Disclaimer: I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner.


a Maldição de Diabo

April 16, 2006

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.


PART THREE


Ariadne watched the back of her niece as the girl exited the den area. She had brought take-out food – Chinese, best in the City – home for herself and Diana and the two women, aunt and niece, sat down to a cozy dinner, forsaking the larger dining area in favor of the den. She had been excited to see her sister's only child after such a long time apart. They spent the better part of the meal discussing Diana's completion of high school as well as her plans for the future. True to her word, Diana said nothing of what she and Kloppman had been talking about before her aunt had returned home for the night.

As soon as dinner was finished, and just after Kloppman had entered the room and began to take away the dirty dishes, Diana announced that she wanted to explore the immediate area to "get a feel for the city". Ariadne had hesitated but gave in when her niece batted her eyelashes. She had been had and she knew it.

Now, with a sigh, she turned to look at Kloppman. "Alfred?" she asked personably, using Kloppman's first name instead of his last.

"Yes, Ms. Ariadne?" Kloppman answered as he cleared the glass table of the coffee cups and saucers from the after-dinner coffee. She was always Ms. Ariadne, no matter how familiar they were.

"Do you think it was smart to let Diana out tonight?"

"I don't see why not, ma'am."

Ariadne paused and pulled at a loose brown curl that had escaped from her bun. Kloppman caught sight of the action and quickly returned his gaze to the table. All the Daite girls pulled on their curls when they were anxious. "Alfred. You know as well as I do who it was I encountered in that old bedroom."

Kloppman continued to clean up the mess, not quite meeting his employer in the eye. "You knew it had to happen, Ms. Ariadne. It's the curse. It's one of you gals that have got to help him. You tried to help him when you were younger. Now it's Miss Mason's turn. Isn't that why you've allowed her to visit you here for the first time alone?" he asked, simply.

"'The curse' is right, Alfred. And you're it," Ariadne shot back, momentarily losing her temper, purposely choosing not to answer to his observation. To be honest, she was not quite sure why she finally agreed to Diana visiting her without her mother as a chaperone. She and Arianrhod had decided years ago that they would not allow any children they had to ever meet up with the boy; when it was her twin that went on to marry and have a child, Ariadne swore she would keep her niece away from this place. The years passed and when Diana's sixteenth, then seventeenth, birthday rolled by and he had yet to appear to the young girl, she thought he had finally left their family alone. The girl was quickly approaching her eighteenth birthday now; it seemed fair to allow Diana to visit her. But, then again, maybe Kloppman was right, maybe it was the curse. Maybe she had finally given in in order to fulfill the damn thing. After all, she had known that the time would come where the next woman in line would have to do their best to help him. That was their fate – their destiny. Their curse.

"Alfred?" Ariadne called out, shaking those thoughts from her head. Now was not the time to get lost in the memories.

"Yes, Ms. Ariadne?" Kloppman replied. He had not moved from the room since Ariadne first called to him; this was not the first time he had to deal with the curse. Ariadne was not the first woman he had seen get drawn in by the boy and his plight.

"You know the boys' story better than anyone, correct?"

The answer was a respectful nod. Of course he did.

"I mean, you tell it to enough of the tenants downstairs," she added, a steely look coming to her green eyes. The minor wrinkles the woman had around those eyes went taut as her jaw set.

The answer this time was a shameful nod. Maybe he should stop telling the story to the tenants but, at least, when he spun the tale he kept Ariadne and her family's part out of it. As well as his own.

"Well, then, this is it? Diana would be his last hope, right? Fourth generation, one hundred years? She would be the one, if anyone?" Ariadne asked, all sarcasm removed from her voice. For now, she was serious. But, then again, she usually was when she discussed this topic.

Kloppman paused; the cups balanced in his hands tinkled slightly as the old man involuntarily shook. "That's right, Ms. Ariadne. The curse ends in two months time if the boy you knew all those years ago is the boy of my tale." Of course he was, but Kloppman would never tell anyone that. Even she would never understand his role in the entire ordeal.

Ariadne ignored Kloppman's last remark as she remembered the sorrow filled chocolate brown eyes. She felt she was doing her niece an injustice by leaving the weight of their family's legacy on her shoulders. However, Ariadne could not help but think that if any of her family could be the one to help him, it would be Diana. And would not it be just like that boy to fulfill the promise just as the last sands fell? It was not as if he had had one hundred years or anything…


Diana exited the building and took a deep breath. For a minute back in her aunt's apartment she had thought that she would not have been allowed to go outside. Her aunt certainly looked like she wanted Diana to remain in doors but, luckily, she gave in – as long as she remained within a block's distance to the old building. That was fine by Diana, anyway. She just wanted to get out and experience the City.

She almost regretted her action. Lungs full of the summer air, she coughed almost instantly. New York stank. I wonder if I'll get used to the smell, she thought but smiled anyway. She was in Manhattan – it did not really matter how bad it smelled. She closed her eyes, taking it all in. It was such a different experience being in such a big city. She stood there, spellbound, taking in all of the sounds. It was not just loud, it was magical.

Blissfully unaware of her surroundings, she jumped when she heard a sound that was a lot closer than she would have been expecting. Just off to her left side she heard a quick crackling sound, followed by the pungent smell of something burning. She opened one of her green eyes in time to make out a young man puffing on a hand rolled cigarette. A spent match lay at the edge of his dusty brown boots. He took a drag from his cigarette and, while blowing the smoke out from his nose, he smiled at her.

It was the boy from before.

Though the sun had already set for the night Diana was able to see him perfectly. The multitude of street lamps and neon signs kept the entire city illuminated and, for that, she was grateful.

The boy was young – Eighteen at the most, she thought – but something about the way he carried himself made him seem so much older. His big expressive eyes were a deep brown and his longish hair was just a few shades lighter. He was tall, but not that tall, she noted. His clothes, however, were something she had not truly noticed in their brief encounter a few hours earlier – and she was surprised by them now. They were, for lack of a better term, old.

The pants, she could tell, had once been dark but were faded now and much worn. A frayed piece of rope was tied around his slim waist. A belt, she thought and nearly laughed. The idea of a length of rope serving as a belt amused her more than it probably should. Is that what I'm seeing? A freaking rope worn as a belt? Wow…

His black vest, though, not as faded as the slacks, was covered in dust and served the purpose of covering up a stained grey shirt. And then, most noticeably, were the accessories he wore: the knotted red bandana he had tied around his neck and the somewhat crushed brown cowboy hat that hung down his back.

Her eyes remained on the boy's strange get-up. He looked like a parody of an urban cowboy from about a century ago. Maybe that's why he seems older…because he dresses like he's eighty…

He caught her staring at him and smirked. The boy, despite his odd clothing, was exceptionally handsome and he knew it. He removed the cigarette from between his lips and flicked it, letting the ashes flutter, forgotten, to the concrete ground. "Rhiannon." It was not a question. It was a greeting.

Without meaning to, Diana turned around. Was he really addressing her with that name again? But, not surprisingly, there was no one standing behind her. She turned back, her eyebrow raised slightly. "Diana," she answered, nodding at the boy.

The boy shook his head, thick strands of sandy hair falling forward into his eyes and, obviously aggravated, he tossed the fresh cigarette to the ground. The acrid scent of smoke, once the cigarette had been extinguished, did not linger. It was as if he had never even lit it. "Rhiannon." The only word he spoke was that. He looked at her straight in the eye as he said it; the smirk was gone from his face now. He was serious.

Now she was confused. Was "Rhiannon" the only thing he could say? She pointed at her chest. "Di…an…a." She pronounced each syllable slowly and loudly while, at the same time, backing away from the boy. Maybe the reason why he was dressed that odd was because he was odd. You never know what kind of people you'll meet in the City, she thought to herself, as she smiled gently at him. It was better for him not to grow any further agitated at her; a friendly smile should keep him stable. Now, no sudden movements…

He ran his hand through his hair, pushing the shaggy pieces back, before reaching for Diana. He made to place it reassuringly on her arm but the contact never came. Diana's grin slid from her face as she jerked her arm out of his reach; he never had the chance to get any closer to her.

When he saw that she was becoming defensive, he pulled his hand back and held both of them up. "Calm down there, Rhia—"

She heard the beginning of that name again and glared. "Diana. I don't know why you keep calling me 'Rhiannon', but my name is Diana," she said, cutting him off. She also did not know why she was still arguing with him but she could not help it. He just seemed so sure that he was right; she was getting frustrated at with his cocky demeanor. And, though she had only been acquainted with the boy for a few minutes, it would bother her to no end if a random stranger got the better of her.

The boy nodded absently as he lowered his hand. He did not offer her another word as he slid his right hand behind him and slipped it into the back pocket of his slacks. He fumbled for a second, obviously searching for something. A triumphant expression flittered across his face as he pulled out a few pieces of paper and brought them before him. He kept them low and out of her sight, searching through them until he found the one he was looking for. When he found it, he placed the others carefully back into that same pocket. He then lifted the chosen one up and raised it to Diana's eye-level.

Curious, and no longer as wary as she had been, Diana took in the image. What she had assumed to be mere paper was, in fact, a photograph. It was small and square and torn at the bottom; the edges of the picture were yellowed with age. The photograph itself had originally been done in black and white – it was definitely old.

In the center of the photo, there was a young woman, around the age of nineteen. She was petite and slim and was clothed in a simple white dress with a collar that rose to her throat. Her dark hair was all curls and was swept up and pinned into place, a white hat topping off the style. Her smile was forced, Diana could tell, and from the look in her eye, she was gazing not at the camera's lens but, instead, at something that stood just beyond it.

But, what was amazing most of all, was that the girl in the picture was Diana. Though the lack of pigment in the photograph could not affirm if the curls were the same mahogany shade nor could it prove that the eyes sparkled like emeralds in the sun like Diana's did, there was no mistaking it. The girl was Diana – but how could she be?

Diana stared at the picture even harder as if the image would answer the questions that were beginning to form in her mind. This picture is at least ninety years old, she thought sensibly, the only thought that was remotely coherent, but that's me. How? How is that possible?

The boy smiled at her puzzled expression and the intent way she stared at the picture. He snatched it out of her hand and pointed it at it. There was an air of victory around him when he repeated that one simple name: "Rhiannon."


Author's Note: Here's the next chapter, right on schedule. It's still set in the same time – whenever the story is taking place in another time, I will note it at the top of the chapter. That had nothing to do with chapter two, I know, but I figured I would mention it when it was fresh in my mind. Anywho, enjoy this chapter – and Happy Easter to anyone who celebrates.