RIDICULOUSLY LONG CHAPTER AHEAD. One might even call it epic. Consider it my gift to you for waiting so long to update. Enjoy...
Part II, Chapter XVIII
April 15, 1902
Brooklyn, New York -- Crown Heights
Somewhere between being attacked at the inn and ending up where she was, Emma had slipped into unconsciousness. She had no idea how long she had been out, but when she woke up, the room was dark with no window. There was only a tiny candle in the middle. She lay on the floor, her body seemingly broken, and slowly, with intense hesitation, lifted her eyelids.
The room was silent and the only thing she could see without moving her head was the wall a few feet away. She remained still for several, long moments, terrified of moving. She was even afraid of breathing too loudly, but the pressure of calming her body down from such panic made her tremble, and slowly, as if trying to escape an animal who had assumed her as its prey, she bent her legs so that she lay in a ball.
"Emma?"
She gasped at the sound of her name. It was hard to recognize at first, for the only voices she had ever committed to memory were those of her parents and Spot.
"Emma, it's me, Peter, I'm here."
Initially she relaxed at the comfort of the familiar, but she felt her body tense up again. She said nothing but she could hear Peter's rapid, uneasy breathing.
"Are you awake?" he asked.
Emma closed her eyes again and took deep breaths to ready herself. She picked her body up from the ground to a seated position and turned around. The flickering light of the candle showed Peter's face -- his eyes were worrisome and scared, and the expression inside them took over his features. He was sitting against the wall of the small, empty room. His wrists were bound together by cloth and the sight of them made Emma's wrists ache to her attention -- hers were bound together as well. Suddenly her jaw throbbed in pain and she tasted the bitter taste of her own blood in her mouth.
Emma stared at Peter, speechless, for a long time. She took in his presence, took in her surroundings, and searched her head for the right thing to say. It then hit her that Peter, more than likely, had no idea what was going on. He knew nothing of Spot or Brooklyn or this gang rivalry. It was why he looked so genuinely concerned; to him, she was the victim.
"Are you hurt?" Peter broke the silence finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Emma felt a flood of guilt wash over her because she looked deeply into his eyes. She hung her head low and shook it without a word.
Across the hallway, Johnny, the so-called runt of Crown Heights, was curled in the same chair he had been sitting in since he got there, with his feet slung over one end with his head buried into the velvet cushion on the other end. Asleep, his arm fell lazily from his lap and the beer bottle in his hand fell to the floor with a CLINK! against the other bottles on the floor.
Jinx opened the door swiftly and stopped to take a look at Johnny. He grunted angrily, marched towards the boy snoozing peacefully, and kicked the empty beer bottles across the room. They shattered against the wall into glittering brown pieces, and Johnny jumped up with a start. Jinx placed his fists on his hips with a chilling glare in his eyes. Johnny sat back down insubordinately.
"What the hell?!" shouted Jinx.
"It was just fer a minute -- I swears!"
Jinx scoffed and shook his head. "Goddamn, when I tell ya to do something' it means I want ya do it, not sleep it off!"
Johnny looked down. He wondered to himself sometimes whether or not being free from Brooklyn really meant that he was free. He was still kicked around Crown Heights -- he was even surprised they had come to rescue him at all. He hadn't been particularly special within the gang. But he had the suspicion that Jinx was using his kidnapping as a way to strike at Spot Conlon.
"I won't drink no more. I'll stay awake," answered Johnny, looking at the wall before him with the rocks situated where the wall and floor met. None of them were moving. He assumed the Brooklyn boys were asleep and he couldn't help but feel envious.
"Good. Clean that up," ordered Jinx, motioning emphatically towards the shards of bottles at the other end of the room. He left the room in a huff. Johnny stared at the broken bottles across the room and instead of following Jinx's small orders, he sat back down and pouted.
Bones entered the room a few minutes later. He switched his glare between the broken beer bottles against the wall and Johnny, who sat like a defiant child in the chair staring up at him.
"Did you do that?" he asked harshly.
"No, that was--"
"Clean it up!" Bones interrupted.
As Johnny sulked over to the wall, Bones continued. "Just so's ya know, we got the goil Conlon's shacked up with and another guy at the inn in the room across the hall. Check on 'em after ya clean that up."
Once Bones left the room, Johnny dropped the glass he was picking up. It was his only act of stubborn rebellion against the leaders of Crown Heights. He failed to see their loyalty in the current situation. He got up and exited his room, curious to see who they had captured. He knew they had surveillance on whomever Spot was staying with at the inn, but he had yet to encounter the captives.
Johnny hadn't expected to react the way he did as he went to open the door, though. His hand paused when he reached for the doorknob and the image of being held within the confines of the utility closet at the Brooklyn lodging house flooded his mind. He felt a tiny pang of guilt but proceeded to open the door.
There were two of them -- one girl and one boy, both of whom looked to be the same age as Bones and Jinx. They both recoiled in the tiny room; the girl gasped and threw herself against the wall, covering her head with her arms. The boy was undoubtedly frightened, and at first he cowered, but after a moment he scooted himself in front of the girl. His arms spread out at his sides in the girl's defense, but his eyes gave him away entirely; Johnny could see in the light from the hallway just how terrified he was.
"Please…we've done nothing wrong, please, just let us go!" said the boy.
Johnny suddenly felt powerful looking down at the boy. He looked behind him into the hallway -- the leaders were not in sight. The boy's jaw began to quiver when he returned, but he looked behind him at the girl. She had crept her head out from behind her hands so that her nervous face came into the light. He knew at once who she was. He knew instantly as well that she had done nothing wrong to be treated like an animal this way.
"Johnny!"
The young boy shut the door behind him swiftly as he positioned himself outside in the hallway. Bones marched up to him and asked, "They'se still tied up?"
"Yeah. Two of 'em. Boy an' a goil."
Bones smiled maliciously, his yellow teeth adding to his overall repulsiveness. "Tha's right. Didja get a good look at the broad? Might have a go at 'er once we finish Conlon off…"
Johnny gulped, disgusted inside but keeping his outward emotions in check. "So that's the plan, then?"
Bones stared for a moment, hesitating. "Yeah. They'se bringin' in Conlon right now." He scoffed. "Couldn't 'a been easier if we tried. He was just walkin' on the street and WAM! Knocked 'im out! Musta been beautiful."
A few minutes later, there came loud whooping and hollering from the rest of the building.
"We got 'im, boys! We actually got 'im!"
"Yeah, how's it feel, Brooklyn?!"
"Conlon's ours, boys!"
Coming up the staircase were two grinning Crown Heights boys carrying Spot Conlon, unconscious and limp, from either end of his body. There was something shocking about what Johnny saw before him. Spot Conlon was supposed to be a vision of intimidation, the most respected newsie in all of New York, and here he was, broken.
A group of Crown Heights boys suddenly appeared in the upstairs hallway, where they carried Spot into Johnny's room, following the leader of Brooklyn with anxious, euphoric faces. Johnny backed out of the way so as not to be shoved. Jinx pushed his way through the crowd as Spot's unconscious body was propped up against the wall next to the broken pieces of bottles. The Brooklyn boy's head fell to his shoulder, which slouched with the other almost lifelessly. Crassly, the rivaling gang members took turns scowling and smacking at Spot's face.
"Look at 'im, the little bitch, he's all ours!"
Johnny noticed the rocks of the Brooklyn hostages beating against the wall furiously.
Jinx crouched down in front of Spot, ready to speak to him. He gripped either end of his jaw harshly and said lowly, "I got you, you fuck." It was almost inaudible against the cheering noises and spitting insults the rest of the boys were making, but Johnny heard it. He watched from the back, entranced almost. Spot was still unconscious. He had no reaction to Jinx's words or actions. His face was lifeless and a trail of blood from behind his ears stained his neck.
"A'right, boys," said Jinx, turning around and straightening up. The boys stopped talking at once. "Think he's gonna be out fer a while, so back to yer stations, keep an extra eye out at the entrances. I don' want nobody bargin' in on us."
The group looked underwhelmed.
"Then we'll have some fun with 'im," added Jinx in response to the group's faces.
They applauded and jeered together excitedly with a combined sense of arrogance. They shuffled out of the room, down the hallway and downstairs, returning to their stations to keep watch and hold down the building. Johnny remained in the doorway as they filed out. Jinx approached him and looked at him sternly. A bead of sweat trickled down his stiff jaw.
"I gotta go downstairs. If there's so much as a flinch comin' from that fucker ovah there, you call fer me. If somethin' suspicious goes down in that room ovah there, call fer me. If anythin' happens with the hostages, call fer me. D'ya got that? This a big job, but I don' got enough boys to stay up heah while we'se downstairs too, and Bones an' I gotta work out our game plan."
Johnny's mouth was dry and he rubbed his sweaty fingers together at his sides. He nodded, intimidated by the earnest look in Jinx's stone cold eyes.
"Good." The leader strode down the hallway and before he descended the staircase he shouted back behind him, "Clean up that mess 'a glass!"
Johnny let out a sustained, angry sigh and punched the wall. He looked back at Spot's pathetic form. He stared at it for almost a full minute. This was the boy who held him over the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge under suspicion that he had gotten Sonny's shut down and his boys sent to the refuge; he had been wrong, of course, in that accusation, and really, he could easily have picked up the largest piece of glass in that pile and get his revenge.
It would have been sweet revenge and the opportunity couldn't have presented itself more clearly. But Johnny felt nothing of that in him. He didn't want to kill Spot Conlon. He didn't want to save him either, really. Instead, he had a better plan formulating in his head.
He opened the door to the room in which their two other captives were being held. Again, the boy sat in defense of the girl. But the girl gently pushed the boy's hand aside and stood up. She stepped forward with recognition in her face.
"Johnny?"
He nodded. "Emma."
She nodded in return. Her face was still scared and her body was still very guarded and seemingly helpless. "I know you're not gonna hurt us but could you at least tell us where we are? Please?"
The boy stood up and stood at Emma's side, bewildered and anxious. "Hey -- you better let us go or else."
"Yer right, I ain't gonna hurt ya." Johnny shook his head, dismissing the boy's ignorant threat. He pulled out a small pocketknife. Emma instinctively jumped back an inch, and Peter shoved her roughly behind him.
"I mean it! D-Don't hurt us!"
Johnny almost laughed cynically. But he simply grabbed the cloth binding Peter's wrists together and began cutting through them. He exchanged puzzled looks between Emma and Johnny, who paid no attention. He grabbed Emma's arms as well and did the same.
Still trembling, Emma asked quietly, "What're you doing?"
"You didn't do nothin' wrong. I know what it's like to be held captive fer doin' nothin' wrong."
"I know you do," said Emma empathetically.
Peter shook his head in confusion. "Wait, you two know each other?"
Both nodded. Peter threw up his arms. "Well then what the hell is going on?!"
Emma placed her hand on Peter's arm to quell him. Straightening herself out and facing him, she inhaled a breath of preparation and said with hesitation in her voice, "The reason I came here…to Brooklyn…was to see someone. We'd been friends since…I don't even know how long and I never said goodbye to him. His name's Spot."
Peter shook his head once more, furrowing his eyes. "Just what kind of friend was he?"
Emma looked down and mocked a shrug, unable to answer his question completely. "He's a huge part of my past. I couldn't take a step forward without at least seeing him."
Johnny crept out of the room. There were none of his fellow gang members in sight. Nor did he say anyone when he looked out the window.
"I don't understand, how do you know this kid?" Peter motioned to Johnny.
"I met him in the process of getting to Spot. See, it's a bit messy, the way he lives…they're both in these rivaling gangs -- "
"What?" responded Peter incredulously. "Gangs, Emma?"
Emma popped her hip out and placed a fist on it defensively. "Hey! You're not exactly perfect either, Peter!"
"Yeah but at least I live a civilized life and not on the streets! At least I don't get innocent people caught in the crossfire!"
Emma shook her head and paced in a small circle, holding back the urge to lash out. Johnny entered the room again.
"Emma, Spot's in the other room…D'ya wanna see him? It'd have to be quick and real quiet."
She stared nervously at Johnny for a moment but nodded. He ran out of the room and opened the door in which Spot was being kept. Hurriedly, he motioned for her to come in.
Emma had been able to hold back tears since she was captured until now -- she stared across the room at Spot's still, slouched body, all the life and vigor she had known him to possess gone. Before she could move forward she cupped her hand around her mouth and squinted her eyes shut tight through hot tears. It overtook her completely: the separate bloody cloths still wrapped tightly around her wrists, the collision of two worlds in which she never thought Peter and Spot would coexist, and the fact that she had felt somewhat at fault for having done so. Bolt had been right all along -- it wasn't safe for the two of them to be together. Had she not been so stubborn, had Spot not been so stubborn either…
She let in a sharp breath and felt her heart beating against her chest and heard its pulse in her ears, and it hurt. Her heart ached painfully. She willed herself to look at Spot. Johnny remained in the doorframe keeping an eye on the hallway.
Emma proceeded forward, forcing herself to stop crying. She straightened up and bent down so that she was at Spot's level. She took one of his hands in hers; it was warm. She felt the absence of coldness in his hand and it surprised her, but she knew that coldness in Spot's being had vanished. It was irrevocable. He had been changed. It overwhelmed her when she felt the realization and she became more aware of the pain she felt in her chest. She placed his hand over her heart, and she placed hers over his. She felt the steadiness, the calm, serene rhythm and closed her eyes.
Stepping out from the other room, out of the dark and into the light of the hallway, Peter proceeded slowly into the doorway. He watched Emma as she remained as still as Spot, the two of them together. He felt the pain the more he looked at Emma, who he truly loved, and also felt the sting of rejection.
"Emma, there's no way you can put yourself through this," said Peter.
Emma's eyes opened as she came back to reality and she was surprised at the directness that was so uncharacteristically Peter. She turned her head slowly to look at him and said, "What do you want me to do then, Peter?"
"Don't do this to yourself, it's not right. You'll be dead within a year if you stay with him."
She shook her head and turned back to Spot. She suddenly felt his heart pick up speed. He rolled his head from his shoulder and his whole body moved slightly. Emma's heart picked up as well at the sight of him moving and she grew anxious for him to wake up.
When Spot came to, he first felt his entire body in pain. His brain felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his skull with a hammer. He felt exhausted and his back felt cramped where his shoulders had fallen lazily to their haunches. But he felt warmth in his chest. By the time he became conscious again, he slowly opened his eyes. Emma sat before him, her green eyes alight but they looked scared, and they didn't match the grateful smile she had on her face. She brought her hands up to his face and held either side of it. He didn't know where he was, he could hardly speak, but for some reason, seeing Emma after having been knocked out for God only knows how long, he felt guilty. Among the exhaustion and pain of his body and despite the warmth he felt when he saw Emma, his heart ached. He instinctively knew she shouldn't be where he was.
He shook his head slightly. "Emma, you can't be here."
She recoiled and her smile disappeared. "No, I am here. I'm here."
"No, you shouldn't be."
Emma dropped her hands. "Spot…I wouldn't have come here had I not been forced to…"
Spot winced as the pain in his head throbbed. He reached back and felt the warm blood underneath his hair. The sight of his bright red fingers, and then the sight of each of Emma's wrists which had been tied together, made him woozy. He avoided looking her in the face and noticed Johnny in the background and Peter standing behind her.
"That's it, Emma. I can't do this to you," he said deliberately.
Emma shook her head, her face screwed up int angry confusion. "You didn't do this to me, Spot! I'll be damned if you leave me after I left you! What was it you told me just a couple of nights ago? That you'd never leave me and I'd promise to never leave you! I'm not going anywhere!"
Spot slowly stood, Emma doing the same, so that they looked each other in the eye. He felt invigorated again, fighting with her. He grabbed her wrists and held them up to her face.
"D'you want this, Em? D'you want the way I live put you in this kinda situation? No! I can't do this to you and I won't. I love you but I can't!" He dropped her arms and stalked towards the doorway. He hardly recognized Johnny for he hardly cared to notice his face.
"You -- we're in Crown Heights, aren't we?" he asked, pointing to him, but his eyes darting all over the place.
"Jesus…I'm savin' yer goil's life, the least ya could do is talk to me like a man," answered Johnny.
Spot snapped back to him. "Johnny…you…" He exchanged puzzled looks between him and Emma. "Why exactly're you helping me?"
Johnny sighed. "It's complicated. But all 'a Crown Heights is down there. Bettah get a move on with her b'fore I let 'em all know you'se awake."
"Where am I gonna go, Spot?" asked Emma. Her tone was biting, dripping with angry sarcasm. "Tell me, where--am I--gonna go?"
Spot stared hard at her. They locked eyes and for a moment he almost gave in. He flicked his gaze towards Peter, who was looking at him with increasing bewilderment at it all.
"You'se was at the inn…lookin' fer a girl," started Spot, pointing at Peter. "It was her, wasn't it?"
Peter looked at Emma, who remained staring at Spot and breathed heavily with a clenched jaw, and looked back at Spot. "Yes. We're to be married."
Spot felt his stomach drop to the floor but he kept his composure. His eyes jumped back to Emma. At the mention of her marriage her face broke down. She couldn't look at Spot and turned her face away, and it was all Spot could do to keep from running to comfort her and reassure her that she wouldn't have to be with Peter, that she could be with him.
Instead, he ran over and gripped her arms tightly, positioning her in front of him. Her eyes sparkled a harsh, fervent, teary green as he looked deeply into them. He suddenly felt a lump form in his throat as he searched for the right words, but how do you tell someone you have to leave them when the very thought of it breaks your heart? He knew that's exactly what it would do to her -- he was going to have to hurt her yet again and the sight and mere thought of Emma being miserable once more because of him made him wish he had never met her at all.
He spoke in low, passionate tone through his own inner anger. "You know that if I had my way…" he felt his voice starting to break and he gathered himself quickly. "…this ain't how I wanted everythin' to turn out. You know I wanna be with you, to spend the rest 'a my life with you, to love you till the day I die. You know that…"
"Spot, don't you dare--"
"No, dammnit, listen to what I'm sayin'. I can't have you an' keep you safe, Em. Look how bad yer life's screwed up 'cause 'a me. I can't walk away from Brooklyn--"
"So you can walk away from me?!" Emma broke from his embrace angrily and stepped backward. "Ask me who was there before you were leader! Ask me!"
"Emma, you know--"
"No! You don't know what my life was like without you! How dare you think you can come in and break me like that again! Don't you dare!"
"You was the one comin' back into my life, don't blame me fer that! I know it took guts to do what you had to do an' I nevah asked you to do it! I can't help the way my life is, Emma! I can't help what kinda past I got! You think this is easy for me? To let you go? To make you leave me so I don't get you killed? You got the option 'a walkin' away. You have the choice 'a bein' with someone who can give you a good life, a home, and safety. I ain't lettin' you walk away from that! I love you too much…" Spot's voice suddenly, audibly, broke. "…To see you not get exactly what you deserve."
Spot was out of breath. He bit down hard on his lip to keep it from quivering. Emma stared, trembling, her face drenched in tears. There was a sudden commotion downstairs and boys rustling all over the place. A gunshot rang out from the street but Emma and Spot were unmoved. There were heavy, thudding footsteps coming from the fire escape, and within an instant, Bolt appeared at the window. Out of his trance, Spot shoved open the window and Bolt crawled inside.
There were loud shouts and the leaders would be up in no time. Johnny stationed himself in front of the door. "Go now! Get 'er out now!"
They could hear windows breaking from the rest of the house, as more Brooklyn boys began intruding and breaking into the Crown Heights building. Peter ran towards the window and grabbed Emma by the arm, dragging her along with him. She resisted, but Peter wrapped his arm around her waist and overpowered her. Spot watched, helplessly against his own will, as she fought to stay with him. He looked at Bolt to distract himself.
"Sure you're safe when you get out there?" he asked after swallowing the lump down in his throat.
"Completely. We'se got the whole lodgin' house out surroundin' the place and Crown Heights ain't shit when it's all of us."
"Gotta be now, Spot, er else I'm givin' you up to save myself!" shouted Johnny who had slammed the door shut.
Spot turned to looked at Emma once more. She vanished from her sight as they descended the staircase. He fought his instincts and crawled out and landed on the iron gate in one quick motion. He chased Peter and Emma down the stairs. Emma fought past Peter and jumped into Spot's arms.
"Please, come find me!" she pleaded as the sound of gunshots and the fighting between the two rivaling gangs intensified. "Come find me and be with me!"
Spot pressed his lips hard against hers in a final, passionate kiss but he couldn't agree to her terms. "I love you, Em. Always have, always will. I'm so sorry I have to do this…"
"Conlon, get out 'er out now!" shouted Bolt from the window.
"Goddamnit! Go, Peter, don' let her go!" Spot broke from her arms and turned his back.
A split second before he went back inside, he watched Emma leave his life for good, forever, and he felt the key necklace nestle a place next to his chest. It burned, filled his heart with a warm, fiery sensation, so much that it ached, the way he had felt when she put her hand on his chest and he awoke from unconsciousness. It was the feeling that forbid him from being okay with what he had to do. He knew he would never be okay knowing he had given up the best thing he had ever had in his life.
But it was love -- great love requires sacrifice, it requires people who must look beyond the wants of his or her own in order to save the other. It was because he loved her so much he had to let her go, no matter how much his heart ached, how much his mind and body yearned for the touch and comfort from the only person he would give his heart to. It was great love, but Spot Conlon had to say goodbye.
END PART II