PART II: SECRET
Blink awoke to the clanking of metal coming through the nearest window. They were all open as usual due to the warm season, but the idea of someone being out on the fire escape at this late hour worried him. Either someone was not having a good night, or someone was trying to come in that did not belong there. He swung his head down to inspect the bed below him. Race was fast asleep, snoring as usual. His next place to check was Faye's bed, and sure enough, it was empty. Without bothering to put anything over his long-johns, he slid out of bed, and stuck his head out the window.
Faye was standing with her back to him, her arms resting on the railing of the fire escape. She was sniffing slightly, and as he watched, she lifted a shaking hand to wipe her cheek.
"Faye?"
She jumped violently, and snapped her head around. "What?" She snapped. When she saw Blink standing there, she closed her eyes. "Sorry. Ya scared me."
"S'all right," Blink said gently, climbing through the window. "You okay?" He walked up to her and took her hand. Her usually clear eyes were dull, and puffy. "Faye... You been cryin."
Faye looked away from him. Though the nightmares had stopped for a few weeks, they eventually had come back, and with vigor. She knew that Blink had no idea about how her sister had died. This was not his fault, of course. It would have been illogical for him not to assume that she had died in the fire with everyone else. Aside from not wanting to talk about it, she was not sure why she was keeping the true events from him. In her heart, she did feel slightly responsible for what had happened; still she knew that Blink would never feel the same way, so what was she so scared of? If she did not tell him intentionally, he would undoubtedly hear her mumbling in her sleep one of these nights... Or somebody would, anyway.
"I'm fine," Faye shrugged him off, staring out into the night. "Really."
"I know you're fine," Blink persisted, "But that don't change that you been cryin'. What's got ya up so late?" He leaned in towards her, forcing her to make eye contact with him. "You know ya can tell me anythin', Faye."
She closed her eyes yet again. Though she was considering telling him about Janie, there were much deeper, darker secrets that he had no idea were part of her heart. She sighed.
"All right, I... Janie didn' die in the fire," she said abruptly.
Blink's face lit up. "What? Where is she? How is she?"
"She's dead." Even after fifteen months of knowing Jane was gone, saying it out loud was like falling on a knife. Her lip trembled, and she looked away, ashamed of herself.
Blink stared at Faye's profile, trying to understand what he had just heard. She escaped the fire, but she was dead? What could have happened to Faye and Jane after losing their parents? Hadn't that been enough?
"What happened?" He croaked.
Faye slammed her hand down on the metal railing- Not in anger, but in frustration with herself. It was like torture to talk about. She felt weak, and her throat was screaming to release the sobs bubbling in her chest.
"Was ya dreamin' about it? That why ya can't sleep?" Blink asked intuitively. She nodded. "Well... Maybe if ya say it out loud... Ya won't dream about it no more."
Faye had heard this wive's tale before. For the first time, it gave her comfort. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and began to tell Blink the story.
"Well... Me an' Janie, we went through a lot. Mama an' Papa died in the fire... She was the only survivor besides James's fatha. An' um, the ladies in the neighborhood was real nice. Took us in for a while, so did James's dad. But it couldn' last foreva like that, so we left. An' Janie raised me by herself. We both worked, a'course. Janie tried ta do it on 'er own, but it jus' didn' make it all meet. We went back ta the ol' neighborhood, an' lived in the old house. All the stuff was still there, it was... Real spooky. Neighborhood was abandoned, but there was mama's lace on the dinner table... Course, the walls was fallin' off, holes in the floor, rats everywhere, but compared ta where we'd been it wasn' so bad. We was both used ta comin' home to a empty house, dependin' on who was workin' late, an' one day I came home thinkin' it wasn' no different, an' I was... I was wrong." This was the hard part. Blink was being mercifully quiet, asking no questions and barely even reacting to her words. She knew he was doing it to make it easier. So she plowed on.
"I walked in, an' it was pitch black. Moon always forgot about our side a' the street," she said bitterly. "An' I was in the kitchen, lookin' for my matches, an'... I heard it. Jane. Whisperin' ta me. I... Ain't neva heard nothin' so scary in my life. I didn' know what ta do."
"What was she sayin'?" Blink prompted her, speaking for the first time. She was struggling, he could see it. He wanted her to get it all out. He had done it long ago, and only then had he begun to feel better.
"She was askin' me ta help her," Faye said thickly. "Ta help her an'... That "he" was in the house, that he was gonna kill 'er. I got so panicked, I couldn' light the damn candle. Couldn' see a thing, an' I started goin' from room ta room, lookin' for 'er, but I couldn' see nothin'. An'... An' then, she stopped whisperin'. An' I lit the candle. An' I found 'er in our room," she said, her voice becoming more and more high pitched, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Throat slit, her blood all over her clothes an' the floor..." Faye remembered that moment vividly. She had dropped to her knees, crying to her sister, not believing for one moment what she was seeing. She had crawled over to her, and lifted her head up, and there met the most heart-breaking and gruesome sight of her life.
Faye collapsed on the fire escape, and vomited over the side. Blink was next to her immediately, holding her hair back and whispering things she could not understand but she was sure were sweet. She knew at that moment the nightmares would not stop. They would never stop. She could have saved her, or at least done something. But no. When Janie really needed her, Faye had run around like a headless chicken, scared so silly she could not even realize what was going on... What was really at stake. Her sister. The life of her sister.
Blink pulled her over to him, rocking her back and forth. He wanted to be strong, and give her comfort, but the force of tears building under his skin was great. His voice was shaky, but his words were clear.
"Faye, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
It seemed like hours ticked by as they sat out there, swaying together in the warm night air. Blink did not loosen his grip on her once. The few tears he let slip through landed gently on Faye's forehead, calming her slowly. She had forgotten- Blink had loved Janie too. One fateful summer day, he had been pushed in the East River by a neighborhood bully before he knew how to swim. Janie had jumped in and saved him.
"Oh," Faye sighed, squeezing him tightly, "I'm so glad ya loved her too. I'm so glad..."
Blink kissed her on the forehead. "Me too." He bit his lip, wondering if he should ask the question that was screaming in his head. Before he could overthink it, he let it out. "Ya know who did it?" The bitterness in his voice was tangible.
Faye paused. All the hatred in her stomach rose to her throat, and she spat it out with his name. "Mikie."
Blink gasped- He couldn't help it. "Mikie?" He asked in disbelief. He was surprised by how easily the old man's face came to mind. Bumpy, wrinkled, filthy, and cross-eyed. His breath stank so badly of grain alcohol it had been a running joke in the neighborhood to never light a match within a mile of him. "Crazy Ol' Mikie, the useless drunken loon a' the-"
"Yes." Faye shook her head. "'Couple years after ya left, he started takin' quite a likin' ta my sister. She was the only person that would talk decent to 'im." She snorted. "Fat lotta good that did."
"Did they catch 'im?" Blink asked. He was shaking. If Faye answered "no" he was not sure what he was going to do.
"Yeah, they caught 'im. But they jus' threw 'im in a asylum. No one really cared 'bout Janie, 'cept the people who knew 'er. Bunch a coppers jus' saw a street rat girl that got 'erself inta trouble."
"Pigs," Blink whispered maliciously.
"Yeah." Faye leaned her head back on him again. "I'm sorry I woke ya."
Blink laughed. "You kiddin', doll? You really think I'm even thinkin' 'bout that?"
Faye smiled. "No. I jus... Don' wanna talk about Jane no more."
"Okay," Blink nodded. "Then we won't." He kissed her cheek, and squeezed her. "We won't."
"Thanks," Faye whispered. All this crying and talking had drained her. Her bed had never seemed more inviting. "I think I'm tired now," she said, pushing herself to her feet.
Blink stood as well. "Yeah, you get some sleep. Come on." He made to crawl through the window, but Faye grabbed his hand, pulling him back.
"Charlie?" The question she wanted to ask seemed irrelevant to what had just passed, but in her mind it was still important. "Is it all right if... If I call ya Blink?" She tilted her head to the side, waiting for his answer. It would have made more sense for her to feel comfortable calling him by the name she had always known, but she did not. He smiled.
"Actually... Yeah. I'd like that. Kin'a spooky to hear the old one these days."
"Yeah," she agreed vaguely.
They climbed back into the bunk room. When Blink kissed her goodnight and made to head to his bed, Faye did not let his hand go.
"Um..." She said, feeling rather silly. She was embarrassed to ask for it. "Do ya think?..."
Blink understood immediately. He smiled. "A' course."
Faye sighed with relief, and Blink crawled into bed with her. She felt so safe with him by her side, she barely had time to say goodnight before her eyes fluttered, and she fell asleep. No more nightmares came to haunt her before the morning, and Blink slipped back to his bed before Kloppman's footsteps echoed up to the bunkroom.
It had been just over a month since Faye had come to stay with the newsies. As promised, some of the boys had been giving her reading lessons, usually at night while everyone else was out. Mush had helped her a couple of times, as did Jack and Blink, but her main teacher was Race. He had quickly become one of the best friends she'd ever had, and his light-hearted, witty manner made it much easier for Faye to feel comfortable learning something from him. When she grew frustrated, they would just sit out on the fire escape and talk, chain smoking cigarettes and occasionally drinking from a stolen bottle of whiskey. Faye enjoyed these hours with Race very much, and looked forward to them every time they scheduled a lesson. It was a little odd to be getting so close to her boyfriend's best friend, but the connection they had conquered those worries.
There was something liberating about learning to read. Every time Faye looked at a newspaper and got the jist of a headline, or what was going on in the world, her chest swelled with pride. It had been so very long since she'd learned something new. Faye was feeling just this way as she sat down on the steps of Distribution Alley next to Race. He was scanning the papers for the headlines.
"So," He said, not looking toward her but grinning nevertheless, "I gotta question for ya, Brooky."
Faye put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Race had recently shortened her "Brooklyn" nickname to a much more girly, lovable "Brooky." Some of the other boys stuck to the original, but for the most part, the new one was quickly catching on. Though she hated to admit it, every time she heard it she felt more like a part of a family.
"What is it?" Faye asked, her voice sardonically desperate. "Tell me Race, tell me!"
"Yeah, keep yer hat on," Race rolled his eyes. "I was jus' wond'rin what the illusive, natural newsie, Delancey beatin', sailor mouthed, poker playin' girl did before I met 'er." His good nature was unmistakable, but Faye felt her blood go instantly cold.
"Um. Lotsa things," she said quietly. She pressed her lips together, pretending to read over the paper in her hands.
"Yeah," said Race, not reading her change in mood. "Like what? Tap dancin'? Street performin'? One man band? Or I guess Lone Doll Band, in your case."
Faye's hands were beginning to shake. Here it was. Her secret. Her worst, dirtiest secret that she'd sworn to bury with the rest of her old life in Brooklyn. But recently, things that had been buried were rearing their ugly heads... today was just no exception.
"Let's drop it Race, huh?"
"Aw, c'mon," Race smacked her arm. "It can't be that bad!"
Faye threw down her paper in frustration. "I don't wanna talk about it, Race! Now, leeme alone, an' get the hell outta my business!" She threw her pile of papers at him, and stalked off. Race was so shocked he did not even call after her.
"I'm tellin' ya man, I really don' think I said nothin'," Race shook his head. He had just replayed his conversation to Blink, who had been looking for Faye all day. Blink sighed.
"Yeah, I dunno. She gets like that sometimes."
"I ain't never seen 'er like that," Race said, raising his head. "The way she looked at me, I thought she was gonna spit in my eye."
Blink chuckled. "Look, I'm sure she'll show up soon, an' I'll talk to 'er. Okay? Don' worry about it, she prob'ly was jus' blowin' off some steam." He patted his friend on the back, and walked into the washroom. Once away from Race's prying eyes, his smile vanished. Faye was keeping something from Race, which meant she was keeping something from him. What was worse was it was obviously hurting her. In the back of his mind, Blink knew what Faye had done to keep herself fed. He did not want to believe it, and he would not say it. He almost didn't want to ask her about it, but he knew he had to. And he had to be able to handle it. When she finally did enter the bunkroom an hour later, he wasted no time in getting her on the roof to be alone with her.
"So, where'd ya go today?" He asked, trying to sound casual. He was the worst liar in the world, and the worst at hiding an alterior motive in his tone of voice in situations like this. Faye was also distracted, however, and did not notice.
"Just kin'a walked around, ya know," she said vaguely. "Took the day off."
"B'fore or after ya threw all ya papers in Race's face?" Blink knew that had been a stupid thing to say before he finished his sentence. "Oh, God Faye, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot-"
"Nah, it's all right," Faye said quickly. "I shouldn'a... I'll talk to 'im later." She paused, looking at Blink out of the corner of her eye. "Is he mad at me?"
He put his arm around her. "Nah, a'course not. Jus' wond'rin what he did ta make ya act like that." Faye sighed, and put her face in her hands, wondering if the question was coming. Had Race told him what their conversation had been before she had acted like an idiot? She knew it was extremely likely, but Blink had not mentioned it yet. Then again, maybe he was just circling like a hawk, trying to figure out the best angle to attack from.
"Look, Faye," Blink began, and Faye knew she was right.
"Please, Blink," she begged, looking him straight in the eye. "Please, can't we jus' leave this one alone?"
"What did ya do b'fore ya came here?" Blink asserted. He completely ignored her request. It hurt his pride that Race had discovered a secret before he had. And now, it hurt even more that she did not want to talk about it with him. Didn't she trust him? Hadn't he proved he would always be there?
"Please," Faye repeated. "Please."
"No," Blink refused. "No, Faye. I told ya everythin' about me, it ain't fair! I wanna know, an' you'se my girl, an'..."
"An' what?" Faye snapped. She stood up, flicking his arm off her shoulder like a poisonous spider. "And what? You upset, Charlie?" She saw him flinch at the rebirth of his old name, but at the moment, she did not care. "You upset that you don' know absolutely everythin' I been through the past eight years? Lemme tell ya sumthin'," she hissed. "I died that day at the factory. You got it? I died. An' I didn' run like you did, I stayed. An' the things me an' Janie went through, an' did to survive, an' what I did once I didn' have her no more, would blow your goddamn mind!" She began to pace up and down the roof, her hands wringing themselves together like gears on a machine. "Why you askin' me, anyway? You can't figure it out? A smart guy like you? What choice in work do ya think could embarrass a girl like me? Huh? Use your goddamn head!"
Blink stood. His face was washed of all demands. He looked as though he might cry. "Faye, forget it, all right? I'm sorry, I-"
"Oh-HO!" Faye cut him off, and she walked up to him, pointing her finger right between his eyes. "Now I understand. You don' really wanna hear it. You don' wanna know your girl ain't so perfect. Well, here it is, Charlie! I was a whore! I sold myself in the street to men like Mikie all day long, how ya like me now?" She heard her last words echo above her panting. She had not realized how loud she was yelling. "I'll tell ya what," she whispered with venom. "I'ma make this real easy on ya." She leaned in, and kissed him. Then without another word she sprinted to the edge of the roof, jumping down onto the fire escape.
"Faye! WAIT!"
But she did not wait. She clambered through the window, nearly falling flat on her face on the other side. Many of the newsies looked up questioningly, but she ignored them. She ran over to her bed, grabbed the sheet she still kept tied around her belongings, and tore out of the bunk room like a bat out of hell.
Race's feet pounded through the dark streets, Jack at his side. Faye was a good twenty yards in front of them, running like he'd never seen anyone run before. There was already a stitch in his chest, and she was showing no signs of tiring.
"Faye!" He yelled, trying to speed up. "Faye! Slow down girl, c'mon!" Jack was wheezing beside him, but he did not slow his pace either. Race could see he was just as worried as he was.
"C'mon Faye!" Race called out to her again, his heavy breathing slowing down his words. "We'll... chase... ya... all... night... if... we gotta! Quit runnin, c'mon!"
To his surprise, Faye stopped. She spun around, and at the sight of Jack, who had been completely silent during the chase, she groaned and threw her bag to the dirty ground.
"Faye, now stop!" Jack said. "What's goin' on? I jus' wanna-"
"Get in my business?" Faye cackled madly. "Well, get in line, Cowboy!"
Jack, who had not been privy to the events of the rest of the day, looked shocked. "What the hell are ya talkin' about?"
"Look!" Faye yelled. "Jus' go home, both of ya, an' ask Blink why he's ashamed of his girl, an' ya won' have no more questions!"
Race stepped forward. "Faye, he ain't-"
"Get out of it, Race!" She shrieked, and before they could get in another word, she picked up her satchel once again, and catapulted herself into the darkness.
"Faye!" Race moved to follow her, but Jack's hand was pushing firmly against his chest.
"Nah," he said wisely, shaking his head. "She's crackin'. Let 'er be."
"Jack, it's late, who knows what-"
"She can fight betta than you, Race," Jack stated harshly. "An' she knows these streets jus' as good as the rest of us. Ain't nuthin' we can do."
Race knew Jack was right, but that did not stop him from being furious. He refused to look at him the rest of the walk back to the lodging house. When they got to the steps, Blink came tearing out the door.
"I tried ta follow 'er," he panted desperately. "Please tell me ya found 'er."
"Yeah, we did," Race said. He looked up at Jack, and nearly spat at him when he said, "An' then we lost 'er."
He pushed past Blink, and went inside. Blink looked to Jack now, his eyes searching him for answers.
"What's he mean? Where is she?"
Jack pushed Blink down onto the steps, and sat next to him. "Look," he said, lighting a cigarette. "She ain't the kin'a doll that runs ta be chased, all right? She'll be back when she wants ta be."
"Ya know Kelly," Blink snapped, "I really ain't in the mood ta have ya tell me things ya think I don' know about my girl."
Jack shrugged. "I dunno what's been goin' on, but I do know what I jus' saw. We chased her 'bout a tarnal mile from here, Blink, an' she wasn' even breathin' hard. She's runnin'. When she's done runnin', she'll be back."
Blink wanted to tear Jack's head off. He knew what Faye was doing, of course he did. But that did not change the fact that he wouldn't be able to sleep until he figured out where she was. Ideas had been spinning in his head for the past half hour of his own fruitless searching through the streets. He knew for sure she was probably headed for Brooklyn. Where from there, though? Her old neighborhood? Doubtful. And that was certainly not where she would go if she didn't want to be found. Perhaps to James? She had mentioned that James had a nice little apartment with his sister and father... But no. He did not think she would go there either. She probably would not go to anyone. Someone would have to find her. So... Where? Where was she?
Faye bent completely over, unsure if she needed to cry, laugh, or throw up. Her left hand clung to the railing of the Brooklyn bridge, her right digging into the cramp in her side. What had she done? Maybe if she just went to sleep, she would wake up and find she had not insulted her closest friend, the man she loved, and a boy that had adopted the role of her older brother since the day she had met him. She groaned, and spat down at her feet. Oh, yes. She was going to vomit.
"Well, if it ain't Miss Green-Eyes," came a strangely familiar voice.
Faye spun around, wiping the side of her mouth with her wrist. It took a moment to adjust her vision, and then she saw him. Spot was a mere few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked quite pleased with his element of surprise.
"You again, huh?" Faye grunted. She put her hands behind her back to hide their shaking. "Always find me at the most flatterin' times. Tell me.. Ya jus' wait in the shadows 'til it's amusin' ta pop out?"
He grinned. "Close." He walked towards her, scratching his neck. "But I ain't been followin' you. You'se in the wrong neighborhood for that. I," He said, gesturing to the bridge that stretched to Manhattan, "Stay on this side."
Faye nodded. "Right." She was too weary to keep up the banter. Though she and Spot had exchanged barely more than a few words at their first and last meeting, she knew him well. She was sure it was the same on his end of it too.
"Ya know what I realized a while after I met ya?" She asked, still slightly breathless. She pulled out her cigarettes and dropped herself onto the pavement. "I'd heard of ya. B'fore I met ya."
Spot sat down as well. "Oh yeah?"
Faye nodded as she lit her smoke. "All my life, actually. I grew up in deep borough, though. We jus' heard fairy tales."
Spot smirked. "What makes ya think they were fairy tales?"
She snorted. "Look, I can prove betta than anyone that a skinny sonuvabitch can do some damage, but I don' know about a whole lotta goons with chains an' bats, against you an' a pocket full a' marbles."
Spot let out a laugh. "You'd be surprised." He was lost in a past time and place for a moment, but he quickly recovered, and looked back to Faye. "That's what they's sayin' these days, huh?"
Faye shrugged. "Eh, that was jus' one of 'em. They came an' went like the seasons. So... " She cleared her throat. She had been longing to know the truth since the day she realized who he was. "Tell me, Spot. Ya ever heard a' me?"
Spot did not look away, and his answer was blunt. "Yeah. One a'the scarlet sisters from the river. I knew who ya were the night I carried ya in."
Faye nodded, and took a huge hit from her cigarette. She waited for embarrassment to trickle up from her belly like waking limbs, but... it didn't. She actually sat quite still for a moment, surprised, and... delighted. Finally, she looked at him, and raised her eyebrows by way of saying, "Oh yeah?"
He nodded too, understanding her plainly. "Heard from plenny a' my boys 'bout the good lookin' sisters that lived alone by the river. An' I heard even more 'bout the girl that was tough enough ta stay there after the other one got cut the hell up."
"That why ya stayed downstairs wid me?" Faye asked quickly. His harsh words and honesty were such relief.
"Yes an' no," he replied. "Most of 'em wouldn' do nuthin' ta hurt ya, but we always got stray newsies comin' in an' out we don' know so well." He shrugged. "I don' think more than two of 'em actually knew ya as customers. Rest just heard about ya. Like me."
"How 'bout that," Faye said quietly. Spot was looking out at the water now, and it gave her time to thoroughly inspect him. The eyes that had captured her so instantly in their previous meeting were now hidden in the dark, but his profile was commanding. She felt as if he were her kin, just watching the way he breathed. It was amazing to think of him, the boy everyone in her neighborhood had chalked up to urban legend, hearing the same kind of stories about her all his life. She wondered what was really true about him. Where was his family, really? Were they dead? Or did he run away? She doubted the latter. In her experience, often times people became leaders because they had less to lose. Not having a family certainly qualified for having less to worry about, though she hated to think of it that way. Being an orphan was a strange experience, really. She was shocked every day by the amount of her kind wandering the streets. No matter how tough you were, the world was a scary, different place once your parents were gone, she thought.
Spot looked at her carefully. She was speaking steadily, and her manner was calm, but her hands were like linens in a heavy wind. Her hair was both frizzy, and glued to her head with sweat, and her moonlit, pale face was red and irritated from the salt of her crying. He raised his eyebrows just as she had a moment before.
"Bad night?" He asked.
"I look it, don't I?" She whispered.
"Well, I ain't gonna lie," Spot said simply. "Ya look like shit."
Faye laughed, surprising herself. "Thanks, Conlon."
He grinned. "C'mon," he said, raising himself to his feet and offering her a hand. "Ya shouldn' be out on the streets like dis. People'll start thinkin' you'se human. An we don' want that. Do we?"
Jack strode towards the Brooklyn docks, his eyes already scanning the crowd for Spot. He hated having to walk through all the boys just to get to him, it was always such a hassle. But it was a favor for Blink-and Blink was not the only one getting more anxious about Faye's absence. It had been four very long weeks, with no sign of her.
He spotted Tip, Spot's ever-present body guard, staring over towards the edge of the dock opposite him. Was that a girl next to Spot? Had he finally found a...
"Holy shit," Jack said out loud, disbelieving. He had come all the way here to ask Spot to keep a look out for Faye, and now found there was no need. There was no way Spot didn't know Faye was Blink's girl; he made it his business to know all of Manhattan's personal business. Yet there she was-there they were. He watched as Spot messed her hair in a loving sort of way, and pulled her to him.
No way.
Jack turned on his heel, and started back towards Manhattan, his pace much faster than it had been before.
For the first time in a long time, Jack was not sure what to do. It would have been a very bad idea to question Spot and Faye in front of everyone. He had done the right thing by leaving. But now that he was heading back home... What was he supposed to do? Tell Blink? Send him hurtling off to Brooklyn like a mad hornet? Not a good idea. Throw a sack over Faye's head and carry her all the way back to Manhattan? Definitely not.
It seemed to take forever to get back home. Every step Jack took, he was tempted to turn right back around, march into the beehive of Brooklyn, and demand to know what in the hell was going on. But his common sense kept him Manhattan-bound, wondering what to do, and who to tell.
As if the universe were sympathetic to his plight, when Jack next looked up, he spotted Race turning a corner just a block ahead of him. He broke into a sprint, turned the corner Race had disappeared behind moments before, and saw him, only halfway down the block, fishing through his pockets for something.
"Race!" Jack called, jogging to catch up with him. "Race! Man, am I glad I ran inta you. I need a favor."
"Yeah, well, l'il busy today Kelly," Race said coldly. He still had not forgiven Jack for stopping him from chasing Faye down. He knew it wasn't Jack's fault that she still hadn't returned, but it had been nearly a month, and Race couldn't help but wonder if he could have caught up with her, and fixed the damage he'd caused. He felt responsible for the whole blow out. If he had just kept his nose tucked away and his mouth shut... but, he hadn't.
"It's about Faye," Jack said.
Race stopped and looked up at Jack, full of worry. He was afraid to ask what came next.
"What'd Brooklyn know?" He finally said, taking out a cigarette just in case.
Jack shrugged. "Didn' really have ta ask 'em anythin'. I saw 'er on the docks with all of 'em lookin'... Well, lookin' pretty chummy wid Spot. I think she must be stayin' with 'im."
This was not what Race had expected at all; his cigarette fell from his fingers, landing sadly in a mud puddle.
"Whaddya mean she's stayin' with Spot?" He cried. "Oh, no. Blink's gonna kill 'im!"
Jack raised his eyebrows dubiously.
"Oh, all right," said Race, and he picked up his cigarette, brushing it so distractedly that he ripped the wet papers, sending a sprinkle of tobacco down onto his shoe. "Blink's gonna try, and Spot's gonna kill him. Great. Talk about sailin' a thousan' ships! If Spot kills Blink, I gotta kill him. Then his boys'll kill me."
Jack chuckled. He couldn't help it. The idea of Race trying to best Spot in a fight was funny enough, but he had not realized how ridiculous it was to assume anything about Faye's actions until Race had started talking.
"Look," he said, trying to rationalize, "Maybe it ain't all that. Maybe she really is jus' stayin' there. I say we go find 'er, and find out ourselves."
"You think we should go to Faye without Blink? Are ya crazy! No way. No way."
"C'mon Race, y'ain't thinkin' sense," Jack persisted. "You're one a' her best friends, she prob'ly wouldn' talk ta me anyways. Come on."
Race sighed. He wanted to see Faye. He wanted to apologize, smooth things over. But what if Blink found out? He would be livid. Finally, he threw away his ruined cigarette in defeat, and nodded morosely.
"All right," he mumbled. "But we gotta go now."
"Good." Jack led the way, and Race walked behind him, dragging his heels towards Brooklyn.
The newfound friendship between Faye Jones and Spot Conlon was the biggest piece of gossip Brooklyn had enjoyed for quite some time. As far as the newsboys were concerned, it was mystical enough to make for at least a few good headlines; for one, they were not romantically involved. Spot had never befriended a female before, unless... well, unless he was sleeping with her. Yet for the past three and a half weeks, they had been inseparable. They sold papes together, ate together, talked and walked together, and Spot had even given her the top bed to his bunk at the lodging house so he could keep an eye on her at night. Girls were either plain curious or insanely jealous, while boys sat on a curve that bent from slightly, to very, angry that a girl was getting so close to their leader. What was most shocking, however, for those who were close enough to see it, was the effect Faye and Spot had on each other. Faye, who was known to be a boy soaking, sailor mouthed loner- she smiled, joked, and giggled when in Spot's presence. Spot became laid back, and even kind around his new friend. Though they still both had a knack and palpable love for trouble, when they were together it seemed more like a well-planned path towards an endearing destruction.
Faye sat on the docks on an overcast afternoon, her legs swinging freely below her. She was watching Spot have a very serious conversation with a newsie, Buckle, from Queens, on the side of the dock; the impostor with his back to the water. Though he was a bit of a bully, no one in Brooklyn seemed as intimidated by Buckle as they were annoyed. He had shown up that morning, and had been tailing Spot (and therefore also tailing Faye) all day, demanding all kinds of "brethren-ship." From what Faye could discern, it seemed like Buckle had come all the way out there just to ask Spot to soak some boys in Harlem that were giving his newsies trouble. Buckle certainly went to a lot of trouble to seem like a young man with a ferocity in nature and a quick fist, but Faye only saw a whiny brat that did not want to get his hands dirty. She did not express these feelings to Spot, however. He had sense enough to see through him just as she did.
She threw the last crust of her sandwich to the seagulls, and jumped down from her crate, grinning in Spot's direction. It was time to have some fun. She strolled down the pier, her hands in her pockets, whistling loudly. A few of the boys looked up curiously.
"I'm sayin', Spot," Buckle brushed his hair out of his eyes with a capricious wave of his hand, "How's m'I supposed ta know ya got my back? Huh? When have ya ever shown me that Brooklyn's with its Queens brothas?"
Spot smirked. "Tell me sumthin Buckle. How is it ya only wanna be my "brotha" when ya need someone's ass kicked?"
A few of the boys surrounding them sniggered. Buckle's face was turning an unflattering shade of magenta.
"I's been here before, I brought ya girls, an'-"
"That ain't how I remember it," Spot interrupted, barely able to hold back a cackle. "An' trust me, not only can I find my own doll when I need one, I sure as hell would neva pick no wall-eyed girl from Queens."
The newsies close enough by to hear him howled with laughter. Faye took this time to crawl behind Buckle's legs, crouched on all fours. Spot's eyes sparkled with mischief when he saw her.
"All right, all right," Spot said, waving his arms in a shushing motion to his newsies. "I'll tell ya what. How's about I do somethin' to show New York how much I got your back?"
The boy nodded, standing up straight. "I'd say it's about time, Spot."
Spot grinned. He lunged forward and pushed Buckle into Faye with all his might. The backs of his knees bent when they hit Faye's side, and he toppled over her helplessly. The fall was not clean, and the edge of his left boot yanked the hat off of Faye's head as he cried in shock, and fell below the view of the docks. An enormous splash erupted from the river, and Faye shrieked, grabbing her hat and diving out of the way of the water. If Faye had done anything to make the Brooklyn newsies warm up to her, this blew them all out of the park. The laughter was deafening. Some of the boys had even fallen onto the ground, slapping the wood of the dock with their hands. Faye stood up, her hand over her mouth. She was laughing so hard she thought she might start drooling. Spot chuckled, rubbing the top of her head affectionately.
"What a doll!" He yelled, pulling her into half of a hug.
Buckle pulled himself back up on the docks, coughing and spluttering. The laughter died out as he stalked towards Spot and Faye, his fists clenched at his sides. Though those were two people that could handle themselves better than anybody, all of Brooklyn was tense, and waiting. If Buckle took one swing now, it might be the last thing he did.
"I heard about you," Buckle hissed, glaring at Faye.
Faye was twisting her hair up in order to tuck it back into her hat. She tilted her head to the side as Buckle spoke, giving him her most winning smile. "Oh, yeah? That's funny, cuz I ain't heard a damn thing about you."
"Well," he retorted, wringing his hat out onto her shoes, "Maybe that's cuz I ain't neva been a whore."
Faye closed her eyes. She had certainly set herself up for that one, and although the Brooklyn newsies knew of her past before Buckle's childish words, it still stung. Somebody snarled viciously from behind them, and Faye jumped. Spot's right-hand man, Tip McMane, came tearing out of the crowd. Buckle's eyes barely had time to widen before Tip's large fist smashed right into his cheek. Spot pulled Faye away from the fray, and she stared open mouthed at the look of righteousness on Tip's face. She had no idea she'd made any impression on him whatsoever.
He was on one knee, holding Buckle by the collar of his shirt. "If ya talk about her," he growled, and Faye noticed his handsome jaw muscles flexing, "You're talkin' about all of us."
A few other boys had stepped up, and were standing behind Faye and Spot in a strange kind of semi-circle. Buckle looked just about as shocked as Faye felt.
"Wha- Tip- A girl? You jus'- For a lousy girl?"
Buckle was quivering, and he lifted his hand to his cheek. There was a neat little gash that had not started trickling yet, but even Faye could see it seeping from ten feet away. His lip, too, was split, and a few buttons were missing from his shirt. Spot bent down, and picked up the bumbling newsie. Tip pushed himself up to stand beside him. For a long minute, Spot stared hard at Buckle, and the tension began to mount once more.
Finally, Spot leaned forward, nearly touching noses with him. "Get outta here," he growled.
Buckle looked around at them all, apparently waiting for someone to jump out and say "Gotcha!" but nobody did. He shook his head, and in a shamed silence, walked down the pier and disappeared from sight.
Faye was so embarrassed she didn't know where to look. What were they playing at, protecting her like that? Since when did Tip, or any of the boys besides Spot consider her "one of them?" She turned her head to look at them all. They were all still standing, army-like, staring after where Buckle had just been. None of them would even look at her. And then, a raucous laughter broke out along the docks, and Faye grinned with relief.
"What the hell was that?" She whispered to Spot.
He shrugged, looking around at his boys with pride. "I'll explain later."
Spot and Faye sat up on the roof of the Brooklyn Lodging House. After the full day they'd had, Spot decided it was a good night for alcohol. He had disappeared for an hour, and come back holding an enormous jar of moonshine. The two of them had been sitting there for hours now, sipping away, getting drunker by the second.
"You gonna tell me yet?" She hiccuped, wiping her mouth and passing the jar Spot's way.
"What? Oh," Spot scowled, and shrugged. "I dunno. They don' like that we'se such good friends, but for some reason they still like you," he smirked. "There. Ya happy?"
Faye raised her eyebrows. "That's the truth, huh?"
"Well..." Spot grinned, "It don' hurt that Tip finds ya foxy. But that sure ain't a reason he'd have for clockin' someone like that. Y'ain't his girl, an' he knows about Blink."
"You knew?" She gasped. "You know about- about-"
"Ssshh," Spot put his finger to his lips and leaned towards her, holding the jar out in her direction. "I know everythin', Faye," he whispered.
"Did ya send 'im word where I'm at?" She asked quietly. But she knew that he had not. If Blink had any idea where she was he would have already pounded down the door.
He rolled his eyes at her. "A question ain't a question if ya know the answer."
She smiled. "Yeah, yeah. Gimme that," she said, and she snatched the moonshine out of his hands. She took another sip, and looked up at the moon. It was nearly towards the full end of its cycle. She could feel it in her stomach. Or was that the alcohol?
"Conlon," she said, pressing her lips together, "why didn' ya tell 'im?" He looked over at her. For a moment, his eyes softened, and it almost looked as if his hand had twitched... As if he wanted to reach out, and take hers. Then, the moment passed.
"Faye," he replied, "I don' care if ya really don' know the answer to that one. I ain't talkin'." He looked away, annoyed. He had not told Blink where Faye was because he was not ready for her to go. Since the night he found her on the bridge, it was like-it was like he hadn't had fresh air until she was around. He had not cared for a girl this much since... well. It had been a long, long time.
A staggering feeling began to rise in Faye's arms and chest, and she became completely consumed with abandon. She leaned forward, and kissed Spot hard on the lips. And for a moment, his hands found her face, and his thumb stroked her cheek, and he tasted her. Then, with a shared realization of what they were actually doing, they yelled and pushed each other away.
Faye began to laugh, and she looked over at Spot and smacked his arm. He glared at her.
"Sorry," she simpered, biting her lip. "For a second there ya actually looked cute."
He tried to keep his sour look on his face, and failed miserably. "Yeah, well," he said with a leer, taking another drink. "Don' worry, it'll come back." He winked at her in an obnoxious sort of way, and turned to face the stars. He placed the jar down between them.
Spot had been waiting for that moment for a while now. He knew the connection he and Faye had was electric. People could actually see that it existed even if they were across the room from one another. He himself had been wondering if friendship really was all he wanted, and he had been sure Faye was as well. And now, after those few seconds of a kiss, he knew he may never really know. He looked over at her. She was staring out at Brooklyn, poised like a lighthouse.
"Don' worry." He laid down on his back, stretching his arms out. "He's lookin' for you too."
Faye smiled. She had a feeling she was going to feel very, very bad about what had just happened in the morning. She joined Spot, and laid down on the roof. For now, she was going to let the moonshine do the worrying.
Faye and Spot slid in through the bunk room window, now both in a state of plain old clumsy drunken debauchery. Faye fell on her rear on her way inside, and began to laugh strangely through her nose.
"Spot," she giggled as he helped her up, "Where the hell'd ya get that stuff?"
"I can't tell ya," he said slyly, walking towards their bunk bed. "Issa secret."
Faye snorted. "Of course it is. Conlon's got secrets. Conlon makes the rules. Conlon says he'll explain, but Conlon ain't gonna! Conlon stays on this side a' the bridge, but he knows everything... every-person-"
"Shut up, Faye." Spot pushed her face with his hand, and Faye struck back with the precision of a blind monkey.
It was still not lights-out in the bunk room. Most of the boys were downstairs playing cards, or sitting out on the stoop smoking. It was oddly bright and quiet in the room, and Faye began to realize just how drunk she was.
"Uh-oh," she groaned, sitting down on Spot's bed. "I think... Yeah. L'il too much. How much's left?"
Spot looked down at the jar in his hands. It had about two sips worth inside it. "Hmm," he said, scrutinizing the sight of it. "I'd say... 'bout enough to kill a pigeon."
Faye laughed, and then in a burst of chaos, the bunk room door slammed open. Her mouth dropped, and Spot flew to his feet. For a moment, he almost looked sober. Jack Kelly and Race were standing before them, looking sweaty and extremely pissed off.
"Sorry," said Race, his look of "conquer and kill" sliding off his face. "Kin'a had ta... Fight our way up here..."
As if to validate Race's words, Tip stuck his head in the door along with about five other Brooklyn boys.
"Spot?" Tip asked simply, nodding to Jack and Race.
"Ahh," Spot said nondescriptly, waving them off. "S'fine. Go on." They shut the door, and clambered back down the stairs.
Spot looked between Jack and Race, at first questioningly, and then a look of comprehension flashed in his eyes. "No, we ain't been makin' out on the roof, ya idiots," he rolled his eyes. "Jus' drinkin' some moonshine. Thassall." Faye felt a pang of guilt, and Race looked relieved. Jack, on the other hand, looked as if Christmas had just come early.
"Thasalllllll?" He repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. "Spot, are you drunk?" The obvious pleasure in his voice was rather funny to Faye, and she giggled from the corner of Spot's bed. When he threw her a look, she planted her hand over her mouth in a wasted attempt to put a plug on her laughter. Spot gave up, and sat back down on his bed by her feet.
"Don' push it Kelly, all right?" Spot warned him, stretching. "Ya jus' came bargin' in here like ya live here, suspeek- suspeckin'- Well. Ya know."
Jack shrugged. "Ya blame me?"
Spot looked down at the practically empty jar, then over to Faye. "I ain't sure yet." This time, he started to laugh, and Faye once again collapsed into hysterics. Race and Jack looked on, bewildered.
"Ya know," Race said quietly, looking at his two friends that were nearly blue in the face, "I don' think I ever seen him laugh before." Race stared. Spot never laughed-he would chuckle, chortle, snigger-sure. But laugh? Surely not. Yet there he was, his eyes slightly wide, as if he too were surprised by his own laughter; his chest was heaving with the intensity of a being letting piles of stress unfold, and roll away.
Race was quite jealous of the happiness Spot seemed to have given to Faye. But he couldn't help smiling. The two loneliest people he knew were giggling like children, their eyes aglow with buried innocence.
Jack headed back that night to alert Blink about what was going on, but Race stayed. He needed to talk with Faye before Blink showed up. Unfortunately, she and Spot were so drunk that mere minutes after Jack said goodbye, they were snoring on Spot's bed. Race sighed, snuffing out the cigarettes that were burning in both of their hands. Quite sure they would not remember there was such a little amount left, Race downed the few sips of moonshine at the bottom of the jar to help him sleep. He was extremely anxious, and he was not sure why... But he had a horrible feeling about the day to come.
Blink missed Faye more than he ever could have imagined missing anybody. He felt so bad about his behavior, he was nearly banging his head against the wall every day with remorse. He had hoped that she was missing him too, but based on what he had just heard from Jack, she was doing quite well. It was salt in an open wound. Here he had been moping and skulking, barely eating for the past twenty-nine days, and Faye was in Brooklyn becoming best friends with Spot Conlon, a person Blink never thought it was possible to be close with. How was it that Brooklyn always heard about the happenings of Manhattan, but Manhattan had to go snoop on its mysterious neighbor to find out even the smallest bits of information?
Of course, Blink would have wanted to head out that very night to talk to Faye, but by the time Jack had gotten there with the news it was already eleven hours into the evening. Kloppman was strict about curfew, but he was nothing compared to Smith, the Brooklyn Lodging House's head. There was no way he would be able to get in until the morning, and even then Faye would obviously be off to work all day with Spot. He sighed. It was going to be a long wait until tomorrow evening. His stomach was rumbling as if he had eaten something foul, and his mind was spinning horribly. Sleep was his very own desert mirage. He could feel his fatigue, and see his dreams waiting for him to come and lay under their tree, but he could not quite get there. So, he sat outside the window all night. When the sun rose, he stood purposefully, and climbed down the fire escape. He would wait all day on the steps of the Brooklyn Lodging House if he had to. He just wanted his girl back home.
A boy of seventeen walked steadily down a lonely road, his bright blue eyes reflecting in the overcast light of the sky. His dark brown hair, which was well kempt and curly, hung in locks over his forehead, forcing him to shake his head to the side every minute or so to regain his sight. He stopped at a street corner, mouthing the street name written on the sign above him silently, and turned right. The sight at the end of this new road made him stop in his tracks once again, before he nodded his head determinedly, and made his way towards the tall, twisted building, his breathing heavy. The sight of it sparked both fear and sick curiosity in his mind, and the latter kept his feet moving. He had not told anybody where he was going, nor what he planned to do. If this came back to him in any way, his life would be worth dirt. Buckle approached the gates, and a guard stepped out of the shadows to look him over warily.
"Whaddya want?" The guard asked gruffly.
"I... I'm here to... To visit an' ol' friend," Buckle said nervously.
The guard raised his eyebrows. "A friend, huh? Who you lucky enough ta call a friend in this dung hole?"
"Man called Mikie," he replied.
The guard stared at him for a moment, and then began to laugh. "Mikie! That's a good one. Been here for 'bout a year an' a half, he has, an' ain't a soul come to see 'im. Murderer, he is. Ask me they shoulda jus' sent 'im to the gallows. Ain't no fixin' a sick mind once it's crossed over..." He stopped, now looking at Buckle with extreme curiosity. "What is it ya want?"
"I already told ya," Buckle said stubbornly. "He's a old friend."
"That so? Well, I'ma 'fraid I don' believe ya, kid. Get on now, an' keep outta trouble."
Buckle sighed. He had expected this. With a shaking hand, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a fresh ten dollar bill. It had taken him all day yesterday, but he'd finally found a wallet with proper funds for this excursion. The guard looked down at it. He seemed disgusted with himself as he closed his eyes, and nodded, accepting the money through the bars.
"Righ'," he said, opening the gate. It let out a ghostly creak as it swung to the side. Buckle shivered, and stepped through. The building before him looked as mad as the people inside were told to be. Really, it would have been appropriate if a constant thunder cloud were over it, flashing violent lightning at all hours of the day.
Though he had gotten past the guard, he was not sure how successful he would be with the doctors and staff inside. He pressed forward, determined to look as honest as possible. He walked up the steps at the front of the building, and knocked on the large wooden door. A rectangle of wood just at his eye level slid open, and a pair of withered blue eyes met his own.
"What do you want?" Came the voice of an old man.
"I'm here to see someone," Buckle said, his words shaky. The eyes before him were strange. He wondered if you could not help but go slightly mad after working within the asylum for so many years.
"Who?"
"Mikie?" He said again, his voice getting so high it came out as a question.
The cold blue eyes looking at him widened. "Whaddya want him for?"
"I... I jus wanna talk to 'im," Buckle said, still nervous but beginning to grow annoyed. How many more people would he have to battle this out with? To his surprise, the old man began to laugh. It was a laugh unlike anything he had ever heard... Tortured, twisted, and lonely; much like the building itself.
"Look no further, m'boy," the old man whispered. "What business do ya have with a killer like me?"
The door swung open, and Buckle nearly choked in horror. The sight before him was disgusting. Six bodies were behind him, laying face down on the floor, which was soaked in a color of deep, brick red. It looked like a battlefield. He could hear other patients crying out from their cells. Some of them he could even see, and they were screaming so profusely he could not understand a word they were saying. Still, he got the message. Their arms were reaching out towards nothing, begging for freedom, or maybe begging for someone to get this killer out of their midst... Buckle looked up in shock. All those dead bodies... Had he killed them all? He stared into the face before him, now filled with terrified regret. The old man was looking at him expectantly, as if the people behind him were scenery in his home, like furniture.
"Spit it out, boy," he said through his teeth, which were an unpleasant, fuzzy orange. "I'm a very busy man, as you can see."
Buckle found he could not speak. He reached into his pocket, removing a picture from it. A beautiful girl with thick, long, black hair and pale skin looked back at him from the photograph. The edges were darker than the center, which had been exposed to sunlight through the glass of a photo frame. He handed it to Mikie.
Mikie extended his long, wrinkled hands, and took the picture. Buckle shuddered when a pointy yellow nail brushed his palm. Mikie didn't notice. He was enraptured by the photo, and a soft croon escaped his lips. He seemed to be caressing the image with one of his fingers.
"Jane," he whispered. There were tears in his eyes. "Where did you get this?" He asked.
Buckle shook his head. "Not Jane," he said, ape-like. "Faye."
Mikie closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose heavily. Buckle found this rather disgusting, as the thick scent of urine and feces had wafted to his senses as soon as the door opened... not to mention the penny smell of the blood ... He wondered how long the bodies had been lying there. Was this what Faye had found when Mikie killed her sister?
"Faye," Mikie said, smiling affectionately. "All grown up. She looks so... different."
"Yeah," said Buckle, shaking his head of his thoughts. "Yeah, she's... She's doin'..." He felt very much like he was going to throw up. He closed his eyes, trying to remember anything he had thought, or felt, before this moment. His hurt pride from the events of Brooklyn the previous day seemed small, and silly. He took a step back from the door.
"Well," he said lamely, "Jus... Wanted you ta have that... Yeah, that's all... I... I thought..." He stopped talking. Mikie was looking at him in a very strange way. His head was tilted, and he looked rather like a kitten about to pounce.
"She made you angry, did she boy?" Mikie hissed, stepping slightly out of the door. "Thought you would come here an' get me to... Do sumthin' for ya?"
"No," Buckle replied quietly. Indeed, Buckle was sure now that murder by proxy had never been his plan. Why had he come here? "No... I..."
"I think you did," said Mikie. "You thought I'd always been mad... Some silly urchin you could use to do your dirty work. You ain't seen death before, have ya?" He asked wickedly. "Scare you, do I?"
"I... I..." Buckle took another step backward. Where was that guard? He did not dare turn around to look. He had never met anyone with murder in their eyes before. He was so terrified now he could barely see... He wanted nothing more than to be rid of this place, and this man he had so purposely sought. But for what? Why couldn't he remember? Get outta here, get out! A small voice cried in his head.
"I'm going to explain sumthin to ya," Mikie said, smiling again. "I loved Jane. Very much," he added, taking a creepy glance at Faye's picture. "That night... That night..." His voice was quivering with pain. "OH, I KILLED HER!" He screamed. His transition from calm speech to utter madness was nearly as horrifying as the bloody scene behind him. "I didn't mean to! The devil's drink, the devil's drink! She told me no, an' I killed her!"
Buckle gasped. Mikie was writhing before him like a dying cockroach, his limbs flailing, snot and tears covering his face.
"HEY! What's goin' on over there?" The guard came running, wheezing, his round belly wiggling about. "Kid! Get away from there, now! That's him! That's HIM!"
Mikie snarled. Buckle barely saw the flash of silver before he felt the blade deep in his stomach. He choked, coughing, tasting the iron in his mouth.
"Away from 'im, ya monster!" The guard screamed. "Doctor! Doctor! He's loose, he's- Good Lord... What have ya done... Ya've gone an' killed 'em all, ya demon! You rot in hell! You rot in hell!"
Buckle fell to the ground, the pain so great he could not see. He heard the guard give a horrible yell, and then his body fell to the ground beside him.
Faye's face was before him, laughing with Spot, her long black hair shining behind her. His heart filled with remorse. He longed to protect her, to stop Mikie, but he could not move. He was dying.
"I'm... sorry... don't..." Buckle choked to the vision before him.
Mikie's feet stepped over him, headed towards the gates. He was free.
Blink sat on the steps to the Brooklyn Lodging House, watching all the newsies head off to work. He had made it there before the wake up call, and was waiting for Faye. Hopefully she would not tear away at the sight of him. He was very disappointed when she did not come. He waited a good ten minutes after the last newsie came out, but there was no sign of her, or Spot, or Race. Where could they be? He stood up tentatively. He did not want to barge in on her and make her more angry... He sat back down. He would give it just a little longer.
"Faye, can I talk to ya?"
Race had stuck his head out the window to the fire escape, where Faye was nursing the worst headache of her life. She looked over to him, and nodded.
"Jus' don' get all mushy on me, all right?" Faye asked grumpily, massaging her temples.
Race grinned. "'Course not. Look... I'm sorry I brought it all up. I didn' know... if I'd known-"
"Race, it's all right," Faye said, surprisingly kind. "If you had known, ya wouldn' a' had nuthin' ta ask about."
"Well thanks Brooks, but if I hadn' tol' Blink you guys never woulda had that fight an'-"
"Oh, please," She cut him off again with a wave of her hand. "That woulda come up someday Race, an' you know it. Ya did me a favor. Okay? S'all right." Though unexpected, Faye's words were truthful. She had missed Race very much. She sighed, and lit a cigarette, knowing it would make her hangover worse but not really caring. "He's on his way, ain't he?"
Race nodded. "I think that'd be safe ta assume. I'm surprised he ain't here already. Jack went back last night to tell him you was here."
"Did ya really think me an' Spot were goin' together?" Faye asked.
Race blushed slightly, and smiled. "I guess I jus' didn' know what the hell was goin' on, honestly."
Faye squinted in his direction, and nodded. "Good answer."
Blink climbed up the steps, trying to quiet the creaks in the stairs. He wasn't completely sure why he was trying to be so quiet, but his nerves were hopping inside his stomach, and concentrating on sound was slightly calming. Once at the top of the steps he heard the familiar voices he was hoping for, and he could not help but swing the door open with a bit of gusto. It seemed like years since he had heard Faye speak.
"Well there y'are," Came Spot's voice. "Bout damn time, ya bum."
Blink swung his head around, and only when his eyes stopped on the lump of what had at first seemed to be sheets on Spot's bed did he find Spot. Though completely covered in his sheets, one of Spot's eyes was peeking out from beneath them.
"Hey, Spot," Blink said nervously, rocking back on his heels. "I thought I heard... Well, nevermind-"
"She's out there," was Spot's reply, his arm quickly escaping the covers to point vaguely in the direction of the window leading to the fire escape. "Wid Race. She's been waitin' for ya."
Spot pulled the covers back over his head completely, his mood sour. It was not just his hangover that made him feel rotten. Faye was leaving today, and he knew it. He would never let on to anyone how much this disappointed him, and he was grateful for his excuse to lay in bed with his self-inflicted flu. She had quickly become his best friend. He knew she felt the same way, but even so, once she went back to Manhattan it would never be the same again.
Blink bit his lip and headed towards the window. When he stuck his head out, Race was leaning against the railing, and Faye was sitting with her back against the wall. She looked miserable.
"Hey," he said lamely, his voice cracking a bit.
Both Faye and Race jumped, but Faye smiled when she saw him.
"Blink," she said quietly. She stood, and climbed in through the window without a word to Race. "I was hopin you'd come."
Blink sighed with relief. The animal he'd seen in her eyes that horrible night had faded. She was Faye again- the girl he loved, and come to find, and that he hoped loved him too.
"Go for a walk with me?" He asked.
Faye and Blink had taken a strange path into Brooklyn to get some privacy. Though it was a long walk, they had wandered back to their old neighborhood. This was especially painful for both of them in very different ways. Blink had not stepped foot in the area since the fateful day his parents burned to death, along with Faye's mother and father. And as for Faye, it was just all too familiar. It seemed like a lifetime ago she had packed up her things and headed blindly towards Manhattan- Yet as soon as she felt the dirt road beneath her boots, it was like yesterday. The walk to this destination had been silent. They had not even audibly agreed to go there, they kind of just headed that way without thinking. Perhaps because it was the first time they'd been in Brooklyn together in eight and a half years. Neither knew the answer, but it was strangely comforting, while they also felt as if a ghost was just behind them, breathing down their necks.
When they reached the abandoned docks on which they played endless games during their childhood summers, they sat down, their legs dangling towards the water. Faye's toes scraped the surface of the river, and for a moment, she smiled.
"Faye," Blink began softly, taking her hand, "I'm real sorry. You b'lieve me don't ya?"
Faye nodded. "I'm sorry too," she whispered. "I never shoulda talked to ya like that, I jus'... I couldn' help it."
"Nah, I deserved it, I was actin' like a jerk," he argued.
"Yeah well I shoulda jus' told ya the truth," Faye spat back.
They looked at each other, and laughed weakly. Blink kissed her cheek.
"I love ya," he whispered, his mouth pressed to her ear.
Faye's eyes widened in shock, then began to fill with tears that irritated her as much as his words touched her. "Oh, Blink," she said, smiling genuinely, "I love you too."
He grinned. Without any further preamble, he crawled forward and tackled her. The kisses he planted on her were passionate, and so blissful Faye nearly forgot where she was. The universe, however, was more than willing to remind her. A loud clapping made her flinch, and the two of them broke apart in surprise, looking up to find the source of the noise.
Faye felt the lining of her skin turn to ice, and wondered how her heart could possibly still have a beat. A mere twenty feet away from her, a knife clasped in his teeth like a rose, was her one and only identifiable fear: Mikie. Blink gasped beside her and scrambled to his feet, immediately standing in front of her like a shield.
"Get on outta here," Blink said, his voice surprisingly deep and intimidating. "Leave us alone!"
Mikie wheezed out a strange laughter, slowly taking the blade from his mouth. "I ain't a dog you can shoo away," He hissed.
A new anger swept through Faye like a desert breeze. She stood, pushing Blink out of the way forcefully. She walked closer to Mikie, her fists clenched just as Buckle's had been the day before on the docks that seemed so very far from where she was.
"Whatcha want?" She demanded. "Ya want my heart? Like ya wanted hers? Don' wast your time. It's gone!" Her entire body was trembling. She wanted nothing more than to strangle every last breath out of him, and watch the light leave his eyes. Her fingers were twitching to press on his throat, her fists longing to punch every inch of him she could get a hold of. She never thought she would see his face again. She had dreamed of this moment many times; What would she do to the man that killed her sister? What would she say to the man that squelched the last bit of light at the end of her tunnel?
How would she kill the man that took away the most beautiful girl Faye had ever known from this dark, lonely earth?
"I'm sorry," Mikie whispered, and though his eyes did truly seem remorseful, the twitching of his lips spoke of other ideas and emotions. "I never meant to hurt her. I loved her."
Blink was not sure what to do. He did not want Faye to talk to him. He did not want Mikie to even be able to look at her, but he knew this was something he had to let her do if he ever wanted her to move on. Still, they had no weapon. And though he could hold his own and Faye was as scrappy as they came, he sensed a madness in Mikie that could not be matched by any amount of skill or muscle. He felt doomed, his back to nothing but water, staring at a crazed killer holding the weapon he undoubtedly planned to kill them both with.
"Never meant ta hurt her?" Faye whispered back, her voice cold, and enraged. "Ya cut my sister ear ta ear... An' ya got the nerve ta tell me... Ya love her?"
"I didn' come here to talk about Jane, " Mikie said suddenly, waving away the present conversation like a pesky fly. "I came ta talk about you. You've grown, Faye. You've changed."
"Takin' a fancy to me?" Faye gritted her teeth. "Now that I look zactly like her, ya want me? How'd ya get out? Huh?"
"Ah, Faye," Mikie said calmly, taking his first step forward. "Love can't be bound by walls, no matter how strong the bars or how thick the stone."
Faye sneered in disgust. "Y'ain't thought 'bout nothin' but yourself long enough to know nothin' bout love. Now, come on," she said, her voice rising. "Try an' kill me. TRY!"
Mikie looked down at his knife questioningly. "Ya think this's for you?" He asked. Something in his tone suggested that Faye was in fact the mad one, and he was peering over from the other side of the fence. "It's for him." Faye felt Blink tense up behind her, and only then did it occur to her what he meant. Her heart began to beat fast again, so fast she was not sure if she could speak.
"If you touch him," She said, and she heard her voice cracking, "I'll kill you."
Mikie's nostrils curved upward into a silent snarl, and he began to prowl the edge of the docks, his feet still staying on the grass, glaring and smiling like a hyena. Now Faye stood before Blink, her arms outstretched, determined to keep at least herself between Mikie and the man she loved. She would not let him take another person from her. It was unthinkable. No, no, no.
Blink was breathing fast now. She was pinned by his love. She wanted to hold him, and tell him she would not let any harm come to him; she could not turn around to tell him these things, in case he tried to be a hero.
Mikie lunged forward. Faye stood, solid as a rock, as the knife flew toward them in his withered, angry hand.
"No!" Blink cried, and his arm came flying over her shoulder and knocked the blade from the killer's hands. Blood was everywhere. Blink's hand was badly cut, and he grasped at it in pain, his face turning slightly green. "Run, Faye!"
Though Blink's efforts had been admirable, they accomplished very little. Mikie dived to the ground for the knife just as Faye did, and suddenly they were wrestling on the docks like fighting dogs, using every part of their bodies as weapons. Blink jumped forward to push him off her, but Mikie grabbed him by the head, slamming him to the floor with all his might. Blink saw a flash of white, and then nothing.
"No!" Faye shrieked. She doubled her efforts. She bit, she scratched, she kicked, and she howled like a wolf. She gritted her teeth as splinter after splinter found her bare skin. She clapped her hands over his ears, and when he cried out, she decked him twice, though she was beneath him. But Mikie was unbeatable. His hands were about her throat. She landed a few more satisfying blows to his face, and one or two to his ribs; but slowly, she began to realize she just could not breathe. He was strangling her. He really was a lunatic, and he was going to kill her, just like he did Jane. She was going to die the same lonely, gruesome death, and be responsible for Blink being killed in her passing. But suddenly, Mikie's grip loosened. Faye gasped in the warm summer air, coughing like a maniac. She scrambled to her feet just in time to see Spot's hand close around Mikie's knife, and plunge it into the old man's belly.
Faye watched, fascinated, as Mikie's eyes bulged first in disbelief, then in shock, and finally, pain. His eyes shifted from the strange nothing he had been looking at, over to Faye. For a moment that same, horrible animal flickered in his eyes, but then it faded again. Spot twisted the blade for good measure, and then pulled it out of Mikie's stomach with a grunt. Mikie fell face first onto the dock. Faye felt the wood shake. She closed her eyes for a small moment.
Spot turned around to look at Faye, his face pale and tear-streaked. He did not seem to be aware of his tears, which had already stopped, though they still hung on his face. Without a word he threw the knife into the river, and bent down to check on Blink, who was knocked out but breathing steadily. When it was clear he was all right, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Faye, staring at Mikie's body. A sphere of scarlet blood was slowly growing beneath him, staining the docks and dripping down to the water below.
Very suddenly, Faye burst into tears. She was supposed to do it. Since the day Jane died, she had promised herself that if she ever saw Mikie again, she would kill him, torture him, make him beg for death. And she had failed. She had failed Jane for a second, and final, time. Spot turned to her, and for the first time, pulled her into his arms completely.
"You as good as got 'im, Faye."
Faye clung to him. She felt now, even through the anguish, that whatever she may or may not feel for him, she had absolutely found family the night Spot found her. She was so grateful for him, and so sorry that he had killed for her.
"'M sorry," she said, her voice full of phlegm and tears. "I'm sorry, Conlon..."
Spot shook his head, squeezing her tighter. "Don't be."