Abstract Images, Chapter Twenty Five
I watched my legs swing like a pendulum, ticking fate ever closer until it drew too close, the heels of my bare feet painfully not hitting anything but if I swung too hard I would indubitably topple off the bunk. It distracted me as I watched them, marveled at how miraculous it was that the human body is capable of so many things, while their conversation grew to only a dull howl against my throbbing head. I was resting it against the cool panes of the headboard, hoping to downgrade throbs to minor reasons why I wished I were deaf.
So few were home that the bunkroom was devoid of any life in it; rough selling forced the newsies to sell later than Jack was happy with and even in twilight I was the only one in a bunkroom that seemed so much larger now, but so much colder too. The boys that were home were downstairs or on the stairs, their angry voices a mixture of grievances. Hawk had watched us swagger in, Blink clutching to anything that would guide him (his one good eye was closing rapidly, swollen until he could barely see) and I was fighting for consciousness in Mush's arms, still able to be embarrassed by giving up my pride. Without a word he had walked out the door. Half an hour later he had returned on Jack's heels.
"Open yer eye, Venice," Ranger reiterated softly, appearing from the washroom and silently stalking towards me, with a new bowl of water to replace the old one.
"It is open," I whined, waving dramatically at it.
"Girly, I'se seen plenty of black eyes and I know dat yers ain't open all da way. Ya don't keep it as open as it can get, its gonna get more and more swollen until its swollen shut." Her arms were on her hips and even if upon the top bunk I towered over her there was something threatening and imposing in her. It could be the direct contrast between her white blonde hair and darker skin but I had a feeling it came from within her, and sarcastically I attempted to open my eyes wider, finding they painlessly opened. She smirked triumphantly and handed me the bowl of water.
"It's stopped bleeding," I reminded her, staring blankly at the bowl. My nose had dried up on its own in the hour I had been here, and we had ceased the bleeding from the gash in my forehead. It hurt to move my face but I managed to move it into a 'so there' expression.
"Keep it on that nasty cut on yer forehead," Ranger dictated, shuffling around the bunkroom to straighten it up. Sighing I dipped the scrap of cloth and dabbed at the cut, wincing slightly at the compression of ice cold water.
"Dat don't explain why dey went aftah Venice more den you'se bums!" Jack was shouting, his voice penetrating the door to the bunkroom.
"She's a goil, Jack!" Wolf retorted angrily and I raised my eyebrows, mockingly checking my girlish figure and half depressed half relieved he couldn't see me.
"Really? I hadn't noticed," Jack spat out caustically. Neither Ranger nor I were inclined to shout at them to keep it down; she had paused and was listening curiously.
"Of course they's gonna go aftah her more. First of all, if wad deys saying is true dey were in a riot. And da men is gonna target a goil who's in a riot and is wearing trousers. It threatens dem. And two, she's an easier target because she's a goil and frankly can't fight as good as us boys can."
"I can fight just as good!" I screamed down, enjoying Rangers deliberate wince. "I was having an off day!"
She snorted and I smirked at the silence that had fallen.
"You eavesdropping Venice?"
"Yer shouting so loud its impossible not ta," Ranger retaliated for me.
"Ya should have told us den," Hawk snapped angrily and we exchanged an annoyed look.
"We can heah ya," I finally said much to her amusement and their irritation. They did not seem to know how to react however and their voices fell to a dull hush, the venom spitting out at each other rising above the din but it blended with other words like a foreign language. As close as I listened I could not distinguish any words but a steady stream of angry thoughts and reiterations.
"Wad are dey tawkin about?" I mused, rubbing medicinal leaves against my side, not accepting of their 'healing powers' but too afraid of Ranger to not use them.
She sent a look over her shoulder from where she was straightening up some of the bunks, disgusted by the bacteria that was probably crawling all over them. She adapted a masculine voice as she mocked, "Dey have no values if dey beating on goils now. But dey shouldn't have been rioting wid da strangers. It's dangerous now, especially ta be drawing attention to themselves. You should keep a bettah eye on dem Jack. I am keeping an eye on dem! Brawls are breaking out all over da city…you know dats exactly wad they're saying. Dey don't think. They just keeping talking."
"I think dey heard you," I said a little louder than I needed to be. It had fallen silent below, either that or they had trained their voices surprisingly well. I heard footsteps pacing across the floor as if they were coming from above, trembling far below so I could only imagine their vibrations. A sudden pounding of heavy feet burned into the stairs and after exchanging a quick look with Ranger I turned towards the door in anticipation, adjusting my shirt so I would be presentable.
I expected Jack, I nearly expected Mush or even momentarily blind Kid Blink, but I did not expect Racetrack Higgins to come wildly tearing through that door like the devil was on his heels. I reeled back with the force the door swung open with (he had not bothered to knock) and he stood presented before us like some beast, an animal that had been locked away and was finally released to the world, realizing it did not belong here. His suspenders dangled beside his tightly clenched fists, pants ending around immobile feet, his undershirt damp with sweat and what seemed to be blood, his hair greasy and unkempt, dark circles and a black eye surrounding his bloodshot eyes. He moved to the side, glancing around, and his eyes darted between Ranger and me wildly, looking for something I could not place.
"Race?" I asked tentatively, too startled to make a move closer to him. A few of the boys were suddenly behind him, creating a barrier, a cage. "Are you drunk?"
He started at me uncomprehendingly. "She's not heah?"
Nobody had to ask. Everybody knew as silence thickened the air between us.
"Well weah da fuck is she?" Hawk shouted, his voice cracking as he pushed past Jack to stand regally before Racetrack. He stared blankly back at him, his fist twitching and I knew he was going to strike him before he raised his hand.
"He don't know," Jack growled, pushing Racetrack aside, and his hand slipped over Race's clenched fist; something silver caught my eye before it vanished in Jack's pocket. I inhaled sharply but nobody heard. I knew why Race would have a knife in his hand, but that he would use it on an ally was beyond sanity, which from the look in his eyes I knew was beyond him right now.
"He was wid her. You said dey were together," Hawk shouted, glaring accusingly at Racetrack.
"Dey probably got separated," I put in my two-cents, feeling a responsibility to defend Racetrack. He looked at me furiously and the pure hatred in his eyes made my mouth dry. He looked away and back at Hawk.
"Look, it doesn't mattah wad happened. We gotta find her now," Jack defended him, murmuring agreeing consents of, "She probably just got lost in da riot".
Racetrack took a swaggering step towards Hawk, bloodshot eyes large and Wolf muscled his way towards Jack, both eyes trained upon Racetrack's hands. I could not decide where to look when disaster spewed everywhere. "We was getting out of dere, and when we got separated from da oddahs we just ran fer it. Dere was smoke everywhere. Dere was people screaming everywhere. I got hit, or knocked into, and I was on da ground and when I got back up she was gone."
"She probably just thought you'se were behind her and took off and when she realized you weren't and tried to find ya but couldn't. She'll show up in a few hours," Mush consoled but nobody was listening. They were staring at Racetrack; he was livid, deranged, and he spun around the room laughing before he stopped, staring at the mirror Ranger was holding in her hands. She had been holding it for me so I could clean myself off, and had been wiping the grime off of it before they came in. He stared at it intently and as quick as lighting grabbed it out of her hands and threw it against the wall. I winced as it shattered, the sound piercing and fell in an immaculate pattern around the floor. Wolf and Hawk moved to restrain him but Jack stepped in front of them, holding a hand out, a warning look in his eyes that was just as passionate as Racetrack's had been- if they came another step closer all former bonds of friendship would be forgotten and they would become the enemy. They stepped back, but the threat was still in their eyes.
Jack waited patiently but I knew he was urging Racetrack to speak. He was leaning against the wall, panting, before he looked up and straight into Jack's eyes. "She's gone. Swigs got her."
Jack growled like a beast at the murmuring that rippled through the gathering crowd, newsboys beginning to return. They fell silent and Jack stared back at Racetrack, alarm challenging his cool authority. "Wad da ya mean Racetrack?"
He seemed unable to speak and I pulled myself down from the bunk against Mush's frantic shaking of the head. "She kept saying Swigs was dere. We thought she lost her trolley but…" I waved an explanatory hand towards Racetrack who did not move, as still as death.
Everyone was cold and silent, weighting the implications until someone voiced, "Someone should get Spot".
"He's already coming," Jack proclaimed quietly, sinking to the ground beside Racetrack, ignoring the shards that littered the room. "By now he already knows."
I waited to hear him pounding through that door and racing up the stairs, expecting to see him burst through that door with flaming eyes and fly away hair, still unaware that his sister had disappeared. In every novel and in every play he would've on cue come bursting through the door. But this wasn't a penny novel or a second-hand play.
My own heart beat screamed louder than every other sound in the room for it was as still as death, and I tried not to think of death as I wrapped a string around my finger, watching the blood clot and the circulation to end, strangely fascinated. Every time I took the string away my finger would recede to its natural color, and I would start the process all over again. My glance flicked up to Spot, and I could see his fingers wrapped around some fool's throat, wondering and sure he would feel the same satisfaction I felt now. I shook my head. I knew I was not in a good state of mind when I could empathize with a serial killer.
He was standing there in the washroom, the gas lamps making him glow strangely, highlighting certain parts of his skin as the rest faded into ash. My eyes traced him up and down, thinking nothing, as I watched him wash his face. He had been out for hours, issuing orders and running an underground world I could little understand. I don't know who he had been talking to. I don't know what he had been doing. I don't know what he'd been planning. What they're all planning…I have no idea. I can only sit here quietly and patiently and wait for them to tell me to do something so I don't feel as useless.
As he walks away I watch him, still empty minded and numb. His eyes catch mine, his troubled blue eyes so dangerous tonight. He's subdued and quiet as he stalks away, leaving me with nothing. Leaving me to nothing.
Unable to take this uselessness anymore I climb out of the bunk I had been occupying; main leaders were gone so I did not have to artfully dance around them, trying not to infuriate them tonight. I silently walked towards Mush and Blink and sat down on the stairs with them. Nobody spoke but I knew they knew I was there.
"Ya should be sleeping," Mush said absently but I knew he didn't feel it.
"I should be out dere," I sighed, gesturing towards the wide, open world where newsies were scanning the streets and prominent leaders were making every contact they could. Briefly I wondered if this much fuss would be made over someone who was not the princess of Brooklyn, or a prominent character, but I shook that thought away- the newsies were as one and if one went missing, it became more than another murder or disappearance. I still wasn't sure.
Blink was glaring at me; I felt it more than anything because he couldn't open his other eye. I understood his fury when they felt they should be out there more than I should. But Jack had wanted to keep them at the lodging house, keep things running just in case enemies tried to take advantage of Manhattan's weakness. Finally he settled on murmuring, "We all should".
I could not measure this night in hours and how every minute was its own eternity, and I stayed upon the stairs with Mush and Kid Blink until the last candle had burned out. Drenched in a frosty darkness I clenched myself tighter, miserably aware of how cold it was. Every noise made me jump as paranoia forced my head to ceaselessly whip around, and discreetly I protected my neck with one of my hands.
The night was too long but the dawn seemed to come too soon, a night of extremes where the leaders came and went, every time hopeful faces were met with dour expressions. Eventually we stopped hoping and they stopped coming.
Just before the first rays of dawn tickled our tired eyes I stirred, unable to sit there silently upon the stairs anymore. The sleepless night had left me exhausted but something spurred me to movement, and quietly I stood up, stretching my legs.
"Weah are you going?" Mush demanded and I knew Blink was trying to find me in absolute darkness. It was still an hour or half of one before the sunrise began.
"I dunno," I responded honestly. "I just can't sit heah anymore."
They made a move to rise but I shook my head and once realizing they couldn't see me I protested, "No, I'll be fine. I just need to you know, get my bearings? Try to think straight?"
"Just don't go out of the lodging house," Blink approved and I murmured my consent and as quietly as I could I wandered up the stairs and onto the landing. I did not pause to think where I was going but my legs seemed to take me wherever that was, and I trusted them enough not to think, just to walk. I knew I was walking through the bunkroom before I even got there and my breath was held, hoping I would not wake those who could sleep. I should not be wandering past them now but I was in a trance and could not turn around now.
"Venice?" a soft voice inquired but I couldn't place it.
"Shhh," I soothed, not saying anything more as I slipped out of the window. The air hit me hard and I winced before I slowly became numb, still involuntarily shaking. I paused before I climbed any further, wondering if I was directly disobeying Blink. Technically I was still in the lodging house, or on its territory and that can be said as not going out of the lodging house. It didn't really matter now.
I climbed the fire escape as silently as I could, aware of how loud I was being until I finally pulled myself to the roof. I paced around, searching for that cigarette I had stolen earlier, cursing when I remembered I didn't have a match. I fingered the unlit cigarette until I still put it in my lips so it could dangle uselessly.
I was standing close to the edge, close enough to have my toes dangle off and I didn't move away immediately. It would be simple to slip off and make it seem like an accident. But I shook my head, tried to get away from those thoughts- Eloise depended on me for reasons I couldn't decipher, Spot would not have somebody to taunt endlessly when he came by, Jack couldn't have someone to ceaselessly scold. I had to make myself step away from the edge now, because it seemed all the more inviting. Briefly I imagined Camelot standing at the edge of this roof, any roof, staring down into its gaping chasms and taking that last final step. It could be what happened to her; nobody had seen Swigs but her. She might've finally literally gone over the edge.
I shook those violent thoughts away since my heart starting beating wildly and my eyes unconsciously started burning. I cursed under my breath, furious that I had allowed this to happen. I had promised with every fiber and ounce of my being that I wouldn't get so emotionally attached to anyone, I would remain secure with brambles surrounding a heart that's not worth beating, but I knew if any of the newsies (especially those I had grown close to) disappeared it would have sleepless and tearful affects.
I settled upon the edge of the lodging house, curling up into myself and hiding there, my head resting on a stretched out arm and blinking up into a sky so dark I wasn't sure there was ever really an end. Its complex beauty was overwhelming, the stars blinking down at me like a thousand whispers knowing that I'd never understand, but still trying. Stretched out there somewhere was a tomorrow and a yesterday, entwining into everything we'd never understand, and I was determined to see that tomorrow. The wind whispered ill fates as I watched a bird's pretty face.
A rattling escape and I blinked; I dozed off somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow. A kindly "yer dozin again" told me so.
"No I'm not," I said coherently but to the rest of the world it was a slurred murmur of 'noena'. I blinked and flinched, startled with finding myself here, in a perfectly normal situation. I could've sworn that I had laid down further from the road. I lifted my head off my arm, swearing loudly, wishing that the rest of me was numb but when I brushed the hair out of my eyes. I couldn't decide if it was my fingers that were biting cold or my face itself. Probably both. I winced and rested my head back on my arm, too exhausted to move.
Three days had passed since the awful occurrence; three days of dramatic bloody noses and a rise of statistics. I could not count them in hours or days but in the minutes of sleep I stole when deleterious things weren't promised or when they weren't looking, the minutes when everything stood still and legs trembled beneath me. I barely felt Kid Blink's hand on my arm, tugging me further from the edge of the sidewalk and his murmurings to urge me up were barely heard. He did not have to tell me how hazardous it was to lie down near the street, never mind to lie down out of doors at all because with this freezing weather and light clothing there was no guarantee we would ever get up, and lying down upon the street like a homeless child could mean a simple target, or an illusion of another corpse littering the street. No one wants to know what they do with bodies.
"Tired?" Blink mocked and I counted the circles beneath his eyes. The swelling had gone down and the bruise had receded but there was still a lingering sensation that it had been there, once upon a time. I couldn't even get my usual cup of coffee. The nuns had gone; left without a word of where they were going- maybe not even god would send them out on the streets right now. It was dangerous even for them. Maybe it was only yesterday when one had been dragged to the ground, trampled upon, in a desperate tango for someone's life. It hadn't even been newsies, sweatshop workers if I had heard the stories right.
"Never. I'm immortal, remember?" I tried to smile at every absurdity we had created over the last few days, promises of our strength and immortality foolish children's dreams that somehow made us feel better. It did not take the fear away whenever we left the lodging house, knowing that eventually our backs would be turned, but for whatever it was it was what we had.
He did not have a chance to respond before the series of clanking that symbolized a door being unlocked reverberated. "Why do dey need so many locks?" He hushed me before they came out.
"Mr. Blink and Ms. Venice?" We nodded to her stern face and graying hair and she beckoned us in and with a helpless look we followed her silently inside, disliking the finality with which the door shut. She did not speak to us as she locked the doors, and I should've been assessing my surroundings but I could only stare at my dull shoes and eye every scuff upon the wooden floor.
"If we were rich we wouldn't have had ta stay outside," Blink whispered close to my ear.
"Dis way please," she guided us without introductions and miserably we followed her down an even colder staircase. It was too dark to see anything but feel the slippery smoothness of the railing, like a snake's skin and I inhaled sharply, moving my hand away from it as the snake rose. Its skin breathed slowly as the head curled around, its giant eyes blinking down at me and a tongue red from blood slithered through its sharp teeth. I moved back whimpering, bumping into Kid Blink. The stairs were too small to support us both but he grabbed me before I slipped, lowering me onto the next stair.
"Are you going to be okay?" Blink inquired, kneeling above me as trembling I shrunk against the wall, wondering if rats accompanied me upon this staircase and I wanted to lift my feet up but not upon that railing. Lack of sleep promised hallucinations. "You don't have to come. You can wait upstairs if you need to."
"I need to," I responded and he gave me a hand up, trying to stop me as I moved down the stairs, misinterpreting me. I needed to move on, make it to the edge of that staircase and see what was down there. Besides, I had fought furiously and loudly with Jack all morning to let me come with Blink. It would be unsympathetic to everybody else in the lodging house who had listened to us fight, and I was not about to prove to Jack how weak-minded I could be.
I was relieved when we reached the end of the staircase, but the hallway we roamed was not any less dark and I moved closer to Blink as something small and furry passed my ankle. I knew there was a rodent infestation; there were few places to escape it in the city.
"Through here," she dictated and opened the door, not following us in and handing Blink a candle. "I trust you'll find it."
She closed the door behind us and the temperature was colder than even she was. I shuddered and simultaneously we moved closer to each other, an instinctive movement for warmth and security. The candle cast a dim light as we followed the straight hall, shining the light upon the walls and we ignored the cobwebs and chipped paint or paintings whose eyes seemed to follow us. I paused before one of them, staring at the portrait of somebody undoubtedly old, rich, and famous. His eyes looked down at me, and shifted from side to side, watching it follow me. Without thinking I reached out to touch it, only moving away at Blinks bark. "Venice!" I hurried towards him, catching up and we continued to find the only door of this damp and dank hall.
For once it was not ladies first as he moved in, blocking the door from my sight and scanning it. He did not have to squint and use every ounce of light from the candle, because it was dimly lit with torches and candelabras, that much I could see from peering even around him. He cast me a last pleading look but I pushed him in gently, because I refused to turn around and go upstairs, even for his mental ease.
Goosebumps shattered my skin as I adjusted to the frigid temperature and the hair at the back of my neck rose painfully sharp.
"Over here, please. I trust you are newsies," addressed another woman, younger, softer, with fabulous long hair pulled up. We moved towards her, walking the perimeter of the room as she came to meet us.
"Yer Ellen?" Blink proposed and she nodded, smiling sadly as she looked us both over, focusing upon his eye patch and the gash in my forehead, and maybe how thin or young we are. "Yeah, we're newsies."
"Coney?"
"No, Manhattan," he corrected gently and her eyebrow rose in the lightest surprise before it fell, a placid understanding coming over her. "We're friends of Coney, and our leadah asked us to come. They got their hands full today."
"I'm sure they do," she nodded somberly, and for once I did not feel like I had to explain situations to this woman. Maybe she was not doing the bare minimum of her work either, and understood what brought them here. "You're allies, I'm assuming. Coney, Manhattan, and Brooklyn. Staten's trying to be neutral and the others you aren't really on speaking terms with?"
"Very good," Blink agreed, as surprised as I was. "You…er…do yer job thoroughly."
Sadness always traced her smile, I was coming to realize. "Yes, I try to." She beckoned us to follow her and silently we did. I kept my eyes on my feet, watching them go forward when I wanted to turn back and run, refusing to look at every table we passed. Something touched my hip, and I gasped, wanting to scream, as I saw a mutilated arm reaching out. I stepped back, horrified and hitting the other table. Blink grabbed my arm, pulling me away as I looked back over my shoulder at a lone arm dangling over the edge, everything else hidden by white.
"Here," she said quietly, stepping back as Kid Blink and I approached the table, towards the other end of the room, where everything recent came. I winced, thinking of whose child or lover these people were, disappearing so fast their loved ones probably thought they would come home in a few hours. Not realizing they'd never cross the threshold again.
She lifted the white sheet from a small body and his face greeted us as we had once seen it, back what seems ages ago at Medda's. Curly hair brushed away from his eyes, closed, but he had not closed them- someone else had. His skin was pasty and chalky, his arms like they would crumble at the lightest touch. My eyes automatically went to his chest, to his brown vest stained with something dark and putrid. The blood was dried and old but not by more than ten hours, the wound revealed through his clothes. This was one of the moments I counted by, when everything felt like time had stopped. Nothing existed as I brushed his hair back from his forehead, unable to decide who was trembling worse, Blink or me, or who was paler between the three of us. He was so damn cold.
I lifted my hand away as Blink croaked out, "Dats him". I could not step back away from the table even if I wanted to run so badly, and tears burned my eyes. Somehow it was more tragic when he was only eight. Everything I harbored sunk to my shoes and I was happy I had not eaten, or I feared it would be all over the floor, or worse.
She waited until Blink nodded and she pulled the white sheet over his nameless head, and Blink pushed me back to allow her to do so. I knew how it happened; it was no different than every other street fight. There was no order, rhyme, or reason to it, his murderer probably did not even know he existed before he killed him. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Miss Ellen?" I croaked out, trying to become heard even if it came out as a whisper. She heard me though and sympathetically nodded, gesturing for me to go on. "Dere hasn't been a girl round my age dats come in, has dere?"
"In da past three days," Blink corrected and I nodded at the specification. It was a small shot we did not want to come true.
"Are you talking about Miss Conlon?" she asked quietly. "No, she hasn't."
"Hah, you don't miss anything, do ya Miss Ellen?"
"No, I've got ears and eyes everywhere. You newsies aren't very quiet about it. I must've heard it from five different newsies."
There was relief cooling my racing heart but not enough to soothe me, as I looked at a young newsboy who did not have a chance to be anything but a body beneath a white sheet, tagged and tossed into a shared grave. Besides, it did nothing to solve the mystery of where she was- it did not mean she was even alive. All it meant was she was not here.
"Death isn't something you can escape from. It's everywhere, lurking just around the corner."
"Well we're lookin ta delay it as long as we can," Blink responded tersely.
"If it doesn't get you one way it'll get you another."
"What are you telling us to do, Miss Ellen, accept we'll die before we reach twenty and give in? Leave Camelot for the wolves?"
"No. I'm saying do everything you can to prevent it. But some people spend their whole lives fighting death, never really living, so caught up with using enough caution to keep death at bay for a little while. He gets everyone eventually. Usually in the way you were trying to save yourself. It's that kind of irony he feeds on."
"There's no he in death," Blink responded, voicing my thoughts and defeating the personification that lurked beneath beds and in the deepest shadows, a skeleton wrapped in black whose icy fingers close your eyes and he breathes on you as you take your last breath.
"Nothing is certain," she responded, her pride and her beliefs wounded. I pitied her; in an environment that dealt with death as a profession, little things help- death always needs a reason, it can not just be a mistake and a senseless action. Things are less scary once they are known, once they are named. And death is no different. "Just be careful you don't forget to live. I know it is hard to take risks and live your life when so much death threatens you. But it's possible. Even in the details."
"Come on, Jack will want us back soon," Kid Blink urged, but I was pretty sure it was just to nudge us out of there. I wanted to leave this room and everything it held behind too, as subtly as I could but understood a woman who sees death every day misses very little. She smiled empathetically and gestured towards the door, murmuring, "I'll walk you out".
I felt slightly guilty as we left the dim room for a dark hallway and a dark staircase that was not built of snakes. I still kept close to the other side of the wall, slipping my hand into Blink's for the security he offered and did not let go when we made it to the landing and its artificial lights and stern women. Waving to her we left the building, releasing each other and listening for the clack of the locks tightening behind us. I almost laughed as I heard one of those tightwads say, "We need another lock".
"Trust us, we don't wanna be coming back," I shouted, proud at how stunned they probably were. But why would we want to break into a morgue?
"Wolf's ovah dere," Blink pointed out, and I craned my head above the thickening crowd. His back was turned, but his statute was noticeable. "We shouldn't bother him right now. He's got too much ta deal wid heah."
"He's Coney too? Da boy gets around."
"When yer dealing wid wad we got yer everywhere."
As we began walking towards Manhattan, distancing ourselves from an alley and performing the motions of looking behind our backs and making sure our route was untraceable, I casually asked, "Have you seen Spot?"
"Spot, eh?" he responded nonchalantly, but the raise of his eyebrow was not so casual and I did not miss the glance he sent me. I knew what he, what everyone thought of Spot and I even if there was no us.
"I'se just askin because I haven't seen him since da night of da riot. And wid his sistah missing you'd think he'd be showing up more." 'Live your life' still echoed unwillingly in my ear, and death was a few steps ahead of him, chasing his sister. He was the closest thing I had to being truly alive. If nothing else she said was based in an ounce of truth or sanity, she is right that you never know when it is your day to die, and what you'll loose by waiting for tomorrow.
"Why? He's probably out looking for her." But his response was too sharp and he finally sighed, pulled off his cap and wiped his brow, glaring at the sun beating down. It warmed our heads while our arms were drenched in the biting air; the sun was bright but the air was cool. "He's been thrown off really bad, Venice. We thought he'd be okay dat night, you know how he lashed out at everyone. That's normal for him. That's healthy for him. It's when he doesn't react that you know he's shaken to the very core. I don't think he believes we're gonna get her back; some part does I guess, he'd have to or he'd give up by now and go on murderous tear."
"So what's he doin?"
"He's looking fer her. He's ordering people about. He's scheming who could have her and how to get her back widout making a sacrifice."
"Good."
"No, not good, because though he's doing it, it's all half-hearted. He doesn't seem to know wad to do for once, he's out of control for the first time and isn't dealing the cards. The commanding presence in him is deflating which is fucking the system up, cause people aren't reacting as well to him. He isn't planning it well. He doesn't have a plan at all. He's doing the obvious, he's doing wad every family does if someone goes missing. But it ain't good enough. Those families never get their loved ones back. They don't know wad the hells theys doing, they've got no connections, and usually end up ruining their only chance. His status, his persona, the way he thinks was gonna safe her. I wasn't worried. But I'm worried now, and I get more worried every time I see him."
"He thinks she's dead?" The words escaped my lips as a matter of fact and sounded as if a stranger so detached and dehumanized had uttered them. I was almost ashamed, and could not look at him.
"I s'pose so. He doesn't even seem to know wad to do wid himself. I can't really blame him fer falling apart, she's his sistah after all."
"Right." Although I knew how wrong it was.
I would come to know how wrong it was as the next days passed in a blur of anxiety. I saw him rarely, but he was always thinner and more exhausted every time our paths crossed. We never spoke, never even acknowledged each other but through blank and desperate stares. Whenever I tried to attract his attention he looked quickly away and I was left with every emotion lying at my feet. I picked them up whenever somebody looked, but when they were gone I did not have the energy to keep up a masquerade.
Everyday we were slipping further away. Every moment brought us closer to destruction even if none of us would admit it. Penny stories or great plays sing how tragedy allies people, brings us all closer together, but in truth it tears us further apart. Hostile looks weren't needed for me to know that we blamed each other for her disappearance, or how violent the streets were becoming. We separated into elite cliques and within those groups we stayed silent and angry.
"Raise ya two cents," Mush challenged as the game droned on and we placed our bets, our distractions. Lady Luck was being hard on me tonight, and everything I had went to the pot in the middle, a pot I would loose with this disgusting hand. A good poker player did not need a good hand to excel. I was not a good poker player.
"Lemme see yer cards," Specs whined, trying to stare at Mush's hand for the daring bet he had made, even if it would be nothing another night.
"Yeah, cause dats definitely part of da game," Mush retaliated, sitting on his cards to keep them away from his prying eyes. I had tried to sneak a look while he waved them out of his eyesight, but had only seen a flash of colors and numbers that would not make a sequence.
The small talk roared in my head and suddenly it was a moment where everything became still and I was aware of everything- of every blink, of Mush stretching, of how badly my stiff legs ached and of how the blood flowed through me. I could not sit down here any longer. Melodramatic exits were overrated and overdone, but I could hardly fight the urge to leap to my feet and throw my cards down in five pick up. I searched for any excuse out, any leave for sanity that I was loosing the longer I sat in here, suffocated by my own room and the boys that were taking up the empty space. Unceremoniously I put my cards down face up and expectantly surprised faces stared hard at my hand, as I pulled myself to my feet and wobbled unsurely towards the door, pushing it all the way open when we hadn't been allowed to close it all the way in the first place, not with the boys in my room. I heard them shouting my name but when do we ever truly hear another?
The door closed with a soft forcefulness as I slipped away from my room and past prying eyes and presumptuous stares, but I ignored how unpresentable I appeared, and tried to barricade what they thought of me from my buzzing head. I had neither drunken too much nor had hit my head recently. I left the bunkroom, attempting to steady my breathing as I calmly walked the length of the hall, and turned back again, just trying to relax and stretch from the alert poison that was terrifying me.
"Shit," I swore loudly, hopping on my stubbed toe and cursing the heavens that had dropped the cardboard box by the door. Groaning I peered at it, debating whether or not to invade the inanimate objects privacy, aware that it was somebody's and that somebody might have secrets in that three dimensional box. Yet in that case, it was their fault they left it in a seriously public place.
I recognized the folds of Camelot's skirts that had adorned her the night of the gypsy's, and the clothes that she had lent me were buried beneath as was a journal I didn't dare open. Obviously it wasn't her doing.
"Venice!" Jack barked and startled I dropped the box, spilling half of its contents into an elegant pool at my feet. Deliberately I didn't move to life it, staring pointedly at him. It was only his fault. "Wad were you doing with that?"
"It hurt me," I growled, resisting the unreasonable urge to scream, fighting for the control of my voice. His face hardened at my disrespect, and I looked away quickly, arguing internally until I stared defiantly back.
"It ain't yers, you shouldn't have been going through it."
"Well it ain't yers either! And as far as I can see, it ain't anybody's heah. It should still be in my god damn room."
Jack only reminded me of the wounds I was reopening with each syllable. "It ain't yers, and ya should've left it alone. Now go on, get on to yer room."
"Wad are her things doing heah?"
"Are you choosing to ignore me, or is just a habit?"
"Jack…" I warned and he scowled darkly at me, opening his mouth with the fullest mind to tell me off for ordering him about but just as quickly his mouth closed again. I recognized the look in his eyes, and he was searching for a confidant, and had found an unlikely one.
"Spot put it dere," he revealed in an undertone, so quiet I had to lean in close to hear him. "He got da clothes out of yer room early dis morning."
"Why?"
"Do you really have to ask? It's nothing to worry about really…" he was struggling for words and typically even attempting to protect me even once he revealed his secrets. "Spot is just getting fed up and because of that getting over dramatic."
"So he thinks she's gone now?" My voice was rising and I could not stop it. "He's packing up her things?"
"Venice," he warned but I ignored him and stared at the door I was directly in front of. I scooped up the contents of the box.
"Is he in dere?" I demanded, my voice cracking with emotion. I shouted, "Is he in dere?"
"He'll have heard you now," was his only response and the only one I needed. I yanked on the doorknob and it swung open with surprising ease, and before Jack could react I slammed the door shut, startling him enough to stare directly at me but I knew he didn't really see me. I was breathing heavily and could feel his bated breath.
"Can I help you?" he drawled nonchalantly and I dropped the box at my feet. He stared at it, searching for something to say, but however or whatever he said it wouldn't look good. For once he chose to stay silent; silence was the most effective threat. His urbane smirk moved me closer to him and impulsively I snatched the half-drained bottle from his hands and with all the strength that had been hereditarily granted to me I threw it against the wall, relief flooding me as I watched it shatter into immaculate bits. The liquid dripped like blood.
"Feel bettah?" It was a coy act to protect himself. "I would've given ya some if ya just asked."
My blood was boiling and my temperature was rising, fueled by fury as I vehemently snapped, "I don't want some. See I don't need a bottle of spirits to hide from the rest of the world. I don't need the drink to kill others."
"What are you saying?" he said in a low growl as he took the steps between us three at a time, pausing bare footed in the glass that littered the ground. Walking on glass didn't affect him and it didn't bother me either as for the first time in days we stared directly at each other and faced a truth neither of us wanted to see or admit. I could not figure if he expected me to react or not, to honestly answer or leave it as rhetorical. I didn't care much either what he wanted.
"I said what are you saying? Answer me," he shouted, deranged and loosing it further as he grabbed me by the wrists and shook me hard; I was as unresponsive as a rag doll until I tensed against him. "You don't need the drink to kill others, yer find doin it all on yer own? That right? You fucking idiot!"
"Get off me!" I shouted, attempting to struggle out of his fierce hold to no avail. My leg shot out, getting him in the shins which seemed to spark his fury and he pushed me into a wall that supported us both as he leaned into me, his hand twitching as he eyed my neck. My pulse throbbed frantically. He had my arms pinned above my head and his hips thrust into me, his piercing eyes boring further into me than I usually would allow. I read the desperation in there, and the understanding my own expression was probably what angered him further.
"Get out of heah before you get hoit."
"No," I said softly and surprised he looked at me. I couldn't really go anywhere with the hold he had on my anyways.
"Venice, do you understand? If you don't leave I am going to hurt you!"
"You're not going to hurt me."
"How do you know what I will and won't do?"
"I don't," I shrugged. "But I figure if you were going to do anything too bad you would've done it already."
He scoffed. "And if you make me angrier now do you think the past is gonna stop me?"
"No. You're right, I'm not sure. But I don't give a damn."
His eyes bore into me for a second too long before he released me so suddenly I slid down, having to catch and support myself as he turned away from me and walked a safe distance away, looking through and out the window but not really seeing anything. "I've got alcohol in my blood, Venice. People have crossed me when I'se sober and in a good mood and I've bloodied em up so bad they couldn't make it to their bunk."
I didn't know how to respond to that so I said simply, "I don't doubt it. I'm not afraid of you, Spot." Silently I couldn't help adding 'at least not like that'. Terrified maybe of every emotion and lack of control you evoke.
"Well you damn well should be." He was loosing the remaining bits of control and I watched as self-loathing and destruction consumed him until his hands were behind his head and he was staring up at the sky, grunting and groaning as his fist spontaneously slammed into the wall, followed by a stream of curses.
"Wad are you doin heah, Venice?"
"It's Manhattan."
"Can't you mind yer own damn business?"
"No, I can't," I replied honestly and took the cautious steps between us. "Spot, wad the hell is you doing?"
"I don't explain myself to anyone." He repeated this emotionlessly, like a schoolboy for the benefit of his teacher and like some useless mantra that had abandoned him long ago.
"Yer gonna have to explain ta someone why ya just stood there and let yer sistah die. Why ya fell as a leadah." I could feel his rage even when he was turned away from me and I knew how he ached to do me as much physical damage as his morals would allow. "Please, Spot. She ain't dead. You know she ain't dead. You can't do this. Yer throwing down da cards way too early. And giving up on one thing is gonna make New York give up on you." I stood on my tip toes, trying to ignore how cliché I was sounding and moving as I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder. "I can't give up on you yet. Don't let me. You're the king, remember? The king of New York. So be a king, Spot. Make a wooden horse or something."
The silence was nearly unbearable and I thought it would never end as seconds felt like hours and hours felt like eternity. Finally I felt him stiffen, finally registering my words, and finally gaining the control and the reason to respond. Wryly he said, "A wooden horse, Venice?"
"They did it in Troy. Race told me about it."
"He would," Spot snorted and moved to wrap an arm around my waist and bring me closer to him, resting his head on mine and I felt the essence of him surround me, so close I smelt the alcohol and the tobacco, the newspaper ink and the combination of every borough in New York. "Can I be in the head?"
"As long as I'm not its butt, I don't care weah you sit."
He chuckled and the sound relaxed the tension that had been straining every muscle and every tendon, and was a promise of hope, if a fragile one. We stood there silently, staring at nothing but thinking of everything, and I stopped trying to read his thoughts and predict his actions, coming to realize just how volatile and fickle people were and how easily they are lead off course.
"Wad do you think?"
Somehow I understood exactly what he meant as I responded, "I think yer sistah is alive and waiting to save herself, but hoping someone is gonna save her. I think yer newsboys respect you and while we all like seeing the human side of you spin out of you control, you're their rock, their hero and nobody wants to see you step down from that. And you won't. Things are gonna go back to normal, so we can sell widout worrying about being soaked, cause we aren't gonna have it any other way."
"I dunno wad to do, Ven. I dunno who to go to and I dunno weah ta start."
"Yes you do," I encouraged and he sighed but I knew his mind was working, even with liquor taking its hold. He sat on the bed and I sat too. I tried not to let my pride show that he was admitting vulnerability.
"All my life I spent wondering what I coulda done differently. Thinking that if I got there a second sooner things would've been different. I dunno wad could've happened if a thing changed. I dunno if I'd be alive if I made it to a street fight sooner, and then I dunno wad would happen to me newsies."
"You can't save everyone. You can try but all your gonna do is blame yourself and there's no coming back from that."
"Have you spilt blood in da past few weeks?" I stared at him dumbfounded, unsure how to react when I had no idea where he was coming from. "No, I didn't think so. So how come you had those dreams about it? You haven't let go. Yer still regretting what you could've changed."
I had absolutely no retort to that, as I had played a game of hypocrisy and had been called out on it. I felt his arm around me, resting atop my arm as he pulled me closer to him and I relaxed, leaning into him as his arms encircled mine, tracing small circles in my hand. The light faded outside as we sat still, contemplating, but not really thinking of anything. Death is as fickle as people, and one never knows when it is their day to die. And if Death took me now, I would leave with a promise that I had really been alive, even in small strokes and soundless words.
MorbidlyArtistic- yeah sorry about all the blood and these chapters aren't cheering up much. Hey, at least Spot and Venice don't totally hate each other anymore! Haha.. As always, I'm thrilled your still reading and reviewing this story and I can not express my appreciation for it. Thanks and I hope this chapter was alright.
Emba- well I updated earlier this time technically. Well yeah, Camelot's going slightly insane, but she wasn't totally delusional this time. Yup, you'll have to stay tuned for the rest of it. I'm ecstatic you are still reading this and I seriously hope your enjoying it so far, and liked this chapter despite the morbid mood. Thank you for the review!
Scratch O'Brien- oh no fair, i've written three chapters to your nine. I'm a theater person too, I'm listening to Bat Boy right now. I hope you liked this chapter even if it was a little depressing. Syonara!