Chapter 12
Spot rubbed his hands over his face roughly, halfheartedly watching the sun begin to rise through the window in Mary's spare bedroom. He could barely keep his eyes open as he sat in an old wooden chair next to the bed where Kate now soundlessly slept. To say Spot felt tired truly didn't begin to encompass the mind-numbing, soul-crushing weariness that had taken a hold of his body over the past several days. Saying he felt absolutely, fucking spent captured the feeling with much more accuracy.
But there he sat, despite the exhaustion that seemed to seep through his pores, waiting as patiently as he could for Katherine Moore to rouse from her drug-induced slumber. The last thing he wanted to do was confront the girl that had finally fallen into somewhat of a peaceful coma several hours prior, but he knew he had no choice.
Almost two days had passed since Flit had collapsed with Kate near the docks, and Spot had wasted no time in collecting as much information about the strange occurrence as possible. With his bird still recovering from some fairly nasty stab wounds to his leg and gut, Spot had been forced to seek out the few others who could relay the origin of Kate and Flit's attackers. But, upon finishing a long conversation with Skip, all of Spot's preconceived ideas about Kate's rescue began to dissipate. He had almost felt like scoffing when Skip had first relayed the details involving Kate's journey to Brooklyn. The young boy was well known for his exaggeration and his tale seemed wrought with it. But after receiving not one, but three stories that eerily confirmed all of what Skip had communicated, Spot had found it difficult to dismiss the emphatic boy's account as another fictitious venture. And after letting this information ferment for several hours, he began to realize that, in all honesty, he wasn't able to confidently deny any of the confusing claims he had heard. And he knew innately that the only one who could do so convincingly enough for at the very least his comfort was Kate herself. His boys, however, would probably require a much more rigorous screening of Kate once news broke about Flit. And this was precisely why he needed to get in front of this, well before the impending trainwreck could even commence.
Originally, he had insisted that she rest and heal for several days before he even attempted to approach her, but the troubling information he now was in possession of made him reconsider this. And, her behavior over the prior two days had only added to his inclination to speak to her immediately.
She had been erratic and completely incoherent. Spot shuddered slightly at the recent memory of Mary forcing a dose of laudanum into Kate's mouth while Spot held down her wildly flailing limbs. He wasn't sure if he would be met with more panic and violence when she roused again from sleep, but that, unfortunately, was the least of his worries. He knew the most important thing now was Kate telling him exactly what had transpired over the last five weeks, from start to finish. And if she proved incapable of doing so, it would be even harder for him to speak out in her defense.
Spot's eyes focused on Kate's form again as he heard her moan softly and fidget under the blankets that Mary had bundled about her several hours before. The bruises that lined her jaw shone much more distinctly in the warm light of the rising sun, her face still tense in sleep. But strangely, even in spite of her face's uncharacteristic hardness, Spot still felt drawn to her, having to suppress the impulse to reach out and stroke a curl gently off her forehead. He had always felt an inherent need to protect her, even when she had been with Jack, and now, sitting beside her, he was somewhat amazed at how strongly this feeling still surged within him.
To be sure, the natural instinct to shield Kate had certainly not been spurred on by her actual need to be safeguarded. She had been shockingly independent and even more startlingly self-assured when he had first met her. And as he got to know her better, Spot, the famed Brooklynite himself, had actually been somewhat in awe of her. The natural charm that had worked so flawlessly on all the other women he had been with, which had been quite a few, had fallen completely flat with Kate. She seemed to demand something more than the charismatic veneer that he had become accustomed to women swooning over, and for the first time in his life, he had felt himself complying to these requirements, almost instinctively. She had always had an uncanny ability to recognize when he was being disingenuous or stoic, and had just as easily been able to draw him out of these moods. Her skill was infuriating at times, but also completely mesmerizing. He had met many people who had been considered strong simply from the power they used to wield their perspective skills, but Kate's strength had lain in her amazing, yet subtle ability to read people. And perhaps it was this talent that had caused Spot to stop and take real notice of her, something he had never felt the need to do for most anyone else, especially the many women that frequented his bed. The closer he looked, though, the more he realized that it was the reflection of his own skills within Kate that made him pay attention. But, if anything, this insight only permanently secured his originally tentative investment.
Yet, because he had immediately picked up on this skill that Kate so easily employed, it had made it that much harder for him to come to terms with her complete submission to Jack Kelly. Even in the face of Jack's abhorrent treatment, Kate still seemed so willing to succumb to the clearly unworthy Manhattan leader, and this had angered Spot greatly. How could these two opposing forces exist, side by side, in one person? Why had she not been able to see what had so completely apparent to everyone else?
Now, though, as Spot gazed upon her still form, he felt none of the anger and resentment that usually took hold of him when he pondered on these questions. If anything, an immense sorrow filled him instead. He thankfully had her under his watchful eye again, but judging from her behavior over the past two days, she was much more than physically scarred by whatever ordeal Flit had rescued her from. And, ultimately, only time would tell if these changes would take a permanent hold.
"Spot Conlon."
The hoarse voice jolted him from his thoughts and he turned to focus on a somewhat alert, familiar face, but the blank, constricted stare that met him was not at all recognizable and certainly not what Spot had been anticipating. Kate looked at him impassively, fear evident in her movements as she rearranged the blankets around herself, then gingerly pushed up into a sitting position. The longer Spot continued to meet her gaze, the more he felt his stomach churn in uneasiness, her hollow orbs and flat features mutating her usually beautiful and vibrant face into a disturbing caricature.
"Kate," was all he managed to say in response.
Her eyes traveled up and down his face, still remaining eerily vacant, but her body shook slightly as he leaned forward in his chair. He waited, silently deferring to her for any cues on how to proceed, but she made no move to speak again, instead turning her head to focus on the window across the room.
Spot felt as if he were staring at a complete stranger. It was certainly Katherine Moore before him, but in another incomprehensible way it was not. Something seemed wholly unnatural about her and so completely offputting that it took him several moments to regain his calm sense of purpose again. Spot cleared his throat, hoping the noise would secure Kate's attention, but she continued to stare out the window emotionlessly, her wringing hands, however, clear evidence of the storm raging on beneath the surface.
"Kate," he said gently, willing her to respond in any way to his presence. But her focus remained elsewhere, her body trembling again as he leaned in even closer to her. He stared at her worriedly, wanting to reach out and touch her tense face as a means of comfort, but he hesitated, not sure if it would only make things worse.
"Kate, please look at me," Spot said quietly, somewhat hopeful that the earnestness in his voice would miraculously transform Kate into the girl he so desperately wanted to see again. She squeezed her eyes shut, another shudder wracking her body, but upon opening them, she again looked away.
So, out of ideas, Spot pushed himself up to stand in Kate's line of sight, blocking the window from view and murmuring a little more forcefully, "Kate, I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what happened."
Her gaze slowly wandered back to his, her green eyes dark and glassy. He met her stare warmly, attempting to silently radiate some type of understanding to her. But, without warning, she severed their connection by dipping her head down and mumbling, "There's nothing to tell, Spot."
Spot felt his next question spill forth from his mouth almost in disbelief, "Then where have you been?"
Kate merely shrugged half-heartedly, still avoiding his gaze. He noted the tremor in her body when his voice sounded above a whisper but was at a loss as to a softer way to proceed. He could feel his tiredness and frustration rushing to the forefront at alarming speed, and he was aware that he had very little will power left to subdue these feelings. Although Spot was well known for having quite a long fuse, his lack of sleep coupled with Kate's current inaccessibility were wearing on him quickly. But, even so, he attempted a deep breath anyway, steadying himself, and refocusing his gaze to calmly meet Kate's.
"Kate," Spot said emphatically, leaning gingerly over her until she had no choice but to make eye contact with him. "I need answers from you. You know I wouldn't keep pressing you if it wasn't important."
She visibly flinched at his close proximity and her eyes flashed momentarily in fear and distrust. A look, he realized painfully, Kate had never given him before. But all too quickly, before he could even address it, her face morphed back into a lifeless mask, her eyes staring through him as she softly muttered, "I don't have any answers, Spot."
He had a sudden urge to shake her, to snap her out of whatever spell she was under in the hopes of bringing back the person he knew and cared for. He so desperately wished to see the passion back in her eyes, the laugh in her smile and, at the very least, the life in her face. Why was she stonewalling him so inflexibly? Before, he had always been the recipient of her warmth and trust, and in a way, he supposed he had taken for granted the fact that she had given it so freely. Now, as he leaned close to her, he was very aware that the privilege she had bestowed upon him in the past had been a rare gift.
His eyes searched hers for a moment more, calculating his next, most efficient move. The last thing he wanted to do was push her until she broke, which he could tell would be relatively easy to do. But, if he applied no pressure to her at all, she would almost certainly give him nothing to work with. If so many other things didn't depend on her account of these clearly painful events, he would have left it for as long as she needed, but that was not the case. He quickly decided that direct, concise questions were his best bet. A rapid fire alternative would still hurt but would be over much more quickly than demanding the full narrative from her.
"Why were the Fiore goons carryin' you off from your parents' place, Kate?" he said, tilting his head slightly closer to hers, hoping he might receive a legitimate answer in return.
"I don't know."
Her whisper was barely audible, her eyes bearing soullessly into his. He froze for a moment, their faces mere inches apart. Normally, being this close would have made touching her entirely irresistible, but the heightened terror her body seemed to be emitting in response to his nearness caused him to back away from her and return to his position in front of the window. He pushed forward with the next query he had, trying not to feel the twinge of hurt her evident fearfulness had caused him.
"What were you doing in a tenement house in Queens?" he asked staring unblinkingly at her pale face. She looked back up at him, something familiar flashing through her dark gaze, but it was gone so quickly, Spot couldn't be sure it had actually happened at all.
"I don't know, Spot," she said, looking away from him once more. He saw her body tremble again, and he felt an intense pang of guilt surge through him, but he forcefully pushed it down, knowing that losing his momentum wouldn't help either of them get through this any faster.
"Why didn't you leave for all those weeks when the door was unlocked and no one was there with you?"
She furrowed her brows, almost in confusion as she shook her head slowly, murmuring, "I don't know."
To which Spot exasperatedly demanded, "Kate, did you stab my bird, Flit, multiple times, when he was trying to get you out?"
Her eyes filled with genuine shock, the first emotional response Spot had secured from her yet. He noted his own surprise as he saw the shiny glaze of tears in her eyes, and, strangely, he felt a tiny sliver of hope fill him, recognizing that any emotional response from her was a step forward. She shook her head, her eyes darting about wildly. His breath caught in his chest as Kate appeared poised to respond with more than her repeated confused sentiments. But, all too suddenly, the emotion seemed to deflate from her body instantly as she flatly replied, "Spot, I—I don't know."
Spot gritted his teeth as, for a second time, the tiredness and anxiety he was barely suppressing surged up within him. He stared hard at Kate, somehow managing to temper his voice into a low growl as he said, "I need answers, Kate. Otherwise, I can't help you."
She stared back emptily, replying, "Then don't."
And, before he even realized it, he had aggressively grabbed her arms, pulling her as close to his face as was possible, snarling, "Goddammit! You stabbed him didn't you? Why are you lying to me?"
He saw the fear flood throughout her body as her face paled and her frame trembled fragilely in his grasp. He immediately released her, berating himself silently for the inappropriate evolution his line of questioning had derailed into, and he angrily kicked the wooden chair that was next to the bed, hurling a definitive, "Fuck!" into the air.
He avoided Kate's gaze as he paced to and fro haphazardly. He didn't want to look into her eyes for a multitude of reasons at this point, the most important one being that he knew, definitively, she had been the one to attack Flit. He also knew that it had not been done with malicious intent, but as far as his boys were concerned, that didn't matter.
"I'll go, Spot."
Her whispered statement was barely audible, but Spot ceased his pacing, turning towards her. The look of desperation that her face had taken on had no effect on his hardened features. He squinted meaningfully at her for a moment, then with quiet certainty, stated, "You'll go if and when I decide it. But until then, Katherine, you'll stay here."
And without another word, Spot Conlon moved swiftly out of the room, closing the door securely behind him.
