Author's Note: I am so sorry about the huge gap between chapters. I really do mean to have a chapter each week but things have gotten really crazy around here. Not to mention, my internet has been wonky for quite a bit of time. I'm pretty sure that I got most of the bugs fixed (except for Word randomly freezing and not wanting to re-open – hence another reason this chapter took forever). Anywho, this was probably the hardest chapter I had to write (and, yes, that is out of all 53 chapters so far!) – but only because it has three characters, and only one of them can communicate with the other two at the same time. Plus… so… much…dialogue. Bah. Here's to hoping it's passable! Woot.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner.
--
a Maldição de Diabo
June 3, 2007
A Devil's curse. An
unsolved murder. 4 generations.
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find
out what exactly happened that night.
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.
--
PART FIFTY THREE
--
Diana slowly, as if she did not want to but knew she had to, turned her head to her right. She could see Patrick, his hand still hanging lightly onto her shoulder, as he stared in awe around him before finally turning his gaze back on her. His cyan eyes were very wide; his jaw had gone slightly slack. As she met those staring eyes, those accusing eyes, his hold tightened. She could feel the edge of his bitten nails as soft fingertips pressed into her skin. She tried not to wince.
Not sure how to respond to Patrick's question, she just froze. According to Jack, the only person who could see or hear him was her – she had no idea if that fact extended to everything associated with the ghost boy, such as this hidden room. What does he see, she wondered, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. Can he see anything at all?
She hesitated, having no idea how she was going to explain any of this to him. Any thoughts of heading out to dinner with him later that evening flew out of her head. She knew she would be lucky if he did not have her committed, let alone ever want to see her again.
But the silence – and his piercing stare – quickly became too much for her. Diana knew she had to say something… it was just a matter of what: should she tell the truth and risk sounding like a lunatic or make up some random excuse in order to convince Patrick that she was as lost as he was? She did not know and hoped that she could decide before Patrick did anything more than demand answers that she was not prepared to give.
"Uh, Patrick? I can explain…" she lied as she took a step away from him, ducking out from underneath his touch. Whether he was frightened – she doubted that – or just really curious about where they were and how they had gotten there, he had still found a way to keep in contact with her. In any other circumstance, Diana would have been flustered at his proximity but, right now, she had other things on her mind… like coming up with a way to explain just how the two of them had walked through a brick wall. I wonder if he would buy it if I told him that this is all a dream, she thought humorlessly to herself as she attempted a weak grin in his direction.
Patrick's eyebrow had risen so high that it was nearly indiscernible from the rest of his sandy mop of hair. He casually took his hand back, playing it off like it did not bother him that she had moved out of reach, before slipping it into the front pocket of his khaki pants. "Really? Okay, great. I'm listening."
"Well…" she started, intentionally imitating Samantha Stevens' way of approaching a supernaturally-caused, hard-to-explain situation; she figured, given the situation, it definitely fit, "you see… I can explain but it's… it's kinda weird… I mean…" Diana stopped in her rambling long enough to rub at her eyes. She could feel the heat of Patrick's intense – if definitely confused – expression as she struggled to come up with a plausible explanation. The truth was quickly becoming an appetizing option. "Um… how about this? Do me a favor and, uh, look around you, okay? What do you see?"
Though he looked a bit wary – and still confused – Patrick obliged her by purposely opening his cyan eyes even wider and glancing around the small room, all the while shaking his head almost unnoticeably. He may or may not have been mumbling something like, "I knew she was too good to be true…fucking cuh-razy…" as he did so, but, at least, he had lowered his voice considerably; Diana purposely chose not to hear his mutterings.
And, besides, if he had been saying such things, it really did not matter to the girl. There was another reason why she did not hear him – something else had caught her attention: Jack had finally turned around, facing his guests… one of who was quite unexpected, seeing as he had no idea who the other boy was.
Now, as Patrick continued to look over the room, the ghost boy was, in turn, watching the young cabbie curiously. Jack's head was cocked to his right and his brown eyes were narrowed. "Hey, kid," he said, addressing Diana, though his gaze never left Patrick's profile, "who's your pal?"
Crap… this is so not what I need… Somehow, in the aftermath of the realization that Patrick had followed her into Jack's room, Diana had forgotten all about him. Although she knew that she would appear as if she was speaking to no one when she answered him, she also knew she could not ignore Jack. And it was definitely too much to hope that Patrick would be able to hear him…
She sighed. "Not now, Jack. Why don't you go sit on your little cot or something? I'll explain this whole thing to you in a sec," she promised, cringing inwardly. She had arrived at this place with the intent to make him pay for the way he had treated her earlier but, instead, she was trying her best to placate him. All because of Patrick, she realized, as she snuck a glance over at the cab driver. I really do like this boy and all but I highly doubt I even have a chance with him now… he must think I'm freaking nuts… Wonderful.
Patrick stopped humoring Diana. Rather than continue looking around the small – and, to him, empty of any other people but him and Diana – room, he met her eye. "And who's Jack?"
She gulped. That's what she had been afraid of. "I take it that means that you don't see the other boy that's in the room with us?" she asked weakly.
There went that eyebrow again. It only had enough time to arch sharply before Patrick's voice lifted and he began to rant. Once again, his voice was much louder than it should be; Diana could not help but wonder if some other hapless passerby-er could hear his hollers through the wall. "What do you mean, the other fucking boy in this room? No, I don't see no other boy in this room, but I'll tell you what I do see!" With a finger pointed, he began to jab sharply at the air in the room, gesturing at the various things he was able to view. "Over here, there's a shit load of papers and pictures. Can we say fucking fire hazard? Yeah… Oh, and here… a bed. How cute. I mean, what strange ass room doesn't need some sort of bed?"
He lowered his hand, shook his head and backed up against the brick wall. Using his backside, he tried to push back through – as if that would work. When it did not, he slapped the brick with an open palm. "No fucking windows, no fucking door. I'm stuck here and I don't know how I even got here! And," he added, his handsome face twisted as he shouted, "now you ask me about some other fucking boy. You've lost it, Diana, and now I'm fucking lost, too!"
By the time he had finished his ranting, his face was redder rather than tan, and he was breathing heavily But he also looked relieved. Quite obviously, Patrick Conlon did not handle strange situations in a very calm manner.
Diana did not know what to say. She was disappointed that Patrick had just yelled at her, and hurt that he believed she was crazy. It was bad enough that, even after six days, she still wondered the same thing, but, to have this boy state it so simply? However, just like she had not been about to let Jack get away with speaking to her like that, she was also growing very angry – who had asked him to follow her down that side street and into Jack's hideaway in the first place? "Listen, Patrick, I don't know wh—"
Her heated response was cut off when something smacked Patrick dead in the face. He had not been expecting it – his attention had been on Diana; he had swapped his expression of frustration for a devilish smirk when she had started to fight back – and, therefore, he had not had any time to protect himself.
There was a slight chuckle that came from behind Diana. Jack was laughing to himself. "Kid deserved it, eh?" He seemed proud of what he had just done. "No one makes out any of the Daite girls to be a nutter when I'm around."
"What the fuck?" Patrick, with his hand rubbing his nose, bent down to retrieve the object that, as far as he knew, had flown across the room at him all by itself. "Where did this… pillow come from?" As soon as he realized that he had been hit with a pillow – a simple heart-shaped pillow – Patrick lowered his hand. It made him look ridiculous, massaging his face when he had only been struck by a soft pillow.
That slap in the face was enough to bring the cab driver back around, she noticed, and Diana, for one, was glad –she now had a hard time keeping herself from laughing. Between Jack's pride and Patrick's look of utter shock at being struck by a flying object, it was quite humorous.
Holding the pillow in his hand, he straightened, staring at the thing, ignoring the muffled snorts that were coming from Diana. It was old and lumpy, but definitely soft. He assumed that it had once been white but now was a faint yellow; a somewhat brittle lacey edge surrounded the pillow and, in the center, there were two red letters: an F and an S. He peered over at Diana. "Did you throw this at me?"
"Who? Me?" Diana removed her hands from their place, covering her mouth, before holding them up in an attempt to declare her innocence. "Uh-uh. No way. That was Jack."
Patrick glanced back down at this pillow, that thin eyebrow of his still arched sharply. She half-expected him to start yelling again but, surprisingly, he did not. When he spoke again, he sounded curious but in a vaguer kind of way. "Yeah, and who's Jack?" There was a hint of humor to his voice and she could almost hear his mind whispering, "Crazy… cuh-razy…"
Still, it was hard for Diana to tell just where his attention was focused – on her or on the pillow – so she tried her best to answer. Considering he had just witnessed the pillow flying across the room, she decided it was time to tell the truth. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? He already thought she was insane. And, at least, she would feel better about herself for being honest. "You see… Jack is a… well… friend of mine who just so happens to be dea—"
"Do you really want to do that, Diana?"
She paused mid-sentence before glancing over at Jack. His lips were pursed, his laughter had stopped. The ghost boy had his brown eyes narrowed on her, daring her to reply. She sighed again. Of course he would have to make this even more difficult. "Do what, Jack? Tell him about you?"
Jack nodded. "He won't understand, Diana. They never do."
"He might."
"'He might' what? Who are you talking to?" Patrick tore his eyes away from the object he was still handling, turning his attention back on the girl. The way he saw it, she was standing next to the strange cot, talking to a patch of air. And I thought my pal, Woody, was weird… "You keep mentioning this Jack person but who is he? A figment of your imagination?" He lifted the pillow up into the air and shook it at her. "One that can fling something like this at my head?" He lowered his hand and stuck one of his boot-coved feet out. "Yeah, pull the other one while you're at it."
She did not even need to see Jack's face to know that he was wearing a triumphant smirk. Diana could tell it from the way he said, "See, kid. Told you so. But," he added when Diana's shoulders slumped in defeat, "I could prove it to him, if you'd like."
The girl perked up. If she had someone else to confide in that was an outsider, perhaps this whole thing would not be as distressing as it already was. Besides, it would definitely be a bonus to spend further time with Patrick… "Could you really, Jack? I thought no one could see you but me."
"No one can see me but you… and Kloppy, too… but hey, that don't mean that I can't make him believe in me. What do you say?"
Her face split into a grin. This was more than a matter of proving to Patrick that she was sane, that she had not been inventing this all – if Jack could make Patrick believe that he, a ghost, existed, then she could prove her sanity to herself while she was at it. "Okay, Jack. Go ahead. Show him."
Patrick, who had been watching a one-sided exchange, did not like the way she said that. "Wait a sec. What do you mean, 'show him'? Diana, you know, I'm cool with your… friend or whatever. I was just kidding about you being cra—aaahhhh!"
With the clap of his hands and a rather wicked smile Jack had lifted Patrick up into the air. The rise was slow at first, and he did not stall Patrick's ascent until his head was pressed up against the ceiling; Patrick had to bend his head, facing downward, so as not to repeatedly hit his crown. It was, by and far, an uncomfortable position but there was no doubt about it: Patrick knew that something was up now.
As soon as he had done that, Jack snapped his fingers, joining Patrick in the air. He hovered right next to the obviously frightened boy before blowing on his face. "Do you believe in ghosts now, punk?"
Diana was not sure if Patrick could feel the pressure of Jack's exhale – and she knew he could not hear Jack's ridiculous taunts – but, by the face he made, she was positive that he could smell that strange scent of death that lingered on Jack's tongue. "Jack, I think that's enough."
"Yes, yes, it's enough." Patrick offered, closing his eyes and wrinkling his nose. "Let me down, damn it!"
But Jack was not done. His eyes began that strange whirring that Diana had noticed before when he had been preparing to exit her room; flecks of silver and specks of red dotted his eyes, though she did see that he did not have the strength to completely overlay the warm chocolate-brown color that she knew.
However, there was sufficient power to use on Patrick. As soon as Jack's eyes began to gloss over, Patrick began to spin in the air. Looking like a lop-sided top, he spun around and around; while nowhere near as quick as Jack's makeshift tornado, Patrick was going quick enough that his discomfort was evident.
Diana stood up on her tippy-toes and grabbed at the cuff of Jack's pant. "Stop, Jack," she whispered, hoping she could get through to him. The last thing she needed now was for him to lose it again like he had back at the penthouse.
"Seriously, that's enough," Patrick shouted, holding his hands out. "Call off your Casper. I believe you. I do!"
He let out a low whistle when the spinning finally stopped. "A real ghost, shit," he said, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "That's gotta be worth something…" His voice trailed to a close when he looked down and saw the incredulous way Diana was glaring at him. Quickly, before the ghost could do anything else to him, he amended his statement to say, "I mean, if I told someone about him. Which I won't." Phew…
She pulled on Jack's pant leg again. His eyes cleared as he looked down upon her; his pout told Diana that this was probably the most fun he had had in decades and he was loath to stop. But he's got to… "Okay, Jack. I think we can trust him. Besides," she said, watching as Jack grudgingly lowered Patrick to the floor of the room, "who'd believe him, anyways?"
Patrick shook and with a not-so-mumbled, "I fucking hate heights," he reached for the pillow it had dropped. He held it before him as if it were a shield.
He was silent for a few minutes, trying to regain the cool he had lost when he had been lifted up, before casually asking, "So, yeah, now that I know there's a ghost keeping us in here… what do I do?"
Good question… "It's up to you, really, Patrick. If you want to know more, I can fill you in. If you want to get out of here and never speak to me again… I understand." There. It's up to him. She offered a sad smile but she said no more. All of a sudden, she was beginning to feel that same queasiness that she knew right before she collapsed on her aunt's couch on Friday. Her head was spinning and she wondered what could have brought it on. "Ugh."
Shaking her head – and not necessarily waiting for Patrick's response – she took a few steps forward, one hand stretched out in front of her, the other rested against her forehead. It was a sudden onslaught of that same nausea and she did not want to land on Jack's various piles of history if she stumbled again.
"Diana, are you okay?" Patrick watched as she turned her back on him. She gingerly took a seat on the cot before looking up at him. Her face had paled considerably; in mere seconds, she had gone from laughing to looking like she was about to die. "You don't look so hot."
Jack's eyes were narrowed again. Even thought he was still hovering in the air, he recognized the face that the girl was making; it reminded him of the way she appeared right after waking up from terribly vexing visions. Something was not right. "Yeah, kid. Why don't you take it easy?"
"Sure…" she mumbled as she turned around and sat gently down on the cot. It was the most she could get out and even that had been too much – her headache tripled and her stomach heaved. What is going on here?
While Patrick stood on the opposite side of the small room, still clutching that worn pillow, Jack floated over to the cot. He remained a few feet into the air, making sure to give Diana enough room. "What's wrong, Diana?"
Whether it was the delicate way Jack asked her or the moan that she let out as a response, it was enough to garner Four's attention. Her fuzzy brown head emerged out from under the bed, her pink nose sniffling curiously as she climbed out. Her piercing cats' eyes ran over Patrick before deeming him unimportant enough of a tentative rub. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at the girl on the cot.
"Meow."
In one quick movement, the cat had turned around and accurately leapt onto the center of the strewn quilt. Diana did not even flinch; she was feeling too poorly to be frightened of the cat or even nervous that any contact could invoke a vision. Right then, all she cared about was finding a bucket, should she need one. And she was pretty sure she was going to need one.
"Meow," Four said again as she bustled up as close to Diana as was possible. She rubbed against the girl's thigh once before folding her legs under her and resting her furry chin on Diana's knee.
For some reason, Four's touch did not send her back to the diner where she had met Honor Williams – but it did make her feel a bit better. At the very least, her head did not feel so hazy and the urge to vomit had subsides somewhat.
"Diana," Patrick began hesitantly, "you okay?" He knew he was asking the same question again but it was either that or start trying to figure out where the hell that cat had come from. He figured it was safer to sound like a parrot than risk her ghost friend throwing him back up in the air again.
This time, she managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry. I just… yeah, I'm fine. But that was definitely weird. I thought I was gonna puke for a second there." With a slightly shaking hand, Diana reached out and stroked Four's bushy tail. At that moment she did not care if the contact sent her spiraling into the past or not. The gentle purring of the cat was – at least, she assumed so – ridding her of the nausea pains. "I'm good now, though."
"Good."
"Good."
For the first time since she got thrown in between the two of them, Jack and Patrick found something that they agreed on. She wondered if she should comment on that before ultimately decided that it would do no good. She settled on scratching behind Four's ear.
It was quiet for a few minutes after that, save for Four's rather noticeable purr. Jack had remained in the air, his legs crossed as he hovered over the cot. Diana was absently petting the cat while Patrick… Patrick just stood there, looking at the pillow again.
"You know," he began, rather thoughtfully. Patrick was holding the pillow gingerly, staring at the backside of thing rather than the front. Instead of the ornately embroidered F.S. that was in the center, he was gazing curiously at the base of the lumpy pillow. He pointed at it. "This is kind of weird, now that I think of it…" His voice was much more pleasant and his shoulders were relaxed; he was trying to be at ease while, at the same time, silently apologize for treating Diana like a nutcase.
Diana appreciated his efforts so, despite Jack's fingers reaching for her shoulder in order to keep her sitting down, she got up and walked over to Patrick. They were shaky steps at first but, by the time she was leaning over to look at the pillow, she was feeling like herself again. It also did not go by unnoticed that Patrick had not asked to be let out of the room yet – it was as if he had ignored her earlier offer. "What's weird?"
Jack did not like being left out of the conversation. To him, it did not matter that this other boy could not see him – Diana could, and that was all that mattered. And, besides, whoever asked him to tag along, anyway?
"Hey, Diana? You tell him I want my pillow back. He's gettin' it all grubby."
She ignored him. There was a hint of jealousy to his voice that she did not want to deal with right then. What was more important was Patrick's fixation with the pillow. It was something she recognized and, even though she was wondering how it had gone from being in one of her visions to being in Jack's nook, she wanted to know why Patrick kept looking at it like that. "What's weird, Patrick?"
The cab driver pointed at something at the bottom. "Look. S.J., done all fancy like those other letters on the front, only smaller." He jabbed at two tiny, embroidered letters. They were done in a grey thread, almost as if the person who had placed them there was signing their piece of work. "It's gotta be a coincidence and all, but my dad has one of these. It was his baby pillow. His grandma made it for him when he was born – it's got the same small S.J. on the back and everything."
The way that Diana saw it, ever since meeting Jack, there were no such things as coincidences. Her stomach, still recovering from that strange feeling before, dropped. Quickly, she tried to think back to the vision when she had seen this pillow. Now, where did that Kloppman say this damn pillow came from?
It was no good. The only thing she remembered was that it belonged on a bunk – Jack's bunk… someone placed it there and they kept it there even after he died. But who was it?
Meanwhile, Jack had crossed his hands over his chest. "How does he have one like that? Mine was a gift… the person who made it died almost fifty years ago." He squinted as he, from his place hovering above the cot, looked over Patrick. "Who is this kid, Diana?"
Waving her hand behind her back to hush him up, Diana asked, "Where did your dad get one of these from?" When Patrick lifted his head to meet her eyes, she shrugged. "Jack wants to know. That's his pillow, you see." She almost added that she wanted to know, too, but figured things were already too strange as they were. She was, after all, lucky that Patrick had not gone running yet. He actually, despite being tossed about like a rag doll, seemed interested in staying behind with her.
Especially now that this simple pillow had caught his attention. Running a long, thin finger over the embroidery, he said, "S.J.… from what my dad said, S.J. were his grandmother's initials. Sarah was her first name, Jacobs was her maiden name. She had quite the gift with a needle and thread and always signed her work with those initials." Patrick let out a short laugh as he handed the pillow over to Diana. "I wonder how your ghost friend got one of these… I mean, you said his name was Jack, right?" Diana nodded. "Who is this F.S. dude, then?"
Diana had no idea but, when she turned around to ask Jack, the only answer she got was an outstretched hand. Wordlessly, she handed the pillow over to Jack. He accepted it and placed it delicately at the head of his small cot. Once it was out of Patrick's reach, Jack pointed at the young man. "This… boy is related to Sarah? My Sarah?" He jerked up his chin, looking at Patrick down the side of his nose. "What's his name?"
She did not like the way he said that but the manner with which he asked that question told her that she could not decline to answer it. "Conlon, Jack. That's Patrick Conlon."
As she said his surname, something clicked inside of her. Conlon… just like Spot Conlon… Spot Conlon, the man that married Sarah Jacobs… S.J.… Les Jacobs' sister… Les Jacobs, my great-grandfather… Oh, man! That means that I've been crushing on a guy who's, like, my second cousin twice-removed or something. She grimaced. And I thought this day couldn't get any better…
Jack nodded. "I should have known. I've only ever seen one guy with a set of eyes like that," he said, jerking his head in Patrick's direction. "This runt and Spot Conlon, his self. More relatives, I guess. Just perfect."
Patrick, entirely oblivious of what had just transpired between Jack and Diana, leaned over and tapped her on the shoulder. Surprisingly – or not so surprisingly, since Diana was still trying to work out how distantly related they were and if it was okay to still find him attractive – the touch did not but startle her out of her thoughts. "Yeah?"
"Psst…" he whispered, feeling a bit silly for keeping his voice down so as not to offend a ghost, "is there a reason why your ghost friend is asking my name?"
She very quickly shook her head. There were some things that he was better off not knowing. "Not really, Patrick. He, uh, he knew your great-grandparents. He was a friend of Sarah Jacobs and her husband." She gestured at the pillow. "I'm not too sure why it says F.S. on it but your great-grandmother made Jack that as a present."
"Oh." Patrick looked thoughtful before, "Yeah. I was right. This is so fucking weird. Pretty damn cool but definitely fucking weird."
Diana was inclined to agree just then. However, just as she was about to turn around and ask Jack who exactly that F.S. person was – if only because her curiosity, now, was getting to an intolerable level – she felt the brush of Four's soft fur against her.
But that was not all… as soon as the cat made contact with her again, she heard that same, strange hissing voice:
Asssk the Massster…
She froze, unsure if she really heard that or if it was a lingering effect from her dream. Either way, the cat was still rubbing up against her ankle. She lowered herself to pet Four's head – she did not know how she knew but she knew that was what the cat was after – and made a puzzled sound when she saw that Four's front paw was covering one particularly dusty photograph. One corner of the picture was still tucked under the edge of the bed, as if Four had pushed it out from its hiding place.
The image, while hard to see at her half-bent-over angle, was also partially hidden by Four's furry toes but, when the cat saw that Diana was looking at it, she mewed. As possible as it was to tell that a cat was grinning, Diana could and she knew that Four was, for some reason, extremely happy. With a respectful bow of her head, the cat removed her paw from the photograph and stepped away from it. "Meow."
"Okay, okay," Diana said under her breath, mildly aware that she was taking cues from a cat. She lowered herself even more, bending her knees, as she picked up the photograph.
Both Patrick and Jack were watching her with an interested eye – Jack because he was curious as to what Four was showing Diana, Patrick because he was still trying his best to understand what the hell was going on.
"What you got there?"
Diana was not sure which of the two boys asked the question but she was intent on finding out the answer for herself. She brought it up to her face and blew on it, trying to get rid of the dust. She did send a small cloud of it floating upwards but it was not enough to reveal the entire image to her.
Using her thumb, Diana wiped away gingerly at the dust coating. From a quick glance, she could see that there were two – no, three – people in the photograph. As the dust fell away, she was able to make out the faces.
"Hey, look. It's a picture of you, Jack. Oh, and your Stress, too. And someone else… Here, let me get that…" she said, using her thumbnail to wipe at the last bit of dirt that was blocking the third face from view. "It's, uh… oh, wow. That's… that's—"
And that was all Diana was able to get out before her body stiffened, her eyes widened and the picture fluttered from her hand.
--
End Note: Just in case it is not entirely obvious… Patrick is not Spot Conlon. Just like Diana, he is the fourth generation in the family that began with Sarah and Spot. I kept wanting to make it clear when you guys mentioned that they were the same in your (awesome, mind you) reviews but I figured I'd be better waiting until this scene. Hopefully it works and you guys aren't too mad at this cliffhanger :) Anywho, let me know what you think. Next chapter will be a doozy!
