Back inside the house, Hannah swept past her sister without a word, practically tripping up the stairs in her haste to reach the solitude of her room.
Apparently she wasn't going to have it that easy, though, because Elisabeth was on her heels, skirts gathered in her hands so she could keep up.
"Hannah! Hannah Christina Evans, look at me!" Elisabeth exclaimed, as she finally caught up to her sister in their room.
Hannah twirled, her still holding a trace of her tears, fear and hurt battling for control in them. "What, Elisabeth!?" She asked, a little more harshly then she had intended. She closed her eyes at her own words, forcing herself to draw a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little⦠on edge."
Elisabeth's lips were set in a thin line, and she seemed to be deciding whether or not to scold her sister for snapping, or ask her what was wrong. She sighed, finally settling on the latter, "What's the matter, Hannah?" She settled on the bed, patting the mattress, inviting her sister to sit beside her.
Hannah sunk down beside her sister, her shoulders drooping, as if it was just too much work to hold them up anymore.
"Is it Elijah?" Elisabeth finally asked, when Hannah didn't answer right away, "Did he- did he end things?"
"What?! No, of course not, as much as you'd love that."
"Hannah! What has gotten into you? Maybe you should be the one to end things with him, if this is the attitude you've picked up being around him."
"Ellie, please!" Hannah exclaimed, before pushing herself off the bed. "It's not as if you would understand, anyways." She moved over to the window, pulling the thin curtain back and nervously surveying the street.
"Well." Elisabeth said, straightening her skirt as she stood, "I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm going to work. I'll see you when I get back."
Hannah felt a twinge of guilt, for snapping at her sister, but her emotions were running so high, she hardly knew what she was saying.
Elisabeth slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.
Hannah pulled the curtains closed, stepping back from the window. She'd rather be sitting in the dark, then sitting with the idea of someone watching her from outside that window.
Bolt was back on the roof of his lodging house, pacing. He was too angry to be still. He was also to angry to be job searching, but that didn't keep the rational side of him thinking about it. He had a small bit of savings that he could live off of for a while, but he had other intentions for that. Still, the matter at hand was more important.
His fingers were itching for a cigarette, and it took him reaching into his empty pocket to remember he'd thrown the pack away, at Hannah's request. He sighed, shoving both his hands into his pockets, resuming his pacing.
He thought back to the conversation he's just had with Hannah, not even three hours ago. He played it over and over in his head. He did regret lying to her. He didn't like lying to anyone, and especially not Hannah. She might have decided to trust him today, because there hadn't been much of a choice. He couldn't help but wonder is she would still be feeling trustful when all this had ended. If it ever did end, he was beginning to feel it was going to drag on forever.
To be honest, he wasn't even completely sure what was going on. The kid coming with a warning on Monday had been Spot's style. But a brick through a window? That didn't seem like him. Unless he'd changed drastically since he'd first met him.
New York City, 1897
Elijah had only been working at the factory for two months, and he'd already acquired a nickname, and some new enemies. The nickname he didn't care much about, people could call him whatever they wanted to, even if they wanted to call him Bolt. He wasn't even sure where it had come from. A few of the girls who worked on his floor had started calling him that, and it had stuck. The enemies he didn't really care about either, as long as they let him be.
Ever since his father had disappeared-- he couldn't bring himself to say he was dead, so he always just said "disappeared"-ever since then, he'd been a loner. He'd been numb. It was like nothing could sink into his brain.
He woke up every morning, went to the factory, worked from the beginning of the day to the closing bell. Then he went home, went to bed, and started all over again the next morning.
He spent very little of the money he earned, just enough to pay for his lodging, and a meal every now and then. He kept himself alive. Because, that after all had been the sole purpose of his father's life. It felt like letting him down, to just stop living. So he lived. He did what he had to stay alive. No more, no less.
But then there were the Jimmys. Everyone called them the Jimmys because they shared the same first name. Although if you called Jim Anders "Jimmy" to his face, you may as well just jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, because even that was better having an angry Jim Anders. And calling him Jimmy made him very angry.
So, together they were the Jimmys. Apart they were Jim Anders and Jimmy Lewis. They were also Elijah's new enemies. It was unknown to everybody, why they'd picked him as their target. Perhaps it was just that he was the newest employee. Or perhaps it was just that he was so quiet, and seemed as if he'd be easy prey.
Whatever the reasons, they'd spent the greater part of the last two months terrorizing and harassing Elijah whenever they had the chance. He'd asked about them, among his coworkers, but hadn't found out much. Just that they were a little seedy, and most people tried to stay away from them. There were also several unfounded rumors, everything from their involvement in local gangs, to their assassination attempt on President Cleaveland.
Mostly Bolt just ignored the Jimmys. It was too much effort to even be annoyed by them. But their constant attacks were beginning to wear thin, and the day came when it was just too much
"Hey, Bolt, that's what they're calling you now, right?" Jimmy Lewis fell into step beside him, as Bolt left the factory, Jim Anders not far behind, "Tell me, why Bolt? Is it because your father bolted, and left you all by your lonesome? Huh?" Jimmy Lewis slung his arm across Bolt's shoulders, "Aww, what's the matter? You're not going to cry now, are you?"
Something inside of Bolt just snapped, he spun, shrugging Jimmy's arm and striking out with a closed fist, all in one smooth movement. The crunch of bone when his fist made contact with Jimmy's nose was a satisfying sound. He struck again and again, burying his fist into Jimmy's stomach.
Jim Anders seemed to finally get over the shock of witnessing such an assault from the resident "quiet kid" and caught up to them. He grabbed Bolt roughly by the shoulder, spinning him around, and throwing a sharp jab, making direct contact with Bolt's left eye.
Jimmy recovered from his doubled over state, grabbing Bolt's arm, as he pulled back to retaliate against Jim Anders. Bolt could feel his arm being twisted behind his back, and struggled to break free. Jimmy managed to get a hold of his other arm, twisting that behind his back as well, so that both his arms were pinned uselessly.
Jim Anders grinned, returning every punch, and then some.
The barrage continued, and Bolt remained silent, almost enjoying the pain that was being inflicted upon him. It had been so long since he'd felt anything, it was like a release. Not to say that he was going to purposefully go around getting beat up, but perhaps feeling again, wouldn't be so bad.
It occurred to him, dully, that he was simply standing there, allowing himself to be knocked around. Jimmy's hold had loosened, since Bolt had stopped struggling, and with a quick twist, he was able to pull out of his hold. He dodged, backing away from them, his mind suddenly racing for a way to elude them.
"That's enough. Clear out."
The Jimmys were both coming towards them, anger gleaming in their eyes, when they both stopped, at the simple command of a spectator. They both still looked rather peeved, but they nodded at the boy, who only looked to be about seventeen.
Bolt fell back against the wall, clutching his stomach, and gasping for breath. "Who're you?" He asked, when he finally had enough air to talk again.
The boy regarded him for a moment, arms crossed across his chest, before a smirk spread across his face. "I'm Spot Conlon. And you are my new fighter."
Bolt ran his hand through his hair, frustrated with his inability to do anything until he went to meet- whoever it was he was supposed to be meeting. He glanced at his watch again. He still had ten hours to kill.
I can still remember when Hannah had her first doubt about Elijah. I think that scared her more then anything else. She'd never had reason to doubt him before, and her greatest hope was that all of her doubts would be unfounded, and he really would be that fairy tale prince.
