newsprint that marred her features, he found himself appreciative of her dark eyes, contrasting pale skin and golden brown curls. And her attitude astounded him in a way that he himself was unprepared for. After all, didn't she want to take on his gang single-handed? And, as full of folly as that notion would be, didn't the thought mean anything?

"Listen, kid. I don't know why you is looking at me like that," she began, a little perturbed at his forwardness as she caught him staring at her intently, "but you need to back off. This is our," she repeated, gesturing to herself and her friend, "spot for the time being and I don't want to see your mug here when we start selling tomorrow. Got it?" And, with that, she nodded to the second girl and they, still clutching their unsold stack of papers, began to walk away. She was obviously bothered by his attention and, rather than remain in his presence, left the corner.

Momentarily stunned, Rafe remembered the silver chain just as he caught sight of the two girls getting swallowed up by a nearby group of people. But, right before he made to follow the pair, he paused. It was not due to a sudden change of heart or because of the crowd cutting between him and the girls. It was because of a quiet voice that he felt was being directed toward him, though it was difficult for him to find the source.

"I wouldn't go after her if I were you. That's Jack Kelly's girl."