Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies! Why oh why must you always remind me? (Goes to look for her Spot to cry on but then suddenly realizes she doesn't own him either.) Sobs galore!


Chapter 9

The next day I was feeling better so I went into Cricket's room and just sat by his bed, waiting for when he would wake. I wouldn't leave his side even when Albert suggested that I come down for breakfast. Sitting there, holding his hand, I kept remembering the look on Tommy's face when I bombarded him with all those questions. He looked stunned, afraid, and . . . guilty? I sighed and rubbed my forehead with my free hand.

A knock sounded at the door. I turned and frowned slightly at the scruffy looking teenaged newsie, twisting his hat in his hand.

"Hello," I said apprehensively.

"Hi," the boy shuffled his feet.

I gestured to him. "Come in. I assume you're here to see Cricket?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah, I'm Slick, Spot's right hand man." He stepped forward into the room until he stopped right beside Cricket's head. He stared down at him for a few seconds before swearing quietly. He then looked at me guiltily but I didn't say anything. He'd matched my sentiments exactly.

"Who did this to him?" He asked, smoothing down the younger boy's hair. There was unconcealed anger rumbling right underneath his question.

I shook my head. "I don't know. They had tried to jump me before, in an alley in Manhattan. I don't know what they were doing on this side of New York."

"What did they look like?" Slick asked, still keeping his hand on Cricket's head.

I frowned thoughtfully, trying to remember. "The leader had black hair and gray eyes. I never got a good look at the others. He kinda . . . made himself the only one I could see." I flushed red at the memory. I hoped he had scars from my fingernails for the rest of his life.

Slick glanced at me sympathetically. He pointed at the empty sleeve that took the place of Cricket's right arm.

"They had to cut it off?" He asked incredulously.

I nodded. "It was broken too severely to be fixed.

Slick shook his head. "Man, that's gonna be rough. He's a righty too."

I smiled slightly. "He can learn to use his left hand. He seems like a bright kid."

"He is." Slick chewed on his lip a while as silence filled the room.

"Spot says the doc says he's gonna die. That true?" I nodded my head. Slick winced. "No wonder Spot was so shaken up. He kept pacing around the room and went through a whole pack of cigarettes before finally dropping off."

He ran his hand through rust colored hair. "Man, Cricket can't die. It'll tear Spot up not to mention the rest of us." He shot a look at me. "Cricket's always been the newsies' pet you know? Everyone's favorite. Especially Spot's."

"Spot said he latched onto him after his parent's died."

Slick nodded. "Yeah but it's more than that. Spot's the one who dragged Cricket out of the fire that killed his parents three years ago."

I felt my eyes go wide.

"Really? Spot never mentioned that."

Slick shrugged. "He doesn't really like talking about it," he said. "I know it's because he feels guilty couldn't save the parents. He was going to go back for them but the front of the house had collapsed and the bulls wouldn't let him." He rubbed the back of his neck and continued to stare at Cricket. Then suddenly he turned and slammed his fist into the wall, pressing his forehead against it and breathing heavily. He started cussing the guys that did this to Cricket up and down. I stood slowly and made my way over to him.

"He can't die," he said. "We could lose anyone, anyone but Cricket."

I placed my hand on his shoulder and realized with a start that it was quivering. I tightened my grip and Slick hit the wall again and again and again, as if he thought the physical pain would ease the pain inside. I understood how he felt, mostly. I had only known Cricket a little while but had fallen in love with him instantly. The insect quality of his whistling was an endearing sound that I longed to hear again.

Slick finally stopped hitting the wall and straightened. I dropped my hand and he gave me a small smile of thanks. I nodded and made my way back to Cricket's side. Slick followed me. His eyes were rimmed faintly with red but other than that he looked impassive. He patted Cricket's shoulder.

"Come through kid, you can make it."

I patted him on the back. "I'll send news if he wakes up," I promised him.

"Thanks," he said quietly. Then he grinned. "Spot was right about you." He said putting on his hat.

I frowned. "What did he say about me?"

Slick just smiled slyly and made his way to the door. I followed.

"What did he say about me?" I insisted.

He tipped his hat and disappeared down the stairs. I lifted my hands in exasperation and returned to Cricket's side. I leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"Wake up soon Cricket," I whispered. "There are a lot of people waiting for you.

000000

Cricket didn't wake up. The doctor, when he came, looked grave.

"It'll take only a miracle to save him now," he stated.

I continued to stay at his bedside. Stroking his left hand and speaking to him, even though I wasn't sure he could hear me. I slept in the room now too, just in case he woke in the middle of the night. I held fast to Spot's assurance that he was tough enough to make it. One night I awoke to a strange sound.

I sat up and peered over at Cricket. I was surprised to find him moving. Hope sprang through me as I leaped out of bed and rushed to his side. Had he finally awakened? But no, I could see he was still unconscious. But there were tears running down his battered face and his body kept thrashing under the covers. I placed my hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him.

"No! Mama! Papa!" I started at the sound of his voice. It was hoarse from not being used in three years. Sweat was pouring down his face and when I touched his forehead he was blazing hot. I got up and ran to the bell that would call Albert to me. When he arrived, dressed in a long bathrobe and a stocking cap, I ordered him to call the doctor. I started to smooth Cricket's hair as I waited.

He moved about some more, calling out for Spot, Slick, and some others whom I assumed were fellow newsies. He was sobbing harder than I've ever seen a kid cry. I was taken aback. Cricket was a tough kid, what was he doing bawling his eyes out. But when he cried for his mother and father again I realized that he must be having nightmares of the fire and imagining his friends dying along with his parents. I could understand how that would make him cry.

I gripped his shoulders and held him as tight as I could without hurting him. He gradually calmed down and soon became still. I wiped away his tears gently just as the doctor came bustling in. He went right to Cricket and started looking him over.

"What happened?" He asked. I told him. He scratched his chin. "Well, this is a good sign actually. It means he hasn't slipped into a coma which means he just might pull through."

"Spot told me that he hasn't spoken in three years. Why now?"

"Dreams sometimes trigger the part of the brain that's been put to the side because of some traumatic event. In this case Cricket's voice. He can speak just fine obviously; there has never been any damage to his vocal area. The shock of having his parents burn to death probably damaged him enough inside he just stopped talking to people. Now I'm not a psychiatrist so don't go by my word."

I nodded, still stroking Cricket's hair. "So there's a chance he might wake up?"

"A larger chance than there was this morning definitely. Now if you'll excuse me, it's late and I have to get up early for work tomorrow." He turned towards the door.

"What should I do if it happens again?" I asked.

"I think what you've done worked very well. I'll check in with him tomorrow after my rounds. Goodnight Miss Meyers."

I waved to him and he left. Looking down into Cricket's now peaceful face, I traced the scar that now ran from his temple to his cheekbone.

"You gave me a fright there," I told him. "Let's let that not happen again."

His face suddenly screwed up like he was going to yell again. I swiftly started stroking his hair again and started singing softly. The girls often had nightmares, crying out for Mama and sometimes Papa. I knew the only way to calm them was to rock them in my lap and sing lullabies to them. I couldn't rock Cricket, but I could sing.

"Fi la nana, e mi bel fiol,
Fi la nana, e mi bel fiol,
Fa si la nana.
Fa si la nana.

"Dormi ben, e mi bel fiol,
Dormi ben, e mi bel fiol,
Fa
si la nana.
Fa si la nana."

It was an old Italian lullaby Mama used to sing to me and Tommy when we were little. I couldn't believe I remembered all the lyrics. She used to always sing it in Italian. I didn't know what the words meant in English. But it was soothing and Cricket's face had smoothed out. I sang it a few more times before drifting off to sleep, my head on his pillow, my fingers still in his hair.

When I woke up I almost shrieked to find my blue eyes meeting the light brown ones of Cricket. I sat up quickly and got dizzy as a result. He just continued to look at me silently. I suddenly realized that he was awake. Cricket was awake! He was going to be alright.

"Hey Cricket," I said, "how do you feel?"

He frowned and shook his head slightly. I smiled.

"Yeah, I didn't feel so good either when I woke up. I'm going to go call for the doctor. You stay right here."

He gave me a looked that said "Are you serious?" I realized what I had just said. I blushed.

"Right. I'll just go get doctor now." I flew out the door and ran straight into Albert. "Get the doctor!" I said, breathless. "Cricket's awake!"

In the next hour the doctor, Spot, Slick, Chava, and I were huddled around Cricket's bed. As the doctor looked him over, Spot and Slick bombarded him with questions. Was he doing alright? Did he feel strong enough to get working again soon? Did he think he could identify the guys that beat him up?

Cricket nodded vigorously to each question. The doctor stepped back.

"Well, after a few more days of bed rest to make sure those ribs heal straight I think you'll be ready to hit the streets again. Just be more careful in the future alright? I don't want to have to treat you again, understand?"

Cricket nodded. His face was solemn but I saw his eyes twinkle mischievously all the same. When the doctor and Chava left, Slick took me aside while Spot talked to Cricket.

"Hey, I just want to say thank you for all that you've done for Cricket. Spot really appreciates it, and so do the rest of us."

I smiled at him. "Hey, Cricket's as dear to me as he is to the next person. I was glad to help. Besides, I couldn't just leave him."

Slick patted my upper arm. "You're alright, Meyers."

I smiled. "You're alright too, Slick."

He grinned and made his way out the door. Spot followed him. I felt my heart leap to my throat . . . only to have it crash down when Spot only gave me a curt nod before leaving also. I closed the door and rested my head against it. Life was very complicated sometimes. I heard a small noise behind me and turned to see Cricket sitting up in bed looking at me curiously. I noticed I had tears clinging to my eyelashes and I wiped them away hurriedly. I forced a smile and went to sit next to Cricket.

"So, you okay?"

He nodded and pointed to me. I smiled. "I'm doing very well." I paused before going on. "I want to thank you for standing up to me. You didn't have to."

Cricket looked at me as if I had suddenly grown two heads. I laughed at myself.

"Okay, so you did need to. But not every boy would have anyway. You're a good kid Cricket, I'm proud to be your friend."

Cricket grabbed something dark that had been placed next to him. I hadn't noticed it before. I figured either Spot or Slick had brought it. He handed it to me. It was a wooden flute. It was slightly lopsided but other than that it was very nice.

"What's this for?" I asked, puzzled.

He pointed to his new shoes that lay beside the bed and then at the flute and then at me.

"But the shoes were because you needed them. You didn't have to give me anything back." I said and tried to hand the flute back to the boy.

He shook his head and pointed insistently at the flute then back at me. I finally gave in and smiled.

"Thank you Cricket," I said and put it to my lips. I blew slightly and the sound that came out sounded almost exactly like Cricket's insect-like whistle. I grinned at him. "Very nice, only you'll have to teach me how to play it."

His face fell and he pointed to where his right arm had been. My smile faded.

"Oh right. Well, you can still teach me with one hand. Just show me where to put my fingers and how to blow and everything."

Cricket's face lit up in a bright smile and he nodded heartily. I laughed then stood. Pushing him gently back down onto the pillow, I pointed my finger at him sternly.

"Now you get some rest, you hear? I want you to heal as fast as you can. Go it?"

Cricket nodded. I leaned forward then and kissed his forehead. He stiffened slightly and when I looked at him I noticed he had tears in his eyes. I realized what had triggered them.

"You're mama was the last one to do that, wasn't she?" I asked softly.

Cricket turned his face away but gave me a small nod. I patted his shoulder.

"You have good people taking care of you, Cricket. We all love you very much. You never have to doubt that."

Cricket turned back and gave me a faint smile. I gave him a full one back.

"Well, goodnight, Cricket."

He nodded and I quietly left the room, a lopsided flute in my hand and hope for the future of Cricket in my heart.


A/N: The lullaby Maggie sang to Cricket is a real Italian lullaby. The translation is:

Hush-a-bye, my lovely child,
Hush-a-bye, my lovely child,
Hush, hush and go to sleep.
Hush, hush and go to sleep.

Sleep well, my lovely child,
Sleep well, my lovely child,
Hush, hush and go to sleep.
Hush, hush and go to sleep.

It belongs to Sara Jordan Publishing.

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