The clattering of a tin cup being swept against the iron bars stretched across the window irritated Specs to no end. It was far easier to address his emotions at the inanimate object that Pie Eater was absently playing with than to deal with them directly. With dark eyes framed behind the slightly dusty lenses, he growled, "Can it, Pie Eater."
"Can it-" Pocket automatically piped up before realizing that the joke wouldn't be nearly so amusing as it had been the prior day. Had it honestly only been one day ago?
Specs leaned back in his severely uncomfortable bed (if one could even refer to the piece of wood covered by a paper-thin mattress as a bed), his hands resting behind his head and his eyes locked at the bunk above him. He knew that Dutchy was currently residing on the bed above his, but his mind traveled to other times long ago- or seemingly long ago; the events in actuality had only taken place several years earlier- when he had first been thrown into the rats' nest they had the nerve to call the Refuge and when another boy had occupied that upper bunk. In reality, what kind of refuge was it? The so-called sanctuary served only to be a place for further abuse and torment. Like most newsies, Specs did not originate from a kindly, vastly wealthy family who vacationed in Newport and owned scores of factories. He had never known his mother, and his father had barely been around. Sometimes Specs, referred to as Michael in his youth, used to wonder if his father even realized he had a son. Of course, the occasions when his father did notice him weren't exactly particularly fond memories for the newsboy. He recalled a time when his father arrived home after a long night of hard liquor and smashed the boy's initial pair of glasses into thousands of pieces, most of which a young Specs proceeded to accidentally step on in his near blindness. After years of living in near isolation, he had been relieved to join a street gang who would feel no compunction for beating up a small boy for a few pennies, nor did his fellow members feel the need to rescue him from the Refuge after Specs had been caught by Snyder while swiping a pocket watch from a fine jewelry store.
The sound of a shoe slamming into the sole, locked door leading from the room interrupted Specs' ponderings. He gazed up to see that Racetrack had kicked the door out of impatience. "When are we gettin' da hell outta heah?" he demanded ferociously of anyone who was willing to answer.
"They have to let us out soon," Violet answered, hoping to pacify the boy.
"How do ya know dat?" Snitch inquired hopefully.
Jack, who was currently involved in a poker game with Mush, shrugged coolly and drew another card, replying without glancing up from his hand or changing his stony statement in the slightest. "T'ink about it; dey caught ev'ry one of us Manhattan newsies. Dey say dey can stick us in heah 'till damn doomsday if dey wanna, on account of we was 'harborin' a dangerous criminal'. But da t'ing is dat Pulitzer ain't gonna stand for ev'ry one of us bein' t'rown in heah for even a day. It'd hoit his profits, and he'd raddah help us out den lose any more money den he has ta on account of us."
The words 'harboring a dangerous criminal', spoken both by Jack and the detective who had informed them of the reason for their imprisonment, echoed in Specs' mind, drowning out the dull roar of the other newsies. He had always known Shadow to be secretive and suspicious, but a murderer? A prostitute? It was unbelievable, it had to be a mistake.
"So how long do ya t'ink we'll be in heah for?" Crutchy asked.
"I dunno, a couple of days at da most. Full house, kings ovah sevens; read 'em and weep." Jack grinned gleefully as he slapped his cards onto the floor which hadn't been dusted in years while Mush frowned in disappointment.
The solemn statement gracing Specs' face did not improve with the prediction. He frowned and gazed around at the cramped, unkempt room which was filled with the Manhattan newsies, all attemptin to find activities with which they could occupy their time. Though it was night and ominous black clouds filled the sky, Specs recalled from years ago that no matter what time of day it was, no matter what weather, it always seemed dark and cold in the Refuge. He vaguely wondered if this was what Shadow was going to be seeing for the rest of her life- or maybe her sentence would be much worse.
That is, if she was caught. And Specs gathered that Shadow was the type of girl who was more than able to slip into the crowds and disappear without a trace if she so chose.
"So do you think she did it?" Cricket loudly inquired with a concerned curiosity as she eyed her fellow newsies. "Shadow, I mean."
The room, which had been buzzing with activity and chatter, fell to a hush. The newsies cast each other worried, hopeless glances as they pondered about Shadow and her mysterious past. No one dared to speak for several minutes, but then, out of a far corner of the room, Ivy murmured, "She couldn't do something like that. I'm sure she didn't want to...if she did it at all."
"And jus' cause dey say she did somet'ing don't mean she actu'lly did it," Racetrack added confidently, nodding to Jack. "Snydah said ya was a dangah ta society and, well, da only threat ya pose ta us is when ya won't shut up about da great night ya had wid Sarah." He grinned mischievously but before Jack was able to hurl any available object at Race's head, the boy went on, "And Pocket, we all t'ought ya had rejoined da pickpockets, but dat wasn't true. Dis doesn't have ta be, eiddah."
Nobody actu'lly uses woids like moidah and killah and whore, Specs remarked thoughtfully to himself. Maybe it's jus' 'cause we t'ink dat if we use dose woids, it's true, she is a killah. It's safah jus' ta refer ta t'ings as 'dat' and 'it'.
Although other newsies agreed wholeheartedly with Race and Ivy's statements, Specs wasn't entirely certain. A painful worry was knotting in his stomach, warning him that Shadow was in for far more than she or any of the other newsies realized.
*****
On any other occasion, Shadow would have been thoroughly opposed to spending the night in a dank alley as the rain poured down mercilessly, as it was threatening to do now. She would have found some safe doorway to huddle up in, some unlocked church or store to hide in until just before daybreak when she could slip back into the streets without anyone noticing or caring. She would have grumbled and sworn at the sky for the mere possibility of such weather.
However, on that night she was thankful for the approaching rain.
It sounded very cleansing, as though the water could just wash everything away and make life tolerable for once. As though she could simply melt away and be carried out to the ocean where she would drift peacefully for the rest of eternity.
That would have been a lovely thing to do then. She was very tired of running, of hiding, of being terrified of everyone and everything. All she wanted to do at that moment in time was to not have to do anything anymore- to become a real shadow and vanish without a trace.
She halted on the sidewalk for a moment, wondering if perhaps the God she didn't exactly believe in was going to listen to her pleas for once and allow everything to end in that moment. But, as she had suspected all along, she was still Shadow, standing frozen on the sidewalk, which was filled with people rushing to take cover from the impending rainfall.
Shit was all she permitted herself to think as she began to stalk the streets yet again.
Her hands shoved into her pockets and her back hunched slightly (as though she had terrible posture which a matronly aunt would constantly berate her for), she strode quickly down the sidewalk. She had no idea where she was even headed. But moving seemed like a much better idea than resting and allowing thoughts to fester, so she left her feet guide her anywhere they pleased. Occasionally she turned corners, crossed streets, or even whirled around and doubled-back for absolutely no reason at all. Those actions took her mind off of far more pressing matters for a few blessed moments.
The sky was completely enveloped in a thick blanket of coal black coals, which threatened to burst open with oceans of rainwater at any moment. Every so often, the distant, prophetic rumble of thunder echoed throughout the city and sent a shiver racing through Shadow's bones.
As she marched by the sparklingly clean window of a seamstress' store, she caught her reflection in the glass. She stopped short and turned slowly, almost unwillingly, to face herself. She studied the same skin- which had seemed to pale considerably since that morning- the same ebony hair, the same slightly pointed ears, the same eyes- which appeared frantic even then-, the same body she had known for years. Pressing her hand to the windowpane as if hoping for some form of warm, comforting contact but receiving none, she wished that she could magically depart from the flesh and bone and be lost among the clouds.
Scowling bitterly, Shadow turned away swiftly before any more thoughts of the like raced across her mind and she rushed down the sidewalk. A warm, tumultuous wind soared playfully around the streets, tugging at her hair and clothing. Her frown deepened ever more as she pushed her tresses out of her face and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, wondering what her options were now.
Maybe I could head ta Harlem or Brooklyn, she suggested hopefully. Aftah all, Pocket went deah ta get Spot ta help her aftah da pickpocket incident. Why can't I do da same? Then a realistically resentful voice, scorn dripping like vile honey, replied, 'Cause ya ain't Pocket. She was jus' involved wid a buncha pickpockets, like hundreds of oddah kids are and have been. Da oddah newsies have pasts like dat; dey'd undahstand dat. I, on da oddah hand, don't got a shot at sympathy. No, it's best ta jus' keep goin' alone. dat's what's always woiked befoah.
Before she had the opportunity to ponder her last statement, she caught sight of a young policeman scouring the streets. He appeared to be as enthusiastic to be still outdoors as a snowball would be in July, and most likely wouldn't take kindly to any fugitive/murderer he discovered. Wondering if he was actually searching for her, shadow leapt into a nearby alley and waited until the cop was a safe six blocks away before she took the tiniest of steps onto the sidewalk again.
Is dis gonna be it? Shadow demanded of herself as she stared at the tiny, retreating figure of the officer, which was growing somehow blurrier by the minute. Am I jus' gonna be runnin' and hidin' and prayin' I don't get caught for my entire life, wid nobody else?
The wind seemed to blow even stronger as the first, minuscule drops of rain fell gleefully from the sky and splashed onto the city streets. Nobody else...deah ain't nevah been anybody else. Even da newsies, even Specs don't want me around anymore. Dey all t'ink I'm jus' a killah and a whore. Why else would Specs have told me ta run?
Vaguely wondering why the streets were suddenly so blurred, Shadow placed her palms at her forehead and dug her long fingernails into her scalp. It was somehow relieving to feel the physical pain which matched her emotional torment. No, ya don't need dem, ya don't need anybody, a faint but tenacious voice declared. Ya been gettin' along fine already, and people jus' end up hurtin' ya anyways. Ya don't need dem!
Unfortunately, there's a limit as to how much one can lie to oneself, even in the most fire of situations. Shadow crumbled into the gutter, tears which had been collecting for seemingly an eternity at last flowing freely from her eyes and pouring down her cheeks. Why me?! What did I evah do ta desoive dis?! Why does everybody want ta end up hurtin' me?! She felt as though she would drown in the pouring rain and the exodus of her own tears and gasped for breath, for something far more essential than simply air, as she answered herself, It's because of you! It's because everybody t'ink ya're a killah and a whore, which is what ya are.
A familiar voice echoed in her mind, invading her senses like an icy gust of unkind wind. "No one even cares about you, so if you don't turn up again, there will be no search parties, no huge funeral procession, no single tear shed in sadness." He had been right all along.
An ear-piercing crack of thunder shattered the air as a bolt of lightning forked through and illuminated the sky. Rain pelted down unkindly, hitting Shadow without mercy. She barely recognized the abuse.
She clutched her stomach and chest, which felt so immensely empty. It seemed as though her tears had carried with them all of what was remaining of her soul. The intense nothingness was excruciating.
Shadow was soaking wet now, water pouring down her hair, onto her clothing, and from her eyes. At least nobody can tell da difference between rain and tears, she thought bitterly as the steady stream continued to flow. She was seated in the gutter, amongst garbage, without a friend in the world. She had no place to go to, no one to turn to.
So instead of fighting, Shadow simply hugged her knees tightly to her chest, closed her eyes while the tears continued to pour onto her cheeks, and drifted off into a deep, comforting darkness.
To be continued…please review!