I ment to post this earlier this morning, but my internet was down for much of the day, and I only got around to it now. So sorry. But please enjoy it now anyway.
Chapter Twenty Nine: A Needed Walk
The weeks crept by at a painfully slow pace. Newkirk wasn't even very sure what seemed to make time fly so slowly. But after only a few days, he came under the conclusion that being released from prison was almost pointless. The public's harsh opinions and unsympathetic questions converted Peter into a prisoner of a different sort.
He never went out with Harry anymore. It would be a while before Newkirk would feel comfortable working the streets of London again. For the most part, Newkirk confined himself to the Stitch in Time tailor shop, helping Marty on a daily basis instead of a semiweekly one. The only time he left the shop was to run an errand for Nina every now and then. But even in those few instances, he would ask if Harry could do it instead. He just hated being out in public. Newkirk was developing an extremely reclusive nature. He was bitter, he was paranoid, and he was hurt.
The bitterness came from a resentment of the people of London who were so quick to hate him and jeer, but so slow forgive him or just view him as a remorseful human being. They had no trouble viewing him as a monster, someone wicked and alien to themselves. But no one seemed to just see him as a person, as someone who had made a mistake but who wished to reconcile it. No one would choose to look at that repentant side of him because they were too busy looking at the flawed side, too content in their hatred. So a subtle bitterness began to sizzle somewhere in Newkirk's core, and he could only wait to see if it would evaporate over time, or dry out and harden into an impenetrable callous over his heart.
Newkirk was also paranoid after his unpleasant experience with the media. When he left the tailor shop, visions of the next morning's newspaper would flash into his mind, displaying pictures of Newkirk on the front page with another lie streamed over the article like a parade banner. His bitterness towards the London people fed his hesitation to trust them again. He wanted to be normal again. He wanted to walk about town as he once had, but he also didn't want to be lied about again. Newkirk had developed a sensitivity to what people were saying about him, although he would never admit it. Newkirk had never been one to care about what other people thought. But perhaps, in the quietness of his own mind, he could be brave enough to admit that somewhere deep inside of him, it hurt when he knew other people were lying about him. He didn't have to be loved by all. That wasn't his goal. He just couldn't stand being despised by all. So a paranoia sunk in, one that had him looking over his shoulder, and kept him from smiling.
But most of all, Newkirk was hurt. He was mourning. He had lost one of the most important people in his life. Over the recent months, Peter had relinquished a part of his heart to Stephanie. It wasn't like he could just take it back either. Once he had given it, it was hers for good. And now that they were apart, his heart throbbed with an aching desire to be reunited with the missing piece. It truly only felt right when they were together.
But Newkirk's sense of guilt outweighed his sense of longing. The Duke had been right. It was Newkirk's fault that Stephanie was publicly humiliated. As long as he kept his distance from her, Stephanie had a chance to regain her good name. The very same name that Newkirk had dragged through the dirt could still be restored to its original level of respectability. All he had to do was just stay away. And it seemed to be working. Everyday, the number of stories about the whole affair dwindled and were moved to less and less prominent pages in the various newspapers. Still, Newkirk knew it would take a long time before Stephanie could fully build her reputation back up.
As the days passed, and Newkirk continued to seek isolation from the rest of the world, his strange behavior did not go unnoticed by the friends who surrounded him on a daily basis. Marty especially was keenly aware of the younger man's self-imposed exile. The old tailor watched as Newkirk slipped further into his reclusive depression. But Marty wasn't about to let that boy throw his whole life away due to one bad experience. Something had to be done about it.
"Peter, my boy," Marty called on a particularly clear Autumn day.
Newkirk looked up from the seams of a dark blue vest.
Marty stood from his own worktable and reached for his personal overcoat. "I need to run an errand and I should like it if you came along," he said, slipping his arms through the woolly tan sleeves.
Newkirk glanced at the large store window and watched as passersby marched on their way towards errands of their own. Looking back at the tailor, Newkirk replied, "A bit busy with this vest 'ere-"
"The vest can wait," Marty interrupted, "I happen to know that order isn't due for another few days."
"Well, maybe Harry could 'elp."
"I'd really prefer it be you. So come on."
Newkirk hesitated for a moment, trying to think of another excuse that might have better success. Finally, Newkirk sighed as he stood from the work bench and reached for his own jacket.
The pair stepped out of the tailor shop and into the nippy air. Other pedestrians bumped by them, paying no heed to the face which was once the icon of the biggest scandal in London.
"So…where're we 'eaded?" Newkirk asked.
Marty tightened his coat. "We are headed…" he glanced around, almost aimlessly. His voice was slightly visible as his breath clung to the chilly air, creating a fleeting fog. He pointed with a vague gesture, "in that direction." And they started walking.
Newkirk's eyes were fixed on the sidewalk directly in front of him for a long time. He kept Marty's shoes in his line of vision so that he could follow the tailor's direction, but Newkirk never looked up unless he had to. They walked several blocks that way and after a while, Newkirk's curiosity got the better of him and he raised his head. He took a look around him before asking, "So exactly what is this errand we're on?"
"We're doing it now," Marty answered. He looked to his side and caught Newkirk's questioning expression. The older man hiked his shoulders, "I just wanted to get you out of the shop for a bit."
Newkirk rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, come on, Marty," he groaned, "What's the idea 'ere?"
"I already told you the 'idea', Peter. You've been tucked away for far too long now. It's time you got some fresh air."
Newkirk nodded with controlled irritation, "Alright, well, I've 'ad me fresh air. Thank you. So can't we just 'ead back now?" Even as he spoke, the young man started to alter his course on the sidewalk.
Marty's hand swiftly grabbed Newkirk by the arm and withheld his retreat. "I don't think so, Peter. I want to have a talk with you."
Sighing, Newkirk fell back into step with Marty and the pair kept walking.
Marty let a few moments of silence tick by before he began the conversation. "So, tell me what the trouble is, Peter."
"There is no trouble, Marty. I just like to be 'ome, that's all," Newkirk tried to make the words sound genuine.
But the old man knew Newkirk too well to be fooled. Marty shook his head slowly and let his eyes wander around the city. "No, that's not it," he said quietly. "I need you to be honest with me, son. You haven't been yourself for weeks now and I want to know what the matter is." A short silence passed before Marty added, "I want to help you, my boy."
Newkirk's eyes dropped to the pavement once more. "I don't think you can," he admitted softly.
Marty looked over at Newkirk and noted, not for the first time, the young man's posture. "Is it because of the cameras? And the news stories? Is that it?"
Newkirk sighed and shook his head, "No, not really. I mean, they ain't a walk in the park, but…you know…" the words trailed off as Newkirk tightened his jacket around him.
Silence filled the space between the two men once more. Martin knew that Newkirk would get talking again when he was ready. So the patient tailor waited for his friend to open up. It was nearly a full five minutes before either one spoke again.
"I just hate this, Marty," he said. "Nothin's like it used to be. Before all this, I didn't care about the papers. I didn't care who saw me when I went out. It was like I was invisible. No one could see me." Newkirk paused to let the thoughts form in his head before continuing. "I didn't realize it, but I liked it then. I liked being invisible. I 'ad it good before…but now…" Newkirk sighed. "I just wish things would go back to normal…I just wish none of this had 'appened."
"None?" Marty asked pointedly.
Immediately, Peter's mind flashed to Stephanie. He remembered all of their clandestine meetings on the rooftops of the city. He remembered the look of concern on her face as she doctored his bloody lip after the brawl with those two idiots in that alleyway. He remembered how easy it was to make her laugh with his impressions and how she playfully posed when asking if he would draw a picture of her. He remembered her timid expression and her shaking hands as he leaned in to kiss her for the first time. He remembered exactly how that first kiss, and each kiss after that, felt and tasted, and how every one of them shot shivers up his spine. He remembered how smoothly they glided over the ballroom floor, like birds across calm water. And he remembered the broken expression on her face as the Inspector pulled him away from her at the ball. The hurt, the betrayal in her eyes was still as vivid to Newkirk as the sidewalk at his feet. He could never forget that look.
"When…when I was locked up," Newkirk began slowly. "'er dad came to see me."
Clearly, Marty had not been expecting that. It was the first time Newkirk had mentioned his visitor, and it caught the old tailor a little off guard. Still, he maintained his composer and simply asked, "What did he want?"
Newkirk shrugged, "To talk. He 'ad a copy of the paper with 'im. You remember what it said?"
Of course Marty remembered. It was the first time he and Nina had discovered Newkirk's hidden life as a criminal. They had been shocked and dismayed to read the article and they both struggled to believe its accuracy. They eventually came to the conclusion that the accusations against his motives for dating Stephanie, as well as the other obvious lies, were completely unfounded…but in the end, neither one could deny that the boy was indeed a thief. It stung at their hearts and guilt and pity overtook the couple in the following days. Every copy of that article they could get their hands on went straight into the small furnace in the workshop, but even that couldn't erase the lies from Marty's memory.
"I remember," Marty said at last.
Newkirk shook his head sadly, "It made Stephanie out to be some sort of…" he searched for a long time to find the right word. "Oh, I don't know. But they painted 'er like a villain, and she didn't do anything wrong," he said firmly. "Now the whole country thinks she is some rebellious kid who wanted to steal from 'er own father! Or they think she's just naive and can't tell when someone's takin' advantage of 'er…and the worst part about it is…it's all because of me."
Marty came to a halt and grabbed Newkirk's arm, encouraging him to stop. "Now, wait a minute," the tailor warned.
"I made all the mistakes 'ere, Marty! Steph didn't do anything wrong. I did! And now she's takin' the heat for it. The papers weren't flashin' fake stories about 'er before she met me. People weren't tellin' lies about 'er. Everyone loved 'er before she met me. Don't you get it, Marty? They hate 'er now! They hate 'er because of me! She would 'ave been better off if we 'ad never even met! All I bring 'er is trouble!"
Now the two men were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. As the conversation grew more heated, more and more pedestrians stopped and watched. When Newkirk paused and saw all of the blatant faces starring at him, something inside him just erupted.
"WHAT?" he yelled, causing his audience to jump slightly. "What do you want from me? What more can you people possibly take?" He turned around in a complete circle, taking a moment to stare each of his watchers in the eyes. Everyone looked extremely uncomfortable by the confrontation, but no one gave him an answer. Newkirk grunted in frustration. "Get out of my way," he ordered as he marched through the small crowd and swiftly made his way down the sidewalk.
"Peter!" Marty called. But the young man's pace didn't falter a single step. Sighing, Martin started to follow him. But he hadn't made three feet's progress before a hand was on his arm, stilling his movements.
"Wait a minute. Do you know that chump?" the tone of the man's voice was one of disgusted accusation.
Martin glanced around and noticed that the whole crowd was now starring at him. He raised his head to look the tall man squarely in the eye. "Yes I do," he declared, purposefully making his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "I know Peter Newkirk…unlike any of you," his voice growled with an intensity that surprised all of the listeners. "You people who think you can understand the heart of a man after seeing ink on a page. You who think mistakes can be made, but they cannot be forgiven…just as long as they're not your own. Well, I happen to know that man more intimately than any of you could ever understand. I know who he really is, not just who he's portrayed to be by some reporter with an itching to sell papers. I'm telling you I know him. So don't mislead yourselves into thinking you actually do, too." With a jerking movement, Marty removed his arm from the tall man's grasp and turned to follow Peter, leaving the small crowd to watch in silence.
