MANHATTAN - DECEMBER 1900
Grabbing his dark pageboy cap and his grey coat as he hurried out the door of his apartment building, Jack took care to avoid icy patches on the sidewalk as he headed for the East River pier. He walked quickly, tucking his hands deep into his pockets to keep from freezing his hands. Sarah had promised to knit him a new pair of mittens, but with the combined holiday preparations as of late, free time for knitting had taken a back seat to baking, cooking, and celebration planning with her family. Not only that, Sarah and Jack had just announced to her family, and to Sophie, that they were expecting a new baby by the following August. And while everyone else was over the moon about the news, Jack could tell Sarah was nervous. Her grandmother had died in childbirth, after having her mother's youngest brother, and Sarah held the fear that the same fate might befall her, too.
Jack pushed that terrible thought to the furthest recesses of his mind.
The snow was dusting the road at a quicker pace than ever, and an especially strong torrent of hail started to descend from the heavens like a plague. Once Jack made it to the pier, the powerful winter tempest abruptly calmed, blowing snow over the partially frozen river and onto the wooden docks. A chilled wind tingled against Jack's exposed eyes, and he buried his nose and mouth deeper into the warmth of his coat. The same blast of cold air prompted several others around him to do the same, wrapping themselves in scarves and shawls alike. The combination of bitter frost, the hail, and the cold mist that presented itself along the waterfront made the East River pier look more like the ghostly River Acheron.
When he boarded the ferry, he tried not to look at the approaching mirage-like wasteland of Randall's Island. It looked like some island of the damned now – the same as he remembered, but somehow more foreboding. He was grateful when the ferry eventually docked on the conjoined Wards Island. He eyed The Little Hell Gate Channel uneasily, knowing it was the only thing connecting him to the memories that haunted his past.
Jack turned the collar of his tweed coat up, deciding to disguise himself just in case. The rectangular, somber, English-Gothic edifices of the Manhattan State Hospital loomed in the distance, and before he knew it Jack had traversed across the island docks and stood beside a big police wagon on the hospital fields, near the fence of the hospital itself.
The hospital was a large, ornate set of connected structures, stretching out like a castle. A long, bleak hallway welcomed guests and patients, and past this, beyond several strong doors, was a broad walkway stretching through the middle of the hospital. Some forty-eight patient bedrooms per se – they seemed more like cubicles – began off the walkway, and dividing these units into two separate areas, for men and women, were a couple of gliding, embossed strong doors at the walkway's central juncture. This walkway was intended for examination and assessment, mainly of those who had perpetrated crimes of passion. And when the state of their mind had been concluded and formal statements were obtained, the patients were either sent out to penal institutes (such as to Randall's Island or to an adult prison) or shown to their respective ward within the hospital.
The moment Jack stepped into the hallway, he could hear screams and cries. Some were intelligible shouts of resistance, and some were merely moans of anguish. The noises emanated from the units surrounding the walkway. At that same time, Jack spotted Doc. As always, his eyes were rounded with dark, purplish-red bags as if he hadn't known sleep in a lifetime. He was fiddling with something in his hands. Upon closer inspection, Jack saw it was paper bag from Leo's Bakery. His lips tightened into somewhat of a pouty line as he waited, his nose looking slightly frostbitten. His ink black hair was wet with melting snow. He was dressed in drab trousers and a loosely fastened tan coat, unsuited for the harsh winter weather. He didn't seem to notice Jack at first, but Jack's squeaking boots alerted him soon enough.
"Hey, Jack," Doc said in that soft way, always as if he were talking to a frightened deer. "Thanks for coming."
"Doc," Jack greeted him with a slight nod.
"Before I forget, I wanted to tell you congratulations." Doc gave Jack a weary smile. "Heard you'll be a father soon."
"Thank you, but how did you know?" Jack asked with a laugh of astonishment.
"Word travels fast with our gang," Doc answered, shaking his head. "We sure know how to talk." He stopped, carefully observing Jack's expression. "I'm surprised Cards and the rest haven't stolen you away for a celebratory drink."
"I'm sure that's coming. Can't imagine Sarah will like that too much." Jack shrugged, shifting the conversation to the task at hand. "Are we the only two?"
"It seems so." Doc veered toward an employee in a white uniform and military-style cap who sprawled out in a rocking chair around the corner. "Mr. Everly, sir? Looks like we're it."
"Very well." The man called Everly said, grabbing a gigantic keyring from his pocket and heading for the entrance to the main walkway. Doc and Jack trailed him like lost souls.
"Is this your first time visiting, Jack?" Doc asked, as the employee crossed the entryway. Upon their arrival, the screams and cries from the cubicles grew thunderous and unsettling. There was barely any sunshine in the enclosed walkway, save for a couple well-worn lamps. A few of the tiny surveillance screens in the ominous doors of the cubicles had been left ajar.
"I'm sorry to say it is," Jack replied nervously after a beat. "I've been meaning to come. I've been wanting to. It's just so close to Randall's…"
Doc said nothing, simply nodding.
They slipped through the locked doors and into the male side, walking after Everly to a cubicle at the far end of a dark corridor on the second floor. Moving to the wall, Everly flipped the tiny surveillance screen in the tightly secured door. "Demetrio?" His voice was gruff and echoed off the corridor. "You have guests. That means you be good, understand?"
Doc waited at the screen looking into the little room, and Jack stood just behind him. Within the compact, grey-walled chamber was a young man lying on his side, curled almost in the fetal position on a ragged cot. Iron rods obscured the singular, narrow ventilation slit in the wall, and branches from a tree blocked the meager sunshine that attempted to pierce through. A copper jug, a plate carrying a stale roll and a chipped bowl of broth, and a chamber pot sat on the floor beside the cot. The young man's face was shrouded in shadow. He was dressed in a short-sleeved linen Henley and plaid trousers without any means of holding them up – as those sorts of items might pose a risk of self-harm. Thick restraints were fastened around his hands and feet. As the young man looked up, after a moment of delay following Everly's announcement, he showed a set of bruised eyes that sent a chill down Jack's spine. His profoundly gaunt, sickly face carried a look of disengaged submission.
"No Name," Doc said, observing the young man cautiously. "It's Doc Maltese and Jack Kelly."
No Name stared at them blankly for a moment, his eyes red and watery. "Am I going home now?" No Name asked in a gravelly voice, his mumbling slurred. "I think I'd like to go home now. My mother will be looking for me."
He shifted his gaze back down again.
Doc faced Everly. "He sounds drunk," Doc hissed.
Everly looked elsewhere uneasily. "He was ranting an hour ago. Getting a little violent, so the doctor insisted they load him up with laudanum."
Doc ran a hand over his tired eyes in great frustration. "How much was he given?" Doc asked, trading apathy for anger.
"How am I supposed to know?" Everly said with a casual shrug. "I reckon a lot, given that state he was in."
"You reckon a lot?" Doc echoed bitterly. "You understand folks overdose on laudanum all the time? People have died."
"I've heard stories."
"He's had his fair share of sedatives," Doc said, alluding to their time in the Refuge when Snyder would knock them out. "Hopefully, he can stomach whatever dosage that doctor might've given him."
"Rest assured, it was necessary. The doctor knows what he's doing—"
"Does he?" Doc shot back, raising his voice. It was a rare thing to see him so infuriated. "Were the black eyes necessary, too, or was that just for fun?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Everly replied slowly.
Whatever No Name had been given, it had certainly enacted a powerful effect.
"Dammit," Doc muttered, taking a moment to calm down. "Can't do anything about it now."
Jack kept his mouth shut as Everly unlocked the door and tugged hard as it squeaked open.
"No Name," Doc greeted his friend as he and Jack walked in, "We've come to wish you a happy Christmas."
During the following half-hour, Jack and Doc visited with their nebulous, dazed friend, who fought hard against the copious amount laudanum overtaking his system. Doc presented him with the glazed cinnamon roll from Leo's Bakery as a Christmas gift, which No Name barely touched, fearfully glancing over Doc's shoulder at Everly standing outside.
He maintained his plea of wanting to go home, despite him not having a real home outside of the St. Vincent lodging house in Brooklyn from when he was a boy. As Doc tried to explain away No Name's ramblings to leave, he didn't put up much protest. Jack could chalk that up to the laudanum. He didn't seem upset at the truth, just deflated.
But there was only so much the drug could obscure from No Name's mind. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes, his chains clattering.
"And Jack's wife, Sarah…she's going to have a baby soon," Doc went on, catching No Name up on all that he'd missed. "They're going to move to Santa Fe as soon as they have enough money, which…" He turned to Jack. "Should be in a few months, right?"
No Name stared at the floor as he moved his head to one side.
"Yeah," Jack replied. "Her little brother Les wants us to name him 'Les' after himself." He laughed a little. "If it's a boy, that is."
"And what if it's a girl?" Doc asked.
"Oh, Sarah's almost sure it's a boy," Jack said. "If she were a gambler, she'd put money on it, which Lion's already done, no doubt."
No Name looked at Jack with a frown. His brow furrowed. His wide eyes filled with tears as he stared into space. Then he covered his face with his hands.
"Demetrio?" Jack leaned forward. He didn't appear to have been following any of the conversation.
No Name looked at him, lowering his hands. His jaw dropped open as he took a shaky breath. "Jack…Doc…" He looked at both young men, as if really noticing them for the first time. "I need a drink."
"There's water right here," Doc said, looking down at the jug. "I can pour you some."
"No, I need a drink," No Name repeated, meaning alcohol. "And Warden Snyder won't give me anything. He'll throw me in solitary if I ask again. And I can't go down there. I can't. Those creatures are down there. I've seen them."
He leaned his head forward so he was whispering to the two. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked to the floor. "He locked me in here. I can't leave. Don't matter what I offer. They won't let me leave."
Jack and Doc exchanged a worried look. Wide eyed, No Name stared at the two expectantly, unblinking.
A tear rolled down No Name's chin and onto the blanket. "I can't believe he let you visit me, but you better get back before Mr. Whalen finds you here," he said with a sniffle. "I miss the dormitory. I miss being with you and the others. Is Calico feeling better? I could hear him coughing all night."