It was quiet.
Broken only by the low moaning of a boy as he staggered through the dark and lonely streets, running into the occasional crate that, because of the darkness, had been hidden.
His hands clutched a gaping hole in his chest, and blood ran through his fingers, soaking his shirt.
God… if only he had known about the knife… he wouldn't have fought back.
Because everyone knew not to mess with Spot Conlon.
Everyone, it seemed, but him.
Just a few more feet to the lodging house… few more feet… His mind urged him onward, but the other parts of his body screamed in protest.
The lodging house came into view, Just as rain began to fall and he nearly cried because he was so happy.
As he finally reached the front door, it dawned on him that it was passed curfew. Kloppman locked the door before he went to bed.
Swearing angrily, the boy ran around to the fire escape, hoping against hope that someone had left the window unlocked, that he'd be able to get in…
So slowly, he made his way up the ladder. Rain made it slippery, and twice he almost fell off.
If I did, I wouldn't have to worry about this fuckin' hole in my side anymore.At long last he reached the window and tried to lift it.
It was locked.
A scream of rage was torn from his throat as he hit the glass with his fists and screamed for someone to open the window.
Someone came forward and threw open the window. Taking in the sight before him, Jack swore and practically pulled the other newsie inside.
Upon doing so, he got a good look at his good friend's face.
The eyes were blank.
The face was pale.
And the chest was still.