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

June 4, 2006

PART TEN

He turned away from her just then, and let the stack of pictures he was holding drift slowly to the floor. Only one remained in his grasp but he did not share it with her.

He knows, she realized, slightly insulted by his action. And that prick doesn't want to tell me.

She struggled to sit up, using her elbows as support. Her head was pounding all the stronger but had receded a bit when she said that word. That name. Stress.

It was such an odd name, really. Stress? And what about Fae? Or Honor? What the hell were these people doing when they came up with these names? Rhiannon was a good name and, well, Étaín was pushing it… but at least my family didn't go with adjective-type names. Jeez.

Diana was only somewhat surprised at her own rambling thoughts; she was trying not to take offense at his rejection. At the basest level, he had rejected her by turning his back on her but she was not going to react.

While he kept his face turned away, she kept on thinking to herself. And who was that girl, anyway? Was she the girl? Or could that have been Fae? Maybe Stress is just the key to this whole mess—could she be the murderer? Or a witness to the murder? And why the hell is Jack still ignoring me?

Glancing back over at the ghost boy, Diana found that he had not moved at all. His back was still to her and his head was bowed slightly. With a sigh, she finally gave in. She was going to make him talk to her. Or, at the very least, release her from his cove.

However, before she did that, she looked down at her watch and winced. She must have been out longer than she had thought, following that last vision. Her aunt would be home from work soon and Diana was still inside a hidden room, caught somewhere between a bank and an open road, and she had no idea how to get out.

As quietly as she could, Diana swung her legs over the side of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. She slipped herself off the bed until she was standing beside Jack. He had not even noticed that she moved.

Diana placed her hands on her hips. He was the one who kept reminding her that he only had a limited amount of time left but he was the one who was being difficult. She maneuvered herself around him—as the room was quite small, it was difficult not to bump into any of the many stacks of papers and photos he had placed around the space—until she was looking at him. But he was not looking at her.

He was staring at the photograph.

Diana recognized the picture at once. She glanced at it momentarily, long enough to make out the laughing pair, before tearing her eyes away from it. She did not want another vision, even if it meant that she would get more answers.

Instead, she was determined, more now than before, to get those answers from Jack.

But, before she could ask him anything, Jack began to speak. He said each word slowly and quietly, almost as if reciting—or, she realized, quoting. "'Looking back, I have this to regret'," he said, and she noticed that his voice was eerily hollow. His brown eyes never left the picture he held delicately in his hand. "'That too often when I loved, I did not say so'."

She took a step back from him. This was not the Jack Kelly, ghost extraordinaire, that she had come to know. Something was wrong.

And that's when it occurred to her—he was not speaking to her. He did not even realize that she was there. His only focus was on the photograph he held limply in his hand.

"Oh, no you don't," she huffed, before pushing at his arm, trying to get his attention. But it seemed as if her earlier assessment had been correct; Jack did not notice her at all. At that moment, his form—or, everything but the hand that held the picture, she assumed - was tangible. Her hand went right through his arm and, when she realized that had happened, Diana hurriedly jerked her arm back; she felt like she was almost violating him by passing through his ghost form.

She looked back at him, then at the edge of the picture that was in his hand, and had another idea. It's simple but it just might work. And, before he could react, Diana snatched the photo right out of his hand. She was careful to keep it face down and away from her own sight. Just in case.

Once his gaze had been ripped away from that old photo, Jack seemed to come back to himself. He scratched the top of his head in a confused manner before turning around and looking at Diana. "I'm sorry. Did you just say something?"

Keeping her hand behind her back, deliberately hiding the picture of Stress and Fae, Diana chewed on her puffed-out bottom lip. He doesn't know that he just spaced out on me like that? Or is he ignoring it so I don't ask him about his spell there.

She shook her head slightly and assumed a grin. If she went with the thought that he did not remember what had just happened to him, then maybe he would not remember that she already attempted to ask him about the girl in the picture. She tried again. "Jack, who was Stress?"

He looked at her and his expression went suspicious, his forehead furrowing as one of his eyes squinted at her. "Why?"

Now that's more like it. At least he didn't go all weird on me this time. A suspicious Jack I can handle. "Well, you see…" Wait… how the hell am I supposed to tell him I know about her without mentioning the damn picture? Crap.

Jack held up his hand, cutting her off. "Did I show you a picture, kid?"

Oopsie. He already knows. Diana nodded but that was all she did. She definitely did not offer the picture back to him.

But Jack did not ask for it, either. Instead, he, as possible as it was for a ghost, paled. "Did you…did you see anythin' in that picture?"

Again, she nodded. She did not like where this was going. It seemed to her that he was on the verge of another frozen in time moment like he had had before.

But, this time, she was prepared. He was not going to go all weird on her and prevent her from getting back to her aunt's house if she could help it. "It was nothing big, Jack. Just two girls, Stress and—"

"Fae, I know." He rubbed his eyes and took two steps backwards until the back of his knees bumped into the edge of the bed.

Solid again, she noticed absently as he sat down on the bed. "Listen, Jack, it's getting late and I—"

"You're the first one who saw anythin' in that picture, kid," he admitted, for the second time interrupting her. His voice sounded as hollow as it did earlier—but not hollow as in unfeeling; hollow as in feeling too much pain.

His words caused her intended exit to be postponed for a bit. She was not too sure if she understood exactly what he meant and that sense of confusion distracted her. Does he mean like a vision? Assuming that was what he meant, she waved her hand. "It was nothing, really, Jack."

He was already shaking his head. "You don't understand, Diana. It's somethin', alright. None of the other girls has ever… ever… got somethin' from a picture of her. Never ever." The way he said it made it sound like it was a bad thing.

Diana was even more confused now. "Who? Fae?" She was beginning to think that maybe the Irish girl with the strange colored eyes was more important than she had first thought. After all, Jack had only been too ready to supply the name when Diana mentioned the picture. If he did not remember anything from that brief spell, how did he know which picture it was?

Unless, of course, that was the only picture that either girl appeared in. She rubbed her right temple. With all this puzzled thinking, her headache was returning back to her, full-force.

Jack glanced up at her and she could see that he was as confused as she was now. "Fae? What? No. The other girl."

It was at that moment that she let her confusion got the better of her. "Jack, who the hell is she? Tell me, already, damn it." She crossed her arms over her chest now, frustrated. Diana felt like all she was getting was the run around dealing with him and she did not like it one bit.

A sad smile came to his face and, almost at once, Diana felt guilty for causing that pout to form. "Why, kid, she's the one."

"The one?"

"Yeah, Stress, sh—" he began before stopping abruptly. With a raised eyebrow and a sharp sigh, he looked down at his body—or, rather, what was left of it. For no discernable reason, the ghost boy was fading away.

Her green eyes very nearly popped out of her head when she saw that. Anytime before, when he had gone tangible, Diana could still see him as the boy he was. She only realized that he was not solid when some object was able to pass through him. But now… there was no doubt about it, Jack was disappearing. She could see the wall behind him clearly through him. "Jack, what's going on?"

But Jack did not look worried, just annoyed. He shut his mouth tightly, pressing thin lips together, while remaining still. Diana could not understand exactly what he was doing but could not bring it upon herself to ask.

That was all right, though; after a few minutes of silence Jack began to come back. Slowly, his color returned and his shape seemed to fill out. Then, when he was fully himself again, and he could risk speaking, he swore. "Damn."

"'Damn'?" she repeated, almost in disbelief. "Is that all you can say, Jack? What was that?"

Jack shook his head slowly, a bit of a reddish hue coming to his cheeks. "I thought, maybe…"

Huh? What kind of answer is that? "Maybe what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I thought that since you could see Str—see her, that maybe it was okay now," he answered. Diana stared at him. He still was not making any sense to her. "Well, you see, I can't really talk about her at all. One of the rules. I thought that since you brought her up—you knew her name and all—that you were finally the one that I could speak to about her. But, nope. The same thing always happens. Whenever I happen to bring her up, the Devil calls on my soul and tries to bring me to Hell a bit early. And, I tell ya, he almost got me that time. Damn."

Diana tried her best to digest this additional information. "Wait… are you telling me that you're not even allowed to mention the girl that we're supposed to be saving?" She blinked, obviously struggling to understand how such an important rule had been left out in his explanation. "How are you even supposed to find out who killed her if you can't say her name?"

Jack smiled but the humor of the gesture did not extend to his eyes. She could tell it was not a smile of happiness but one of intense irony. "Didn't you wonder why it's taken me a hundred years and I still don't know what happened that night?"

Diana opened her mouth to reply but, before even one word had been uttered, she clamped her jaw shut. There was simply nothing she could say in response to that just then…

She let go of Jack's arm once they were outside of the wall, glad that he finally agreed that it was time she went home for some sleep (and, perhaps, a shower and some dinner). Diana knew that if he had more room in that little nook of his, he never would have let her return back to Duane Street; he was that intent on following up on this quest of his.

The sun was slowly beginning its descent but, whether or not it was hidden behind the city's skyscrapers, it really did not matter; like the night before, Diana could still see everything out on the street before her. It was a bit dark on the side street that the bank was on—which was a good thing. Just how would she have been able to explain it to any passerby who might have seen her walking through the wall? Just call me Shadowcat, she thought to herself turning back to look over her shoulder at Jack.

He was looking a lot better than before, even if he did look a little disappointed. The two of them had spent the entire day within the confines of the small room but he had gotten no further in discussing what exactly he expected Diana to do; after repeating everything he had told her the night before—she was still having a hard time believing it all—Jack had realized that she was going to be no further help until she understood that he really was a ghost, and that she really was talking to him.

As soon as they had made it out on the (thankfully vacant) street, Jack paused, leaning up against the brick wall. "So, uh, kid, you want me to walk you back to your aunt's place?" As he spoke, he rubbed at the back of his neck and Diana could tell that he did not really want her to accept his offer; his very expression and mannerism told her that he had a lot of things on his mind and that he would rather not waste his time baby-sitting her but he would if she wanted him to.

"Um…" Diana really did not want to bother him and, as it was, she would have loved to finally have some time alone. But there was one small problem: she had only just arrived in Manhattan the night before and, due to her heavy thoughts on the way to Jack's hideaway, she had no idea where exactly she was or how she was supposed to find her way back to her aunt's building. She could, she knew, flag down a taxi and take a cab ride back, but after the adventure from the day before, the option was not all that appealing.

Jack lowered his arm before crossing both of his in front of his chest. He nodded at her. "It ain't a hassle, you know. I could get you back, no problem."

"Yeah," she agreed, gesturing vaguely over her shoulder. "I really don't want to be a bother and all but I really don't know where I am." She grinned sheepishly, feeling a bit like a fool for landing herself in such a strange situation. There she was, lost in New York City, with only a dead newsboy as a companion. "And, uh, I'm not too sure that I'll be able to find my way back."

He nodded. He had been figuring that.

But that did not necessarily mean that he was going to walk her all the way back. It was as if, with the arrival of Diana Mason, he had realized just how little time remained—only two months—and how much still had to be done—everything—in that time.

"Okay, I'll help. Why don't you just close your eyes and—"

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? I'm gonna help you. You need to get back to Ria's place and I got just the way. You shut your eyes and I'll, well, I'll send you there."

"How?"

She did not think that he could look more amused if he tried. "How do you think, kid?"

Diana thought it over for a second. She was definitely a bit wary of accepting supernatural help from an admitted ghost. But, then again, if it could get it back to her aunt's house quicker than walking—and it probably would be safer than chancing another trip in a taxi—than it might just be an okay idea.

"Alright. Fine. I'm in." And she shut her eyes.

Jack watched as those green eyes were hidden from sight and, for a second, tried not to notice just how similar she was to… He shook his head. If he was going to transport her back to Duane Street, he was going to need all the concentration he could get. As it was, he hoped he had enough energy to actually get her there.

So, with a deep breath and a brisk exhale, Jack Kelly blinked. The girl vanished. And, with another, more half-hearted exhale—one that sounded suspiciously like he was panting—he blinked again. He, too, was gone.

And a tourist, who was currently walking down Broadway and had stopped to tie his shoe only to witness the disappearance of a teenage girl, just shook his head and decided that it was high time to return to his hotel room for the night.

She opened her eyes and, almost as quickly, shut them. Her head was a bit fuzzy and she felt disoriented all of a sudden. Okay… note to self: never take Jack up on an offer for help again. Sheesh.

Shaking her hand, trying to get rid of the woozy feeling, Diana opened her eyes—before blinking and trying to figure out just how it had gotten so dark so fast. As far as she knew, all she had done was close her eyes and allow Jack to send her downtown. But now… there was no sign of the sun in the sky, the neon lights were everywhere.

What time is it?

Glancing down at the silver watch resting on her left wrist, Diana was surprised to find that it was nine. Nine o'clock—three hours from the last time she had checked her watch… which, from what she had figured, should have only been about five minutes ago.

Ah, crap… what the…? Nine? But it was six, wasn't it? I mean, I thought… Oh, man… Aunt Ria is going to kill me!

"Miss Mason?"

She whipped her head around, glancing around for the voice. It was a man's voice, urgent and gravely, and she recognized it at once.

"Mr. Kloppman?" The old man was standing at the end of the block, his back to the entrance at No. 9 Duane Street. There was a hat perched atop his head and his hands were crossed in front of him; when Diana met the direction of his stare, he lifted a wrinkled hand and beckoned her closer. She started to head down the street. "Mr. Kloppman!"

He continued to wave her forward. "Miss Mason, it's so good to see that you're back. Your aunt," he said, as she got to his side and he led her into the building, "has been so worried."

Diana gulped, her mind racing. Just then, she had no idea what she was supposed to say—there really was no way to explain her disappearance, after all. Even she did not know where the last few hours had gone. "Uh… Sorry? I—"

The butler's head shook sharply, cutting off her excuse, but, from his profile, she could see that he did not look angry. In fact, he appeared to be almost amused as the pair of them crossed the lobby and approached the elevator. Kloppman used a gnarled finger to call the elevator but, still, he said nothing. Diana, following suit, kept her mouth shut. She did, however, gulp as the elevator rang and they climbed inside.

When they exited the elevator at the top floor, a sudden case of flapping butterflies, brought on by nerves, began to settle in her unsettled stomach. She knew that Kloppman had to be right; Ariadne must have been worried, or angry, or both, in order to send her butler out to find her. As such, the girl was dreading meeting her aunt again. She knew that she had promised to be home by dinner and, well, unless her watch was lying, it was after nine.

Still without another word, Kloppman led her to the apartment door, through the front room and right into the den where, based on the activities of the night before, she knew she would find her aunt.

The old man paused outside the door, allowing her to pass by him and enter into the den. Then, when she had entered the room, Kloppman left and went, presumably, to get ready for bed; that left just Diana and her aunt.

She gulped again. Just then, as she watched as Ariadne rose to her feet, her normally impassive face drawn together in a worried frown, Diana thought that she would rather spend the rest of the evening with Jack and his extensive photo collection.

"Diana," the woman began and held up a hand when her niece tried to begin to cut in and apologize, "please take a seat."

Still silent, Diana did as she was told. She sat in one of the straight-back black chairs that were set across from the one her aunt had been occupying.

As soon as her niece had taken a very hesitant seat, Ariadne did the same. Then, placing her hands out in front of her and folding them gently, she said, "Diana, dear… I think there's something we need to talk about."

Author's Note: And, finally, we got out of that stupid little room. I was beginning to think that Jack and Diana were going to spend the next two months holed up in that room. Now that I've gotten some of the background out of the way, I can actually start the search... and focus on some of Jack's powers, too.