Author's Note

.｡｡*ﾟi hope you're staying safe and watering yourself! .｡｡*ﾟ

Love youuu 💗 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 ️

NEW YORK CITY, 1899

Jack had been in his leaky brick, solitary cell in the Refuge for less than 30 minutes when the anxiety set in. To battle it, he shut his eyes and pretended it was all a nightmare. He wanted to be back at the lodging house with the others, and not in a place with iron bars and a narrow bench for a bed. A place where he was terrified of saying the wrong thing.

It was late afternoon, and Jack was starving. The damp air was thick with the smell of mold. Jack didn't like small places or dark ones and the cell was both. The walls were splintered and stripping. Jack hated solitary, the loneliness, the light and sound discipline. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

Jack examined the bars carefully, then the walls, searching for any means of escape. He knelt to look at the floor, pausing in the far corner, just beside the bench. In a tiny carving, hidden from plain sight, etched with a nail or a utensil, were the letters MK.

Jack didn't know what it meant. Was it a code? A word? Initials? Vandalism of property was strictly forbidden on the island. But it seemed no one had discovered it, as the markings hadn't been painted over.

Before he could think on it any longer, a jingling of keys alerted Jack to the warden's presence, and he quickly stood up.

Snyder peered through Jack's cell with a short walking stick held in his right hand and a folded boy's uniform under his left arm. His eyes were unforgiving, his voice grave. "Take your clothes off," was the only order he gave to Jack.

"What?"

"You don't have any privacy here, you know that. No street clothes allowed. Now strip."

"Here?" Jack asked.

A smirk spread across the corner of Snyder's lips. "In case you've forgotten, from dawn to dusk, you no longer have any rights in my institution. There will be no secrecy. Do you understand?"

Wordlessly, Jack pulled down his suspenders and took off his shirt, throwing it to the floor. He unbuttoned his trousers, letting them drop to his ankles, and stepped out. Now clad in only his long white underwear and boots, Jack glared at the Warden.

"Keep going," Snyder said, unflinching. "I said nothing from the outside."

"You want me to take off everything?" Jack asked.

"There. You're not as slow as you look."

Jack unlaced his boots, kicking them off, and then reluctantly removed his underwear, adding them to the pile. He felt his face flush with embarrassment.

"Anything else?" Jack asked sarcastically, staring ahead, and avoiding eye contact.

Snyder handed Jack the uniform and scuffed-up boots through the bars. "Put these on," he said. "I'll have a guard get you in ten minutes. Seems as though you already have a visitor."

"Are any of the other boys here?" Jack asked, remembering Racetrack and Spot and a few others who'd been tried that day. He pulled on the trousers, fumbling with the flimsy buttons.

"You weren't as lucky as your newsie friends," Snyder said, walking away. "But you've got an opportunity they don't have, Sullivan. Mr. Pulitzer has a proposition. And if I were you, I'd be smart and listen to him."

As he left the courtroom that afternoon, Jack hadn't been able to say goodbye to anyone. He could tell Sophie had wanted to hug him and be held, but that was impossible as Snyder dragged him out.

Ten minutes went by, and on the dot, a guard was there to escort him up to the visiting room with the long metal grating. It was all too familiar. Jack looked up and saw Kloppman standing on the opposite side, leaning against the wall. Jack smiled in his direction and tried but couldn't think of anything witty to say.

Jack almost wished Kloppman wasn't there to see him. He didn't want anyone to see him in there. But Kloppman's withered and saddened face made it more difficult to cope. Jack felt like he'd disappointed him, tarnished whatever bond they'd had.

Kloppman had always been such a loving figure in Jack's life – making sure he got somewhat of an education, giving him a roof over his head, never uttering an unkind word. But none of it kept Jack from ending up back in the Refuge. All Kloppman could do now was pray.

The old man stood across from Jack, his eyes pained, his brittle body slumped.

"Is it okay if I visit you more regularly?" Kloppman asked.

Jack wanted to cry right there. He wanted to throw his arms around the grandfatherly man and hug him tightly. Instead, Jack held back his tears and tried to push down the lump in his throat, his lips chapped.

"I suppose," Jack was able to get out, managing some sense of humor. "I'll have to clear my schedule."

"I'd like that," Kloppman said, his voice was strangled and broken as the boy before him.

He stared at Jack with misty eyes. Kloppman looked as though he wanted to say more, but a quick glance at the guard told him otherwise. So, he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to worry Jack any further. Kloppman fought to keep his composure, to refrain from tearing down the grating, grabbing Jack, and running out the door. He'd throw Jack on a train to Santa Fe himself. As far away from this city as possible.

"Can you do something for me?" Jack asked him.

"I'll try."

"Keep an eye on Sophie," Jack said. "Ever since the strike started, she's been struggling."

"Of course," Kloppman said.

"And if she asks, tell her I'm fine," Jack said.

"You want me to improve the truth?" Kloppman said, a grin cracking through the sorrow, moving closer to the fence.

"I learn from the best," Jack said. "Just promise me you will."

Kloppman nodded and backed away, watching as the guard shackled Jack's hands again. He ran a hand over his haggard features, holding up his hand in a wave goodbye as Jack was once again taken away from him.

Sophie sat on her bed in the girls' room at Medda's, sobbing. Bella cradled her head, and Colleen held her hand. The room was tense with dejection.

Leah entered with Medda, who looked remorseful. Leah nodded at the woman, as if to say, 'talk to her.'

"I'm sorry, Sophie," Medda said, standing a few inches from the doorway.

Sophie said nothing. She looked up, her eyes red and puffy.

"She's been like this all evening," Leah said pleadingly to Medda, a look of deep concern in her dark eyes.

"There is no use in crying about something you cannot change," Medda said in a rush of words. "It's best to lift your chin up and keep going. Off to the races again, yes?"

Bella stared at Medda in disbelief, and Colleen looked down solemnly at the blue quilt.

Leah approached Sophie's bed, kneeling before her friend. "Soph," she sighed, leaning her arm against the mattress. "Medda's right. There's nothing we can do. We're going to have to finish the strike without him. We have a duty to go on."

"There's always something we can do," Sophie wailed. She stood up abruptly, ripping herself away. "I won't give up on him! I'm going to get Jack out of there!"

And with that, she stormed out of the room.

It was an empty promise, of course. Nothing came of it. Bella and Colleen and Leah knew there was no way Sophie could pull off a prison break on her own, but none of them had the heart to tell her.

It didn't matter anyway, however. A few days later, Jack had returned to civilian life – almost. Whatever proposition Pulitzer had made seemed to chime with Jack's best self-interest. Instead of the Refuge, he was sleeping in the basement of the distribution center. But now he was well-dressed, well-combed, loaded with a wad of cash, and most devastating to all – selling newspapers.