Author's note: Thanks to Lange for reviewing the last part!
The scent of warm chicken soup and a pounding headache woke Shadow from her deep slumber. She drifted out of dreams but was afraid to open her eyes for a moment, wondering what meals were served in prison. But then she realized that her aching skull was resting on a thick, downy pillow that was covered with the softest pink silk and scented with an exotic, heady perfume. Curiosity overcame her and she flung open her eyelids to reveal not the prison cell nor the gutter she had initially imagined, but a large, lavishly furnished dressing room. The space was filled with extravagant bouquets of delicate flowers (Ivy would t'ink she was in Heaven, Shadow remarked aimlessly to herself). A fuchsia feather boa was flung over a small end table which stood beside a rather large vanity upon which were strewn dozens of tiny bottles filled with strong French perfumes and tortoise shell brushes. Shadow herself lay upon a purple velvet fainting couch, an oversized, poorly designed tuxedo jacket (the arms being noticeably too short while the tails were far too long and would reach almost to one's ankles) draped over her in place of a proper blanket. She sat up, despite how her head protested her action, and stared at the woman, clad in a gaudy pink dress, who was seated in front of the vanity and fixing her red curls.
In the mirror, Medda caught sight of the newly awakened Shadow. She turned to the newsgirl with a bright smile. "So you've finally decided to grace the world with your presence," she laughed lightly, as though making an attempt to mollify the evidently serious situation. "Would you like some soup? I think it would do you good to get something in your stomach."
Realizing that she hadn't eaten anything since a vile bagel at lunch and too weak to feel suspicious of Medda (or at least to be leery of her soup), she muttered, "Yeah, t'anks."
The actress gave Shadow a bowl of piping hot chicken soup, steam rising in lazy ribbons from the surface. Shadow sipped carefully at the soup which warmed her body and soothed her empty stomach. As she wordlessly ate, Medda sat by her vanity once again and spoke in a concerned tone which was entirely lost upon the dark-haired girl.
"It's a good thing Toby found you when he did," she said. "He recognized you from the few times you've been here with some of the other newsies, but when he brought you to the lodging house, he found that no one else- not even Kloppman- was there. He knew he couldn't leave you there in your state, so he brought you back here. You were still soaking wet, so I hope you don't mind that I changed you into one of my nightgowns." Shadow glanced down and realized that she was no longer clad in her usual newsie garb but an unnecessarily frilly white nightgown. She would have minded under usual circumstances, but she decided to make an exception this time and listen to Medda as she continued, "If you had been out there unconscious for much longer, and in that weather, something terrible could have happened to you."
Shadow could not raise her eyes from her now nearly empty bowl of soup. Somet'ing bad already happened to me, she thought bitterly. It's called bein' born. Then she realized that Medda had asked her a question. Eyes still focused on the broth, she murmured, "What?"
"Honey, what happened to you? And what about the other newsies?" Medda repeated, deeply worried for the girl and her fellow newsies.
"Dey got taken ta da Refuge," she mumbled, a slow anger festering inside of her. Unlike some of the other newsies, Shadow had rarely visited Irving Hall. The most she knew about Medda was that the 'Swedish Meadowlark' had actually been born in Indiana and that she occasionally dyed her hair to achieve a shade more flamboyant than her natural strawberry blonde. Why was she asking such probing questions when what Shadow really wanted the vaudeville star to do was to send the newsgirl back on her way.
"Why? Did they get in some kind of trouble? Are you in trouble, honey?"
She wished that Medda would stop referring to her as honey. "Beats me, da bulls are jus' funny like dat."
Medda's solemn frown deepened. "There must have been some kind of mistake. Are you sure the newsies aren't in any trouble? And honey, why were you unconscious on the streets? Something must be wrong, please tell me."
Shadow's head snapped up as though she were a marionette controlled by a fierce puppeteer. Her eyes narrowed until they were thin, malicious lines and her voice burned with venom. "Yeah, somet'ing's wrong!" she shouted vehemently. "Da bulls jus' happen ta be aftah me for somet'ing I couldn't help! And now da newsies are in da Refuge, and dey hate me, and why shouldn't dey, and I'm on da run again, and dis is da way life is gonna be for me forevah, no mattah what, so deah's really no point in you askin' me any more stupid questions!" Leaping to her feet, she knocked the bowl from her lap and onto the floor, where the faux-Persian carpet began to soak up the liquid. The memory of an authentic Persian rug soaking up something else flashed in front of her eyes, and she found that she could no longer stand. She fell to her knees beside the bowl and clutched her stomach in fear of being sick. "Oh, God," she murmured, terrified that tears were going to pour from her eyes again, now with an audience to view her pain.
Medda quickly knelt down beside the girl and attempted to put an arm around Shadow's shoulders, but the newsgirl pulled away like a skittish, injured animal.
"Shadow-" the actress began in a soft, soothing voice, but Shadow quickly interjected fearfully.
"No, ya don't undahstand; nobody can even begin ta undahstand!"
"Oh, honey, that's not true," Medda replied and took Shadow's hand into her own before the girl could protest. "Life has been terrible for you, hasn't it?"
Shadow's lip quivered as she shrugged and gazed around the room, hoping to find anything to rest her eyes upon instead of Medda's sympathetic statement. She didn't dare to answer, afraid that instead of a reply a cry could slip from her mouth.
"You've been hurt badly...oh, you poor dear."
The newsgirl's stomach was twisting painfully and she wondered if the chicken soup was going to make a sudden reappearance. She stared at the door- which, at across the room, seemed to be a thousand miles away- hopefully, as if she were a caged animal. There were invisible bars around Shadow, barriers which had existed for her entire life. But who had constructed these barricades...and for what purpose did they now serve? She clutched her heart, terrified that if she even dared to question the reason for this emotional cage she would be left defenseless against such an unkind world.
"I...I need ta go," she mumbled. "Wheah are my clothes?" She stood and whirled around the room like a demented wooden horse on a frantic carousel. "Wheah are dey?"
Medda rose to her feet as well, clutching Shadow's shoulders to cease her panicked movements. Her eyes stared deeply into the girl's unwilling ones. "Shadow, I want to help you, honey. Please let me."
"Nobody can help me now."
With that hopeless thought, Shadow sank back to the fainting couch, visibly trembling and mentally ordering herself to stop. Her back hunched, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and allowed her hair to cascade from her back, screening her features. Why couldn't I jus' have died out deah on da streets? It woulda been an easy end ta everyt'ing.... Well, I guess I nevah did get da easy way outta t'ings; I nevah did get used ta dat fact.
The redhead breathed a low sigh replete with pity and sadness. She pulled her chair to face Shadow and, with her fingertips pressing gently against the skin under the girl's chin, raised Shadow's head. "Honey, how could you think the newsies would ever hate you? You're one of them."
"I'm about as much of one of dem as you are," she answered stonily.
"What do you mean?"
Just then, a clattering knock invaded the quiet conversation and caused both females to jump slightly. A handsome, older man with graying hair and thick stage makeup pained on his face stuck his head into the room. His clown's smile did not serve to brighten the expressions of neither Medda nor Shadow under these conditions. "You're on in five, Medda; it's a smashing crowd tonight."
Without hesitation, the actress answered assuredly, "Cal, tell one of the other girls to fill in for me- Gertrude, she's been practicing so hard. I can't go on tonight."
The man eyed Shadow for a moment before nodding solemnly at Medda. "I'll tell her." The door shut softly behind him, leaving the two in privacy once again.
Shadow gaped at Medda. Why da hell did she cancel tahnight for me? I barely know her. If it had been Jack- of coise, Jack, he's her favorite- or Race or Pocket or Violet or anybody besides me and dey were in trouble, I could see dat. But she barely knows me; why da hell would she care about me?
The actress turned to the newsgirl again, not choosing to comment or even react to Shadow's statement of bewilderment. "Honey, the newsies could never hate you. Why do you think they do?"
The words were pressing against Shadow's lips, her tongue, her teeth, praying for release from her body. "I...I..." she murmured, a great conflict occurring in her spirit. If she admitted the truth, Medda would certainly glare at the girl in disgust and throw her out into the streets again. And yet she had taken her in and given her soup and even (or perhaps, Shadow thought, it was merely her imagination) seemed to genuinely care about the girl's predicament. She drew a deep breath and, fighting the instincts of a lifetime, murmured so softly that Medda had to guess at her words rather than hear them, "I'm in trouble. A lotta trouble. And dat hoit da newsies." She paused in apprehension and adopted an statement reminiscent of an abused dog who was certain of receiving a beating from its master.
"What kind of trouble? Anything that involves the police?"
Shadow nodded feebly, keeping her eyes focused on her lap. "Yeah, and dat's why da newsies- and I guess Kloppman, too- all got locked up."
"How did you get into trouble, honey? Is it anything that can be helped? Can I help you in any way?" she inquired hopefully and pushed a lock of hair out of the newsgirl's eyes.
"I..." The worse caught in Shadow's throat and she wondered aimlessly if she were going to choke on them. Jus' tell her a distant, calm voice murmured compassionately. But then another, more familiar voice interjected with cruel remarks. As if she'd undahstand ya. Ya t'ink she really cares about what happened ta ya? She jus' t'inks it's somet'ing like Jack's past; she doesn't know what kinda scum ya actually are. If possible, Shadow felt even more ill and clutched at her stomach as she shook her head despondently. "I can't..." she murmured, "I just can't."
"It's okay, honey, you don't have to," Medda assured the girl. Shadow nodded thankfully, still staring at her lap and willing her stomach to calm itself. "Can you tell me why you think the newsies would hate you?"
Shadow rolled her eyes and scowled, "Come on. I got dem t'rown in jail. Dat's not some'ting ya're likely ta forget all dat soon, unless you'se about as smart as da Delancy bruddahs."
"If I know the newsies like I think I do," Medda replied solemnly, "they care about the welfare of those they care for more than anything else."
The newsgirl scoffed bitterly and glared viciously at the carpet, daggers from her eyes shooting at the bowl. She longed for her legs to regain strength so she would be able to rise up and bolt away until she reached the something she had been literally aching for during those frigid, solitary nights sleeping in alleys, those moments lying so vulnerable beside some pervert, even those evenings sitting along on the roof of the lodging house as she started up into the stars, words swirling in her mind. "Well, I'se sure as hell not anyone dey'd care about like dat."
"Shadow," Medda murmured gravely, her eyes far more serious than Shadow had ever seen them and her statement devoid of its usual gaiety, "have the newsies ever given you even the slightest reason to doubt them?"
Shadow gazed up and locked eyes- eyes that were so frightened, so full of intense longing- with Medda's. Then she swiftly shut her eyelids and willed the answer to appear, but it did not come.
*****
"Boarding for Detroit! Last train for Detroit!" the loud, slightly hoarse voice of the stationmaster resonated against the dark metal of the train and pained Shadow's ears. Her headache hadn't disappeared entirely and the combined roar of the station master, the train's shrill whistle, and the crowds at Grand Central Station were doing nothing to improve it. The stench of burning coal attacked her and caused her to wonder if she were about to pass out- or perhaps it wasn't simply the intense smell which was causing her stomach to twist so violently- but she firmly ordered herself to remain conscious. Instead of allowing her mind to wander to other matters, she stared at the train which loomed ominously before her. She had only a few steps to take and she would disappear again.
In her hand, which was growing steadily warmer with some emotion she dared not name, she clutched a single ticket. Good t'ing I still had da money I made sellin' tahday, she realized as she studied the passengers who were already entering the train. Oddahwise I'd be walkin' outta da city.
"Kiss the children for me," a good-looking man with a well-trimmed mustache and glasses which sparkled even in the night said to his wife, an equally attractive blonde woman. He pressed a swift kiss to her cheek.
"We'll all be here to meet you when you return next week," she replied with a small smile. "No doubt they'll have grown so much that you won't recognize them." The two laughed lightly and shared another embrace.
Shadow cast the couple a single, withering glance, but they were too involved in their farewell to notice. Sickened at the sight, she turned away and studied other passengers, all of whom seemed to be well dressed and possessing several pieces of massive, matching luggage. Shadow had nothing on her person, not even her beloved journal.
She exhaled heavily and stared at the large, ebony train before her. The last time she had been on a train had been years ago...three years ago, to be precise. Her blood pounded wildly at the thought; then, it had seemed to be an escape, the only logical action which could be taken for survival. Now she felt as though her feet were cemented to the ground.
Come on, no time ta be a tremblin' mouse, she told herself, though with not nearly enough persuasion to convince herself, and dragged her feet closer to the train, which seemed to be the color of a bullet.
She lifted herself onto the train and was quite aware of the odd stares she was receiving from some of the more well-to-do passengers. The wealthy woman's voice from that afternoon- had it only been that long ago?- echoed throughout Shadow's mind. Well, what can you expect from these newsies? Newsies.
Who da hell am I? Shadow demanded fiercely of herself as the din of the station seemed to distance itself from her. A newsie, a whore, a killah? Jus' who am I, anyway?
*****
"Boarding for Detroit! Last train for Detroit!" the loud, slightly hoarse voice of the stationmaster resonated against the dark metal of the train and pained Shadow's ears. Her headache hadn't disappeared entirely and the combined roar of the station master, the train's shrill whistle, and the crowds at Grand Central Station were doing nothing to improve it. The stench of burning coal attacked her and caused her to wonder if she were about to pass out- or perhaps it wasn't simply the intense smell which was causing her stomach to twist so violently- but she firmly ordered herself to remain conscious. Instead of allowing her mind to wander to other matters, she stared at the train which loomed ominously before her. She had only a few steps to take and she would disappear again.
In her hand, which was growing steadily warmer with some emotion she dared not name, she clutched a single ticket. Good t'ing I still had da money I made sellin' tahday, she realized as she studied the passengers who were already entering the train. Oddahwise I'd be walkin' outta da city.
"Kiss the children for me," a good-looking man with a well-trimmed mustache and glasses that sparkled even in the night said to his wife, an equally attractive blonde woman. He pressed a swift kiss to her cheek.
"We'll all be here to meet you when you return next week," she replied with a small smile. "No doubt they'll have grown so much that you won't recognize them." The two laughed lightly and shared another embrace.
Shadow cast the couple a single, withering glance, but they were too involved in their farewell to notice. Sickened at the sight, she turned away and studied other passengers, all of whom seemed to be well dressed and possessing several pieces of massive, matching luggage. Shadow had nothing on her person, not even her beloved journal.
She exhaled heavily and stared at the large, ebony train before her. The last time she had been on a train had been years ago...three years ago, to be precise. Her blood pounded wildly at the thought; then, it had seemed to be an escape, the only logical action that could be taken for survival. Now she felt as though her feet were cemented to the ground.
Come on, no time ta be a tremblin' mouse, she told herself, though with not nearly enough persuasion to convince herself, and dragged her feet closer to the train, which seemed to be the color of a bullet.
She lifted herself onto the train and was quite aware of the odd stares she was receiving from some of the more well-to-do passengers. The wealthy woman's voice from that afternoon- had it only been that long ago?- echoed throughout Shadow's mind. Well, what can you expect from these newsies? Newsies.
Who da hell am I? Shadow demanded fiercely of herself as the din of the station seemed to distance itself from her. A newsie, a whore, a killah? Jus' who am I, anyway?
"Last call for Detroit! ALL ABOARD!" the station master bellowed at the top of his lungs and took a step onto the train.
Suddenly the engine began to huff and puff like an elderly man who had been inhaling a steady stream of expensive cigars since age twelve. A sharp whistle pierced Shadow's ears like a thousand needles and a cloud of thick, murky smoke filled the air. Several people still standing on the platform smiled sadly to those on board, who in return waved from their comfortable chairs in luxurious sitting rooms. Shadow's heart was pounding madly now and she wondered if she were about to have a heart attack. At least it would tell me if my heart's still deah, she ruefully admitted to herself.
A hand reached out from seemingly nowhere and rested on Shadow's shoulder, causing the girl to whirl around in terror. The frenzy in her eyes did not decrease when she saw it was merely an attendant.
"Would you please take your seat now, miss?" he asked with forced politeness as he began to imagine what a girl like Shadow was doing on the very last train of the evening.
Shit, Shadow thought regretfully, glancing from the attendant to the platform (just as the train gave the tiniest of lurches and began to pull away from those still smiling) and back again. She drew a deep breath and took the single step that would permanently decide the course of her life.
To be continued…please review.