Chapter 26

Brooklyn, October, 1903

"Tom—wait—"

Spot nearly came undone when he felt a hand shakily grip his arm right as he placed his key in the back door of the lodging house. He jolted out of the soft hold in semi-panic, violently whirling around to grasp the shoulders of the would-be assailant.

Everything after that was instinctual.

A high-pitched cry of pain echoed throughout the small alleyway when he slammed the much smaller person against the neighboring building's brick overlay, searching for a face in the darkness.

But his eyebrows rose in confoundment when a pair of wide green eyes met his gaze in turn.

"Holy shit, Kate," he breathed, immediately releasing her back to the shadows as he ran a hand down his face. "What the hell? What're you doin' here? It's gotta be past two in the morning."

He heard her release a shaky breath but remain stiff against the wall behind her. "I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you. I've been waiting, hoping you'd come back tonight, but I didn't—"

"You've been waiting?" Spot interrupted, narrowing his gaze at her, watching as she shrank even further into the darkness surrounding them. "How long have you been here?"

She sniffed, lowering her gaze to the ground before murmuring, "It doesn't matter. I just—I needed to talk to you. Do you have a minute? Can I come in?"

Her voice was meek—thick with anxiety and several other emotions he couldn't quite put his finger on. But he found himself hesitating, wary of what motivations had suddenly brought her to his door.

Especially after the way he had treated her the last time they were together.

"I haven't seen you in close to two months, Kate. And our partin' words weren't exactly friendly at the time, if I'm rememberin' correctly."

His eyes had somewhat adjusted to the lack of lighting around them, and he saw a shudder pass through her body in reaction to his statement.

"No, your memory serves you well," she said flatly, a hint of sarcasm barely present in her voice. "But don't worry. I'm not here to make any more ridiculous professions to you. It's something—it's…." she paused, seeming to be struggling with what she wanted to say next.

"I wouldn't have come—I just—I mean, I never wanted to involve you, but I don't—I don't have anywhere else—anyone else—" she broke off as her voice cracked with an alarming amount of anguish.

But Spot was unsure of how to react, what to do in response to her overwhelming panic and pain. He had already hurt her so irreparably two months before—shattering any esteem she once held for him the last time she had spent the night in his bed.

And he had been sick to his stomach ever since.

But he couldn't let her know that—couldn't weaken his defense against her unrealistic wants from him. Her expectations that he was at all capable of any true, long-lasting love.

And he definitely couldn't admit that it had been fear—not apathy—behind his immediate cruel response to her declaration.

I love you.

Such a simple statement with such profound implications. A profession of emotions that Spot knew damn-well Kate had never uttered—never felt about any other man in her life.

And she somehow managed to feel that way about him?

No—he wouldn't allow for that misguided fantasy. This time—this time—he had to put his foot down with her. She had crossed a line that she should have never felt comfortable standing before. But even as he had laughed in her face—watching her conflicted features morph first to pain and then pure scorn—he had barely been able to hold back the pang of anguish within his own body.

Because in those few moments, he had destroyed every single line of connection between them.

He told himself that it had been unavoidable, a necessary evil. Something that had always been in the works from the first time they had spoken. She should have seen it coming from a mile away.

In all their time together, hadn't she understood who he was? What he was capable of?

Couldn't she see that a man like him would never be so pathetic—so weak—to allow some girl a permanent place of importance in his life?

He was Spot Conlon after all, and as far as he was concerned, he had permitted this ridiculous farce of a relationship with Kate to go on far longer than it should have. He owed himself the freedom to finally cut ties for good.

However, the past two months had been anything but liberating. An emptiness had replaced Kate's warm, though sporadic, presence, a void that no amount of liquor or meaningless fucking could fill. But that sure as shit hadn't stopped him from trying.

Attempting to ignore the pang of sickness when he awoke next to a strange woman beside him. To repress the desperate need to see, hold, even kiss Katherine Moore again. And he hated himself—both for the fact that his want for her had only grown in her absence, and that it was his fault she was gone in the first place.

But he was brought back to her fidgeting form before him when she sniffed again, hesitating to finish her thoughts. So, he shook his head, his mind clouded and confused, his hold over his emotions waning, as he stated a little more harshly than he meant to, "Spit it out already. What the hell are you doin' here?"

Even as her body jolted at his callousness, she quickly recovered, stepping closer to him, and raising her eyes to meet his bewildered gaze. Their green depths chaotically took him in, swirling with such volumes of fear and pain that he nearly took a step back, overwhelmed by the force of her stare.

"I'm in trouble, Spot. A lot of trouble. And…..I'm scared." She took a deep breath as her quiet, shaky words reverberated in the space between them. "I need your help. Please help me."

Brooklyn, February, 1904

"Are you sure about this, Thomas?"

Mary's eyes were wide with concern as she posed her question, the light from the surrounding oil lamps further illuminating the deep lines of worry in her expression.

"Yes," Spot replied without hesitation, staring unblinkingly back. "I think the only way to get her outa this spiral is to do somethin' drastic."

His statement secured a slow nod from Mary. "And you're certain you can handle this? Last time you stayed there—"

"I know," Spot quickly cut in, gently grasping one of Mary's hands as his eyes squinted emotionally. "But that's part of why I think this'll work. There's no place for either of us to hide in there. It's gotta be about trust."

Mary smiled softly. "It's risky, but...I think you're right. It's what needs to be done. It won't be easy for you—or her." Spot nodded as Mary searched his face for a moment before pulsing his hand with hers and adding, "And that's why it might just save both of you."

Spot's eyes refocused on the darkening pathway in front of him as Mary's face and words from earlier that morning slowly faded away. His gaze darted habitually to his left, checking to see that Kate was still beside him. But he felt a pang in his chest when her wide eyes turned to meet his—hollow and distant with a sheen of remorse.

She hadn't said more than a handful of words since they had started their trek from the lodging house a half hour before. But he could still sense the anxiety and guilt pouring off her, even through her impassive expression and stiff body.

He wanted nothing more than to hold her—tell her it was okay, that she was safe. That she could trust him. But he knew no matter what assurances he offered, or how many times he said he wasn't leaving, her body and mind were already too deeply immersed in past anguish for her to believe what he said, let alone hear him.

Kate was all reflexes and adrenaline. The constant insomnia, the lack of eating and focus—all symptoms of a far larger problem. And Spot could kick himself for not realizing it sooner. She had never stopped spiraling—she had just managed to make it a completely internal process. Until the chaos could no longer be contained within her fragile form.

From the moment she had been brought, bloody and broken, to Brooklyn, her mind had not left that room she had lain in—waiting for death—in Queens.

So, no amount of coaxing and comfort were going to bring her back. Not at this point. She needed something much more extreme—a jolt to the system. A sudden change of scene. A project that would require her complete emotional and mental focus.

And, shockingly, he had just the thing.

The part he was less certain of, however, was his role in this plan. Because the apartment they were going to stay in for the next week or so had been a site of immense tragedy for Spot. And so he had very rarely returned—unwilling and unable to face the nightmares locked away in the small two-bedroom abode.

Incapable of facing himself.

He had a feeling, however, that even if he struggled or faltered under the onus of everything that had been left unsorted and abandoned for years, it would only demand Kate's further participation within the present. He just hoped he didn't end up wholly lost as a result. Like all the other times he had attempted revisiting the past.

If there was one person who could reach him though—even in that dire of a state—it was Katherine Moore.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

Spot turned to her as a cold gust of wind blew past them, Kate instinctively wrapping her thin arms around herself and shivering. Her chattering teeth made his brow furrow in worry before he shrugged off his own jacket and laid it over her shoulders.

However, he hesitated to touch her—to put his arm around her shoulder or tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, even though his body wanted nothing more than to be nearer to hers. He knew he couldn't risk setting her off again—not until they reached their destination. Not when she was this volatile, this unhinged. Spot had come to understand in the last 48 hours that not knowing any of the details surrounding what had happened to Kate meant there was no telling what would trigger her.

So, ultimately, it was best to proceed with caution.

She mumbled a thanks, pulling the jacket tighter about her body, the sight of her bandaged hands making Spot's stomach roll uncomfortably.

"Is it a secret?" she asked tentatively, a small grin on her face. "A surprise party perhaps? I am turning 19 in a few months after all."

He breathed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Eight months to be exact. So, it's a little too early to celebrate." She raised her eyebrows in surprise before he continued, "We're actually headin' closer to the riverfront. Mary's late husband bought a few properties down this way and Mary needs help cleanin' up the spaces so she can start rentin' them out again."

She squinted at him in confusion, seeming to quietly process his explanation. But he subverted her further questions, adding, "We're almost there. I'll explain more once we get inside."

And after a few more blocks, the sun now low on the horizon, he turned toward a brick building, grasping the metal key against his chest before pulling the leather cord from around his neck. They silently walked up the three flights of stairs, only one or two other tenants seen within the quiet hallways.

But as he finally stood before the right door, he found his hand faltering slightly. He closed his eyes, flashes of images from long ago racing with alarming speed through his mind. It had been so long since he had been here—years in fact—and he was surprised by his almost immediate panicked reaction.

He attempted a few deep breaths, trying to get a better hold on himself, his hand gripping the key harshly against his palm.

"Tom?"

His eyes snapped open when he felt the rough edges of a bandage slide against his free limb, fingertips gently touching his own. He turned his head to stare down into a concerned green gaze, her hand pulsing his in silent support.

And suddenly he could breathe again.

He unlocked the door, guiding Kate inside the darkening room beside him before securely shutting and locking it again. He watched her silently take in her surroundings, her eyes wide and her hand gripping his somewhat more firmly.

Dust covered every surface in the space, the fading sun glimmering upon the particles they had stirred up around them from just walking inside. An ash filled fireplace stood directly across from the door, a small kitchen to their right and a living area with a couch, table, and chairs to their left.

Kate's gaze narrowed as she took several steps closer to the couch, releasing his hand as she studied a multitude of splintered, fist-sized holes in the wall above the table and chairs. She carefully evaded multiple piles of broken glass upon the floor in front of them to stand before the entrance leading to the bedrooms in the back.

Spot stood still, clenching and unclenching his fists for a moment before forcing himself to move to the two lamps in the living area, striking a match to light each of them.

"What happened here?"

Spot jolted somewhat as Kate's voice sounded right behind him. He turned to face her, studying her pensive expression for a moment before answering. "A lot. But before I get into any a' that, we should set up the fireplace. It'll freeze in here without it."

Kate only nodded, carefully maneuvering around clutter and broken glass to look through the kitchen cupboards for anything to use as kindling. Spot set up the few logs leaning against the outside of the fireplace, thanking Kate for the old, yellowed newspaper she provided in turn.

And once the fire began flickering healthy, warm flames to heat the space, Kate stared hard at him, posing, "What're we doing here, Spot? What is this place?"

"This is the apartment I grew up in," he answered emotionlessly, taking in Kate's surprised reaction. "Mary and her husband wanted to help my ma out after I was born. My pa got thrown into Sing Sing right after he knocked her up, an' the tenants here had just moved out. They offered it to her for free until she got back on her feet. Then they charged her a fourth of what it typically went for."

Kate stared hesitantly back at him for several quiet minutes, watching as he pulled a rolled cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, throwing the used match into the fire.

"So, Mary just wants us to clean it up?" Kate asked slowly.

"Sort of," Spot replied after taking a deep inhale off his smoke. "It's a little more involved than that."

He offered her the cigarette, watching her wrapped hands fumble slightly before she inhaled. Upon blowing out a thin stream of smoke to the side, she handed the smoke back to him, saying, "What do you mean? How is it more involved?"

Spot took a quick drag, avoiding Kate's unwavering, worried gaze. "Well, Mary thinks it oughta be me who deals with all the leftovers here. So, she wants me to sort through all the old paperwork, all the belongings, an' whatever else is lyin' around before we get to cleanin' up an' tossin shit out. Mary's been holdin' onto this place for years, waitin' til I was ready to do it myself."

Spot paused, his eyes fogging slightly as he took another puff off the cigarette. "I told her I didn't give a shit if she set fire to it, but she insisted. So, here we are."

"I don't understand—why am I here?"

Spot turned to her, his lips quirking in a sad smile. " 'Cause the last few times I've tried goin' it alone, it didn't turn out so well. So, you're here to keep me company and help me with everything that's gotta get done. I need you to keep an eye on me—make sure I don't lose my shit and go off like I did before."

Kate looked suddenly overwhelmed and confused, sputtering, "Wait—what do you mean? What happened before?"

He closed his eyes as a pulsing wave of pain and embarrassment swept through him. But after a deep, calming breath, he flicked the remainder of the cigarette into the fire and faced Kate, willing the vulnerable words to leave his lips. And finally, they flowed out in a hesitant, though matter-of-fact jumble.

"I went on a three month bender, fucked my way through more than a dozen girls, beat the shit outa Rummy and Jack, then bludgeoned a low-level docker's skull in with my old cane." Kate's eyes widened as he shook his head before muttering dejectedly, "But those are just the things I remember."

"Spot," Kate murmured intently, eyes darting about as she took a step back. "I don't think that I—that it should be me here. I'm not even able to keep myself in check right now. You need someone much more—I don't know, together—stable?" She huffed, her gaze finally meeting his. "I'm sorry. I'm the wrong person for this job."

But Spot offered her a small, hopeful half-smile in response before saying, "I'm pretty sure you're the only person qualified."

Kate shook her head, troubled by his statement. However, Spot continued before she could get her next argument out, "I don't know anyone else who's fought through hell as many times as you have and's still left standin' upright. You're the only hope I've got to get through this in one piece, Kate. Please, I need your help."

The dark-haired girl stared agape at him for a long while, seemingly frozen in fear and indecision. But Spot's stance didn't waver, his eyes not leaving her form for a moment. And, slowly, he noted a shift in her gaze, her tight features laxing.

"Okay," she said, looking him in the eye. "Where do we start?"