Part 21: Memories

Barry's POV

He was a beautiful boy. He looked like he was in his late teens, 17 or maybe 18. His shoulder was bloody and when we looked at it, you could see a bullet jabbed into his shoulder blade. Luckily, it didn't go any father. I picked him up in my arms. He was limp, motionless. What could've happened to this boy? The captain had me take him to his quarters. Margaret, Beth and Lizy walked up behind me, both my girls couldn't take their eyes off of him. Great. Beth was only 14 and Lizy was 11 and a boy had already caught their eye. I placed him on the table to the side of the room and once again checked his heart. Still beating. But I had no idea when he would be waking up. Perhaps when he finally did, he could tell us what happened. I slapped his face lightly a few times.

"Hey kid," I said anxiously.

Nothing. His chest was barely rising. Then I realized how rasping his breathing sounded. He wasn't well. He needed a doctor.

"How much longer until we return?" I asked the captain.

"Only a few more minutes, sir," he answered from the wheel.

I looked out the window and saw he was right. This was a lucky kid since we found him so close to shore.

We docked and I carried him out and down the docks of New Jersey. I ignored the people staring at my family and I. I rushed straight to the doctor's house. Margaret pounded on the door and didn't stop until the doctor came out.

"Alright! Alright! I heard you! What can I-"

He stopped when he saw the boy in my arms.

"Bring him in, quickly," he ran back inside and started gathering his supplies. I explained what had happened on the ferryboat as he examined the boy's shoulder. He carefully took the bullet out and started to do all kinds of things doctors do. After a while, the boy's breathing went back to normal and a little while after that, he shot up of the bed coughing like mad. Water and what looked like blood came out and into the basin the doctor had next to the boy's bed. When he was done, he dropped back onto the bed, apparently weak. He moaned several times before becoming silent once again. He opened his eyes and looked around him. His eyes were bluish gray, like the color of the sea before the storm. He looked confused and scared.

"Where am I?" he said in a voice that was heavily accented by a New York accent.

"New Jersey," I answered simply. I didn't want to overwhelm him.

"Who are you?" he asked looking at me and the girls behind me.

"My name is Barry O'Neil. This is my wife Margaret," indicating them with my hand, "My daughter Beth and my daughter Lizy."

He made eye contact with each of them before looking back at me.

"And who am I?"

Oh crap. Great, just great. He lost his memory.

"We don't know. We were hoping you could tell us actually," I answered.

His brow furrowed and he had a look of deep concentration.

"I remember pain. I remember falling off the bridge. I remember a face. A goil. She was scared..."

"What bridge?"

He buried his face in his hands.

"I don't know. Brook… Brock… Bro…"

"The Brooklyn Bridge?"

"I.. I think so…"

How the heck could someone survive a fall from the Brooklyn Bridge?

"He hit the water on his head. He will be suffering from amnesia for a while. I don't know when it will wear off. Hopefully it will come back over time. But I'm not sure. This boy is very lucky to have survived a fall that high. Very."

I paid the doctor and then returned to speaking to the boy.

"You are form Brooklyn," I said. It wasn't a question. His accent gave it away he was from New York. The Brooklyn Bridge told me where in New York.

He nodded, remembering a few things.

"Newspapers… lots of them…"

"You were a newsie?"

He nodded again. Staring off into whatever unknown had appeared in his head.

"The strike…"

"You were part of the Newsboys Strike?"

He nodded again. But as he tried to remember more, nothing else came to him.

"You don't know your name?" I asked again.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

I sighed. What was I going to do about this boy? I couldn't just leave out on the streets not knowing who he was.

I turned to look at Margaret. She nodded.

"Alright kid, let's take you home. Maybe something will come back to you."

He sat up with much difficulty and when he tried to stand, he fell back onto the bed. He was too weak to do anything at the moment.

"Don't do anything too drastic alright?" the doctor said patting his shoulder. The boy nodded and then with my help, stood again.

"Come on," said Margaret as she started to help as well, "le's get you home."

Carter's POV

"Race…"

He opened his eyes and looked up at me. Bandages were wrapped around his head and he lay in the bed that Spot had stayed in when he was almost killed by those men. He smiled weakly but there was no happiness behind it. I smiled back but it disappeared the second it came. I took his hand in mine. We were both recovering from injuries. Unfortunately, mine had a deadline they had to heal by. Mr. Ganderson talked to Cal but he refused to move the wedding back so that my "little scraps and bruises" could heal. The jerk.

"Carter I…"

I raised a hand to silence him.

"Race, there was nothing any of us could've done," Jack said from his place against the wall. He wasn't staring at us. He was scowling at his reflection in the mirror while trying to hold back tears. Jack had been beating himself up because he thought he should've helped Spot. He thought he should've been able to save him. Just recently I had convinced him it wasn't his fault. But he still felt the same way. 'I looked at Jack then back to Race. His eyes were closed and a tear slowly rolled down his cheek.

"He was…"

"Our best friend," Jack finished for him as he also closed his eyes.

"And my one love," I added looking up at the ceiling.

I don't think either of us was going to be able to get over Spot's death. And when I looked over at the calendar, my heart sunk even lower. Only 13 more days. And then I burst into tears.

(One week later)

Spot's POV

Who was I? It had been a whole week since Barry had saved me. But who was I? Why couldn't I remember anything? I knew I had fallen off the Brooklyn Bridge, but how? And every night I had nightmares. And each one ended the same way. A boy about my age with curly black hair was shot in the head. And then a woman's voice that sounded vaguely familiar screaming, "RACETRACK!" and then I woke up screaming. Racetrack… the name was familiar… but where have I heard it from?

Barry and his wife have been most kind to me. Lizy is darling. Beth is respectable and shy. The two siblings loved hanging around me. When they would talk I would listen, but I rarely said anything in return. I would normally stare at the key around my neck with the name 'Rose' etched into it. I tried desperately to remember anything. Anything at all. But there was nothing. I wanted desperately to remember but I couldn't. It felt weird, not knowing who I was. Not knowing what made me, me. Not knowing what made me different, what made me individual. I felt lost not knowing. I would sometimes cry because I wanted so desperately to know. But there was still nothing. Nothing at all.

(3 days later)

"Beth…"

She turned and looked at me. I wasn't looking at her, I was staring at the road ahead of me. Beth and I sat on the curb, just talking. Beth was a pretty goil. Her ebony hair complimented her pale skin nicely. Her eyes were brown and she was exceedingly fair. She smiled at me with pink lips.

"I wish… I could remember…" I said finally.

She smiled and whispered, "It'll come back to you."

"But when?"

"I don't know. Soon, I hope."

Then, she leaned over and kissed my cheek. When she did, something flashed in my head. A memory. Or at least the memory of a feeling. The feeling of someone's lips against my skin. I knew it. I knew it well.

"Beth… do that again," I said looking at her.

She stared at me perplexed but then leaned toward me and kissed my lips gently. And as she did, I didn't see Beth kissing me, it was someone else. A woman, exceptionally beautiful. So beautiful it took my breath away. Her hair was auburn and her skin was like wintry cream with a light warm rose undertone. She was like an angel. Her lips were red and soft looking, her eyes were a warm melting brown. She was gorgeous. And, too soon, she vanished as Beth pulled away and looked at me.

"One more time," I pleaded. I had to know her name. I remembered her, but not her name. I had to know.

She did as I asked and this time, memories of the two of us came. Her name was Catherine Bailey, Carter for short, and from what I could tell from the memories as everything about Carter came back to me, I remembered how desperately in love with her I was. And my love for her brought my memory back.

I had fallen off the Brooklyn Bridge. Carter was the one who screamed when Race, who was one of my good friends, got shot. Was he dead? Jack and his newsies came to help Carter and I when Calvert Smith tried to kill me. I was a newsie. I was the King of Brooklyn. And my name was Spot Conlon. I didn't feel lost anymore. I knew who I was. I knew me. But if I had fallen off the bridge, and I was in New Jersey, and I had been heah for weeks, then Carter probably thought I was… dead.

"I remember!" I said pulling away and jumping to my feet.

I hurriedly explained to her how crucial it was to get back to Brooklyn as soon as possible. She looked confused but she ran inside to tell Barry. I had to get back to Brooklyn. I had to stop that wedding…