Summary; It's been 100 years since he suffered the loss that took his own life. Now, after spending the last century looking for the one that got away, he has one month left to fix his broken promise before he disappears forever.
Standard Disclaimer; (this disclaimer pertains to the entire story) I do not own, or stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters -- they are the property of Disney. The characters Stress and Cassidy belong to me. Any other character is property of their respective owner.
Author's Note; This is the prologue to a new story I want to start (besides the other's I am currently working on, as well). It's going to be the first supernatural story I do – filled with ghosts and the like. It will also be a romance filled with unrequited love and all those goodies. The beginning is a little depressing, but it'll get more humorous and a lot weirder with the next chapter. Promise.
Broken Promises.
Prologue.
AUGUST 3, 1899
The air was unnaturally still for an early August night. The normal hustle and bustle of the Manhattan streets was eerily absent as all had gone on their way for the night. But, on a silent street corner, under a dim light, stood one lone figure. The young man kept his dusty brown cowboy hat low over his eyes as he slowly brought a cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. Purposely keeping his back to the only building on the block with candle light flooding each room, he stood tensed, one hand fingering a frayed rope belt while the other stayed the cigarette.
"Cowboy?"
When he heard the voice the young man briskly exhaled the last drag of smoke before tossing the cigarette to the ground and putting it out with the tip of his cracked boot. Then, when the last ember had been reduced to meer ash, he turned. "Kloppman," he replied in a low tone as he lifted the brim of his hat to eye the elderly gentleman that had just exited the front door of the Duane Street Newsboy Lodging House. "How is she?"
Kloppman took a step forward; at that moment, the young man flinched as the blood drenching the elder man's shirt shimmered ominously in the moonlight. "I'm sorry, Jack, but she's gone."
Gone. The word echoed in his mind as he reeled backwards and bumped into the streetlight pole. "But, how? I didn't think that it was that serious."
"You know how she is -- was. Y'know, Jack, only a girl like her could get a knife in the side and say it was a scratch."
"But, wasn't it just a scratch? I mean, she was able to make it here after she was attacked," Jack continued. It was almost as if by denying Kloppman's words he was convincing himself that she wasn't dead.
"Aye, Jack, she was. But it wasn't to be. I tried my best, lad, but she was too far gone. There was so much blood," he finished lamely, needlessly gesturing to his once white shirt.
There was no denying that fact. And, even with his limited education, Jack knew that there was no way such a petite figure could survive after losing so much blood. After a moment, a moment that seemed an eternity to both gentleman, Jack nodded slowly, causing his hat to fall back over his eyes -- he didn't want Kloppman, or anyone for that matter, to see him cry. That was saved for her, and now she was gone. If only he had insisted on walking back with her...
She laughed carelessly, her golden curls framing her tanned though slightly smudged face, as she pushed Jack away from her playfully. "Don't worry about me, Cowboy. I'm a big lass. Besides, all I have to do is walk across town to get to the Girls' H ome for the night."
Jack smiled at her as he allowed her to push him in the direction of the Manhattan Newsboy Lodging House. "But don't you think it be a better idea if I walked you back? Remember, I promised you that I would always take care of you."
There was a twinkle in her green eyes as she shook her head. "Look, it's just about sunset. I know that you have your poker game with Racetrack and Blink tonight -- so go, alright? I'll be fine, I promise."
Sighing in resignation though keeping an amused grin on his face, Jack leaned forward and kissed her on her cheek. "I'm gonna hold you to that promise, just like I hold myself to the one I made to you, ok?"
"Whatever you say, Jack," she grinned before winking at him once and heading off into her own direction.
"Kloppman?" Jack asked suddenly, drawing himself out of the memories of only a few hours prior. ""Did she happen to tell you what -- what happened to her?"
"I'm sorry, Jack, but no. All she said was that it was just a scratch that she got for running her mouth off to some guy. She didn't want to say anything else because she thought it might upset you."
But nothing could upset him more than not knowing why or how she had died. Well, nothing except for seeing her in the state she was when she came stumbling into the lodging house about two hours before.
Jack threw down his hand of cards. "I foldfellas," he said with a grimace as he watched the boy opposite him gather the pennies from the middle of the table.
"You should know better than to play me in poker, Jack," the dark-haired boy cracked as he kept the stub of his cigar between his teeth.
"I know, Race," Jack began before looking quizzically at the blonde boy with the brown eye patch to his right. "What's the matter, Blink?"
Blink shook his head briefly before pointing to the door. "I think I heard something right outside, Cowboy."
As both Blink and Racetrack stared at the door, silently, as if to see if they could hear anything, Jack stood from the table and opened the door. And, once he swung the door open, he jumped back as a fragile form fell into the doorway. Composing himself quickly, Jack scooped the figure up and began to race up the stairs, yelling for Kloppman as he went.
Upon reaching the bunkroom, Jack laid her down on the nearest bunk. Brushing the mass of curls from her face, Jack looked into her nearly shut green eyes. "What happened to you?" he whispered before noticing the blossoming stain on the right side of her blouse. Once he saw the blood seeping through, he turned to face Kloppman, the elderly lodgekeeper, who was standing behind Racetrack and Blink. "Kloppman, she's hurt. She's hurt real bad -- can you help her?" he choked out before turning around and looking at her once more. "Are you alright?" he asked stupidly, in shock. Of course, though, he knew she wasn't, but he had nothing other to say.
Kloppman pushed past the other two. "Boys, I need you to go get me some blankets and some water," he ordered the two gaping boys before turning on Jack. "And, Cowboy, I think it would be best if you waited outside. I'll get you when everything's cleared up," he said, his tone more gentle than it had been, as he began to lead Jack to the door of the bunkroom. "I'll do my best, Jack," he added before turning around to attend to the girl who was clutching her side and wheezing softly, "It's just a scratch."
Jack nodded and began to call to her, but paused when Kloppman closed the door behind himself. Jack stared at the door for a moment before heading out to the street to wait -- he didn't want to see what was happening in the room at the moment, anyway.
"Kloppman?" Jack repeated, this time desperate to push aside the last memory he had of her. "Did she say anything else to you before she died?"
"Yes, Jack, she did," Kloppman whispered before turning his face away. After briefly lifting the glasses he wore in order to wipe away a tear, he continued. "She wanted me to tell you that she's sorry."
"Sorry? Sorry for what?" Jack replied, reaching up to pull his hat down even lower, in order to hide the tears silently streaming down his dirt covered cheeks.
"Sorry for breaking her promise, whatever that means," Kloppman added before reaching out and resting his hand on Jack's black vest. "Listen, I've got to go back in there and take care of things. It's just that, I thought you wanted to be the first to know. And, Jack, I am very sorry. She was one of a kind."
"Yeah, she is," Jack replied before, once more, turning his back on the building. Then, once he was sure he was alone once more, Jack looked up into star-filled sky while blinking back tears and trying to accept the cruel hand that fate had dealt him. After all, it really was such an unnaturally still night.