So I know I barely just put out the last chapter, but I really wanted to write more (thanks for the inspiration Somedayonbroadway!) here we go! Let me know if you have any ideas, because I'm flying blind:) Thank you to my other reviewers! I love seeing your kind words in my inbox. It always makes my day!
It was a good thing Race found Jack, because Jack knew the tricks of the trade. He knew how to coax the guards into letting them sit on each others bunks, which they weren't allowed to do, at least not two at a time. Race grew to understand Jack in a way that was just as perplexing as life itself. Jack's voice could be kind, but his eyes weren't, at least not anymore, but they might have been at one time. His gestures were quick and easy to follow. When he talked he had a habit of gesturing, and swinging his arms around to paint the image of whatever he was saying into the air. It made people look at him funny, but Race liked it. It was part of Jack Kelly. It made the grueling days of counseling, school, and service work melt together in the best kind of way.
So Race settled into life at the Refuge. The life was tough for a guy who liked to walk free on the streets, but not as bad as some places Race had been, not yet anyway. When he was about twelve they'd holed up in an old abandoned car factory from the thirties, and he remembered sleeping on the floor in the freezing cold while his sister and Andy stood outside smoking. They'd stayed there for almost a month, and he got really sick, but Paris hadn't wanted to leave. That was a year before they'd met Cherry. He remembered when they first met her, she was twelve, and she had her dark brown hair swept out of her face and tied back with a thick black strap that hung in two tails down her back. She had on a leather jacket and cargo pants with lace up boots. Cherry was an orphan who had learned under the best and was a first-class sniper at age 11. They had been lucky to get her. She was pretty short at the time they first met- about 4'2, but maybe she seemed shorter because Race was almost 5'5 at the time. But she was still intimidating with her assault rifle and stern eyes. She grew quickly though, and recently Race wondered if she was taller than him now. He'd always wanted to stand back to back and have someone tell them, not because he cared, but because he wanted to feel her shoulders against his and hear her laugh when they tripped awkwardly, like normal teens. Not like juvenile delinquents.
But the Refuge was taking the image of her face slowly out of his mind. She was fifteen in August, he reminded himself. But it was no good because there were no calendars here. And Race slowly sank lower and lower into his darkness, missing the one person he'd never been afraid of.
...
It was one day that Race estimated must have been in April or June, when the classes finishing up for the year and all the guys were clueless as to what they would be doing when an announcement was made. An assembly was called, and Jack and Race stood shoulder to shoulder in the line-up. Morris and Oscar Delancey stood nearby.
"Order, please," said the man who stood in front of them, "There will be visiting hours today from 1:30 to 3:45. It is-" the man glanced at his watch, "-1:23. Please remain in the hall if your name is called. If it is not you will return to your dormitory immediately."
Jack glanced at Race with eyes that probed his mind. Race's face must have been petrified.
"What's thah mattah?" Jack hissed, but one of the Delancey's jabbed him in the ribs and whispered for him to shut it.
"Camron Rolley," the man began reading, "Donovan Locke, Andrew Parker, Patrick Blink, John Sullivan, Harrison Merro, Anthony Higgins..." the man's voice seemed to fade. Race felt his blood rushing into his ears, and he swayed a little. Jack's arm steadied him discreetly.
Suddenly the boys were filling out, and Jack drew away. Race stared at him in horror. He couldn't leave. He couldn't be all alone. The older boy avoided his eyes.
How did that feel? Race was afraid of whoever this was who'd come to see him… but Jack just wanted someone to come. Race felt the dullness and sadness sweep over him anew. His feelings were a mess, and he didn't want to let the outside world see his pale skin, and the dark circles under his eyes or the way you could see his ribs through the white tee-shirts they had to wear.
Jack disappeared into the sea of heads and Race was lead to sit down. He stared into his hands, which rested on the table in front of him. He stayed like that until he felt the table move as someone sat down across from him.
"Hey kid. You look like hell." It sounded like something Paris would say, but it was a man's voice, a voice he knew and hated.
Andy's voice was low pitched, like he was whispering without the breathiness. Race winced at the smell of weed. He flinched away. Paris didn't know her boyfriend. She didn't know what he'd done to Race, and well, Race was too cowardly to admit it. He'd told himself a thousand times that was why he hadn't said anything. But Paris wouldn't care. She was off on bigger things, like building her careful web of lies to make an empire.
He felt something being pushed in an attempt of discreteness into his hands.
The sight of the white power made him gag. He blinked the tears that wanted to fall.
"How'd yah get dis in here?" he turned it around in his hands so as not to show Andy that he really wanted to burn it. Something in his mind chanted, taste it! Tonight! It won't hurt anymore, coward.
"That's my specialty, you idiot. And yours. Speaking of which, how much longer you got? Paris and I slipped the bulls. We got off with two months."
"How's dat?" Race looked up from under his brows, confused.
"There were… others to take the blame." Andy raised his eyebrows. He meant him and Slash and Cherry.
"You dirty little son of a-"
"Don't get nasty, Race. I brought you a gift."
"Yeah, but why?"
"Because you kept our secret so well. I thought you'd be grateful."
"I can't garuntee-" Race cut himself off. He looked to the side, away from the angry gunmetal grey eyes.
Andy laughed, "I know you can. Because if you don't there are people who will meet our friend Spot, and it won't be like that night was supposed to be, I can promise you that."
"What 'appened that night anyway?" Race clenched his fists. Sweat poured down his back. "We agreed to meet. 'You scab on us?"
"Nope. I would never," Andy flashed his crooked smile at Race. It turned bitter, "Spot didn't want to meet, he wanted to take us down. He knew we were a threat, and we were too stupid to see it. The drug money paid the bail, ironically," his voice lowered even more, and his eyes surveyed the wall of guards against the perimeter of the room, "which just goes to show you that the justice system had better tighten up."
Race didn't want to know how he'd managed that. He averted his eyes. The man's face was making him sick.
"Anyway, Cherry went down-"
"Whad'aya mean?" Race straightened. His heart jumped against his ribcage.
"Ooh, you got a crush, Higgins?" Andy taunted.
"Tell me what happened." Race gritted out.
"By 'down' I mean paralyzed. They can't even put her in jail. But she broke down enough to tell them that she's got forty-nine confirmed kills. And that, my friend, puts her in a rough spot." Andy raised his eyebrows. Race was incredulous when he smiled, "Which takes care of our Cherry accessory."
"You mean you was gonna kill her," Race realized.
"Just her?" Andy smirked, "Why do that? Why give up our Bonnie and Clyde moment?" Andy came close to him, breathing down his neck, "It was fun while it lasted, but I ain't gonna let you get between me and Maxine. She's much prettier."
The use of his sister's real name made Race light up on fire. He was done. If he got out, he was finished. Might as well walk out the front door and off the Brooklyn Bridge, wherever Brooklyn was. But first he might just visit Spot Conlan and wring his pretty neck. After he drowned Andy, kissed Cherry and set Slash to a new life. And deserted this stupid operation. Paris had held him long enough. Andy's secret had been held long enough. No more.
Race was being pulled off the top of his sister's boyfriend before he even knew it. The man's face was bloody and broken, and Andy was barely breathing, but it felt so good. Race's knuckles screamed in joyful agony. He barely realized he'd tucked those drugs away, sure to be caught. It was meant to be taken in little bits, to last for weeks. Well if this was playing out the way he thought it was, he might as well suck it all down tonight. Why suffer withdrawals when you could end the pain in one go?
…
Yep, this place was illegal.
They'd been holding off, but tonight he was given the "Treatment." Tonight he was basted. Thrown against a wall. But they didn't search him. The goons just threw him back into his dorm. Jack was still awake, even though it was past midnight. When the guards left and locked the doors, Jack jumped down and took a good look at Race.
"Oh my God, dey neahly killed yah!" He put a hand on his friend's chest, gazing over his broken body in shock.
"Kelly, I'm ok." He murmured. Tears leaked out of his bright blue eyes.
"I don't know what hell you've lived in, but Race, dis isn't what "ok" is."
"I think I've got it good." He sucked in a breath, "Still have mah sistah, in a way. An' Cherry and Slash. They's good to me."
"But good isn't enough, is it?"
"I'm alone a lot. It does get sad and cold." Race looked at Jack, "I don't wanna be like dis. You know."
"An' dat's not ok. No one oughta be sad and cold and by himself, not evah."
"So what is it? What's 'ok'?"
"Clean, open spaces. On yah feet. Jus' a man by himself can't hurt anybody but himself. But a bruddah can be nice. And you wasn't by yourself all dah time, was you?"
"I nevah have been. I'se always being crushed by some-" he cut himself off, turning his head away from Jack. "What about you?"
"Why now?" Jack wanted to know.
"Now's as good as tomorrah, cept tomorrah might be warmer and brighter, so lets take the bitter wit' dah dark."
Jack smiled through the dim lighting as he helped Race out of his shirt.
"I don't know what it's like not to be alone," he smiled bitterly, "I was just a kid. My pop was a drunk. He used to give me beer and whiskey, when I was a little kid. I didn't undahstand. My mom tried tah stop him, but he beat her. Sos I wasn't home very much when I got older, an' dey beat up on my kid bruddah. He got sick, and it gave 'im a gimp leg. I wasn't dere for im. An' he drank himself tah death when he was fourteen. I don' know if he survived that last bit, but I couldn't stick around. I hit the trail, I left Pennsylvania and came 'ere." Jack forced himself to focus on lifting the fabric over the thin boy's body without hurting him even more. Once it was off, he assessed the damage and took a plastic cup of water- they were allowed one each night- and dipped the shirt in it, washing the many abrasions and cuts. He didn't want to continue his story, but his voice seemed to be taking Race's mind off the pain. "Well I didn't wanna feel anymore. I was so lonely... I, uh, I eventually got put in fostah care when dey found me. But dey sent me tah counselors, and I hated it. I hated bein' trapped, questioned. So I, uh, I ran away. Started doin' drugs. I didn't wanna remember, but I didn't wanna be like him," he recalled hatefully. He felt Race's eyes searching his face. "I guess I thought Brooklyn must be dah only place in the woild I belong. I started delivering papers there, an' I got involved with Spot Conlan. He gave me what I needed to forget. I finally wasn't alone. Yah know, he got involved with somethin' a while ago, a shootout. Hope he made it out ok. A bunch of his guys were brought in. That's why I'm here. I wanna kill the guy that fired at Spot. Conlan's a good guy."
Race had gone oddly silent. His face was very pale and he looked stricken.
"What's dah mattah?" Jack removed the application of the shirt to Race's shoulder, worried he might have hurt him.
"Nothin'." He mumbled. "I uh, I nevah met Spot Conlan. Got dis close." He made a gesture with his thumb and forefinger. His voice was shaking, like he was lying. "Ah, well, I got my people." He offered weakly, eyes sliding shut as he drifted.
A shiver wracked his frame and Jack pulled the blanket over him, realizing quickly what an idiot he was to soak his shirt. Kid would be freezing.
"Move ovah."
"Why?" Race clenched his eyes shut.
"Cause I says."
Jack climbed into bed next to the stiff younger boy. His muscles were tense and he shook with Jack next to him. But after a while his form relaxed and he fell asleep. Jack pried his fingers open, slipping the packet he'd had his eye on all night into his shoe. Jack didn't need the temptation- but neither did this kid. He couldn't believe he'd just told his life story to him.
But then, that's what brothers are for.
Yay! Got a pretty sizable chapter in here. Shoot me your reviews/ideas/ things you liked/ don't like. Thanks for reading guys, and thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter!
