Shadow crossed her arms over her chest and cast a withering glance at Specs, who was exchanging a paper in return for a penny with a middle-aged gentleman. "T'ank ya, sir, have a nice day," he said pleasantly to the man and grinned, glad that the day's headlines were attracting costumers, that he had currently sold thirty-nine papers after selling for a mere few hours, and that the air at last held the promise of relieving rain. Then out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Shadow glaring viciously at him, and his good mood was shattered.

"Ya can stop lookin' at me like dat any time, ya know."

"It's da least of what ya desoive," she scoffed but turned her gaze to those passing by, knowing very well that she had better start shouting out headlines or she was going to suffer through an ink-induced stomach ache that evening.

"Me?!" he exclaimed in shock. "I didn't volunteer ta baby-sit ya tahday."

"Maybe not, but it's your own fault dat you'se heah."

She recalled how that morning, when she woke up with dark circles under her eyes, she had practically been accosted by Violet and Jack, with Specs wordlessly standing nearby. She crawled out of bed and stared at them with bewilderment and wariness. "What is it?" she had asked shortly and, pushing a hand through her tresses, strolled into the washroom.

The two leaders of the Manhattan newsies shared a swift look, wondering how to bring up this subject so that Shadow wouldn't explode in fury, but the possibility of her anger seemed likely to occur in whatever scenario they imagined. "Um, see, Shadow," Violet began after a second of Jack's silent prodding, "Specs told us something that got us kinda worried yesterday."

"Yeah, he said you'se was followed by dis guy yestahday, and dat it didn't jus' look like some crazy guy off of da streets," Jack continued to Shadow, who had turned from them to face the mirror.

"And so-" Violet went on with forced calm when Shadow, clutching a white towel which nearly matched her knuckled by this point, whirled around and marched over to stand nearly face-to-face with Specs. Her eyes flashed furiously as she shouted, "I can't believe ya told dem! I said I can take care of myself!"

"I was worried about ya!" Specs screamed in return. "Dat guy coulda done anyt'ing ta ya, and who knows if he's still out deah tahday!"

"He couldn't have done anyt'ing dat-" she was shrieking in response when her better judgment caught up with her anger. She stopped mid-sentence, knowing that it would be unwise to continue that thought- even worse to convey those memories to the others. So she merely retreated one small step from Specs and, though still glowering viciously, became a statue.

Jack looked from Shadow to Specs to Violet as silence consumed the room. Several newsies had gathered, watching the spectacle uneasily. He turned to the others and said very simply, in a manner that reminded many of Spot Conlon, "You'se guys get goin'. We'll be along latah."

"I'll stay," spoke up Ivy in her usual hushed voice, surprising the others who were moving to the door, glad to be free from the thickening tension in the room. She looked to Shadow, concern and sympathy illuminating her timid eyes.

Violet nodded agreeably, knowing that perhaps Shadow's quiet companion could talk some sense into the angered newsgirl. "Shadow, we're all worried about you. Who knows what this creep could do to you? We figure there's safety in numbers, so we thought that maybe somebody could go sell with you today."

Shadow glared at Violet and Jack, scowling, "I said, I can take care of myself. I don't need somebody ta watch ovah me."

"Please, Shadow," Ivy besought her friend, eyes wide and hopeful. "We just don't want to see you get hurt."

She could not maintain her statement of tenacious independence under Ivy's stare, and folded her arms over her chest as a gesture of defeat. "Fine," she scoffed bitterly, her voice barely audible, "but not for an eternity or not'ing, all right? 'Cause not'ings gonna happen tahday, and even if it does-"she raised her eyes, dogged and fierce, to meet Specs' own-"I am perfectly capable of takin' care of myself." With that, she had turned on her heel and marched out of the washroom, her strong footsteps echoing loudly on the wooden floor.

Now she found herself partnered with Specs- Specs of all people!- on that humid afternoon, when a storm gathering around the city was preparing to burst forth in all its tumultuous glory.

"I told dem 'cause I..." he began in a short tone, but then trailed off in disdain and frustration. "Ya know, I don't even know why we'se havin' dis argument."

"I don't even know why I'm talkin' ta you," Shadow retorted.

"Den don't!"

"I won't!"

"Fine!"

"FINE!"

Several people who were passing by overheard their disagreement, and cast them bewildered, scornful stares. Shadow glared fiercely at a woman of middle age, dressed in finery, who whispered to her companion, "Well, what can you expect from these newsies? I send Frederick out to purchase the paper so I won't have to deal with..." her voice was lost amongst the noise as she and the other woman (who was clad in equally fine attire and nodding her agreement) disappeared into the crowded sidewalk.

Shadow and Specs continued to sell their papers in silence, though cast each other the occasional glance of venom every several minutes. "Group of pickpockets run wild in Central Pawk!" Specs shouted at the top of his lungs and waved a newspaper around in hopes of attracting the attention of wealthy couples strolling by. "Police are astounded!"

"Politician connected wid questionable death! Four corpses found scalped!" the girl bellowed, attempting to drown out her partner's cries. She realized that her so-called headline barely resembled the actual editorial, which was actually about the natural death of a congressman's ancient basset hound. However, she felt the fierce need to compete with the newsboy. Maybe if I sell more papes den he does, he'll cheese it and I can sell on my own again, she thought slyly.

"THIEVERY AT ALL TIME HIGH! NO ONE IS SAFE!" Specs shouted, unable to conceal the anger in his voice.

"SUSPECTED KILLER IN CONGRESS!"

As the two were verbally and indirectly fighting, they didn't notice the two pairs of familiar, hostile eyes which were currently studying the newsies' features with intense precision.

"That's the girl," Detective Sarmons, his eyes cold and harsh, murmured in a rather bestial growl. "Lucia Navar. Are you familiar with her?"

Snyder stared at her for a moment and probed his memory for anyone in the Refuge who had matched her description. Slowly, he shook his head, a gesture which greatly frustrated the detective. "No, she's never been to the Refuge. But I recognize the boy beside her...." He recalled with perfect clarity the day he had trekked to the Manhattan Newsboys' (the title being deeply deceiving, as many female newsies also resided there) Lodging House in search of Francis Sullivan. His eyes narrowed as he gazed upon the familiar boy, the one who had remarked, "Dat's an unusual name for dese parts." The worthless good-for-nothing.

"Who is it?" Sarmons demanded impatiently, eyes flashing wildly.

"I don't know his exact name," he admitted calmly, still studying Specs, "but he is a newsboy from the Manhattan Lodging House and had been involved in the strike. This Lucia Navar evidently stays there as well. We will have no trouble finding her."

The detective nodded as a wicked grin grew across his features, and he could not control the diabolic laughter which emitted from his twisted mouth- laughter which sent a slight shiver traveling down even Snyder's spine.

*****

The gas lights were just beginning to glow softly, fireflies darting around them in an ancient dance, as Specs and Shadow made their way back to the lodging house in silence. They hadn't spoken for hours, since their rather loud argument, and neither newsie seemed willing nor able to put an end to the quiet tension gathered between them.

Specs kicked an empty bottle into the gutter, and it smashed into a hundred pieces against the road. The sharp discord caused the stomach of his companion, who had been eying those passing by suspiciously, to leap into her throat. It was too familiar a noise for any sort of comfort.

"Would ya mind not doin' dat?" she demanded harshly, casting him a venomous stare.

Behind his glasses he rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Sorry, didn't know a little t'ing like dat could upset da all-mighty Shadow," he answered, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

Memories of a glass of brandy smashing against a man's skull revived themselves in her mind. She shivered visibly despite the heat and Specs took notice of this. He felt a pang of guilt as he wondered what could have made the girl act so anxious- not her commonly cool self at all- but had no idea how to apologize for his facetious remark. Instead, the two continued to travel the endless sidewalks in silence.

They arrived at the lodging house, greeted by Kloppman who was seated behind his desk and flipping through the pages of the World's evening edition. He looked up when the two marched in, identically irritated expressions decorating their faces. The older man raised an eyebrow at the two, though didn't feel the need to inquire about their foul moods; the disagreement which had taken place that morning had been as discreet as a foghorn. So he merely nodded at the two and commented, "You're two of the last ones here tonight. Looks like rain, so if you're going out, don't make it too late."

Shadow and Specs each mumbled a 'yeah' and tramped wordlessly up the rickety staircase. They both entered the girls' bunkroom where the action seemed to be taking place on that particular evening, and found the majority of the newsies chattering loudly or playing in a considerable game of black jack (initiated by Racetrack, who was currently the holder of a significantly large pile of coins. Painter was chastising Les for not standing still while she attempted to sketch him. Snipeshooter had taken Race's cigar again, although the latter had yet to notice this fact. Jack was lamenting about a disagreement he had had with Sarah just that afternoon concerning something she had cooked (or at least, attempted to cook; the culinary cats were not the girl's forte). Specs move to easily fall into a conversation with Dutchy and Snoddy concerning where was the best place to meet the best girls.

The dark-haired newsgirl surveyed the scene in scorn. Tahday, of all days, every newsie in New Yawk had ta meet in heah, she moaned to herself as she marched to her bunk, climbing up onto her bed. It seemed as though she would never had even the shortest moment of peace in this lodging house.

She extracted a tattered, leather-bound notebook (one which had been tossed into the garbage by a young, spoiled boy of wealthy descent and which she had swiftly claimed for her own) from under her pillow. The yellowing pages smelled faintly musty after years of misuse and were filled with lines of her flowing, careful script. Some pages were marked with her own attempts at poetry (I ain't Poe or not'ing, she admitted frankly to herself) while others were simply her thoughts jotted down. The mere action of holding a pen in her hand calmed her and scribbling away seemed to put everything into perspective.

However, it was more than a little difficult to concentrate on anything that evening with Racetrack's cheers of victory, Painter's complaints to Les, and the general roar of chatter. Finally Shadow slammed her book shut and jumped from her bed in severe irritation. Dat's it, I don't care what Kloppman says, I'm outta heah, she remarked to herself, eyes blazing as she strode towards the door. She was about four steps away when Violet practically pounced directly in her path.

"What is it?" Shadow, not willing to withstand a thousand questions, inquired directly.

"Just making sure that this afternoon went all right. I know you weren't exactly thrilled with the idea, and that you came back alive, so obviously nothing serious happened, but I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," the leader of the newsgirls answered swiftly, and the note of concern in her voice was lost on Shadow. "That guy didn't try anything again, did he?"

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and shook her head. "No." That wasn't entirely the truth; when she hadn't been so involved in being upset with Specs, Shadow had felt as though someone in the crowd had been watching her...waiting like a tiger prepare to pounce when the moment was precisely right.

"That's good," Violet said, relieved. "I guess it was just some deranged guy, not somebody specifically out for you. So-"

Just then, a clamor from downstairs invaded their conversation. Kloppman was arguing with someone- several someones in fact- who seemed insistent on entering the lodging house.

"If you'll just wait here," the elderly man was saying loudly, as though giving a warning to any newsie who might have been listening, "I'm sure I can help you."

Jack and Violet darted from the room for a moment to investigate the situation. The other newsies had halted their conversations to cast nervous, confused glanced at each other. Shadow stood with her eyes wide as a cold, sickened feeling slowly spread throughout her body like a cancer.

It seemed to be an eternity before the two leaders of the Manhattan newsies reappeared with corresponding fearful expressions. "It's da bulls," Jack informed the other newsies in a grave tone. "Dey're lookin' for a moiderah; dey t'ink it's one of us, and dat we been hidin' dis killah. We gotta get outta heah, fast."

Shadow felt the floor quake beneath her. Her eyes widened in genuine terror and her dark skin paled so that she was left with a sickly white complexion. Her heart pounded desperately against her chest, as though it wished to burst free from its resting place. She longed to throw up, to scream, to break down in tears right then and there.

Dis can't be happenin', dis can't be real, she tried to reassure herself, but came to no avail. This was very real and she was in mortal danger.

Specs caught sight of the girl's reaction and suddenly everything- Shadow's suspicious nature, her determination to hide her past from the others, and how she had behaved during every moment he had known her- made sense. He dashed over to the door just as the sound of many footsteps beginning to march up the staircase, accompanied by Kloppman's fervent protests, wafted ominously into the room. Turning to Shadow with a grave statement, he whispered only one solemn word: "Run."

She gulped down hard and nodded at the newsboy, her usually collected eyes absolutely panicked. Without a word, she bolted to the window and scrambled frantically down the fire escape, and was a safe four blocks away by the time the police burst into the bunkroom and began to capture every newsie in sight.

To be continued. Please review!