CHAPTER FOUR

The heels of Darby Rockwell's shoes clicked on the pavement and thrust her hands further into her muffler as she headed for the corner of Main and Jackson.

"Why hello, Darby!" she heard a jovial male voice call out.

She turned her head to see Mr. Firth, an elderly old chap, walking one of his little white terriers on the opposing side of the road.

"Why, hello, Mr. Firth!" she called back.

"Awfully chillsome weather we are having!" he laughed.

"Indeed!" Darby agreed, thus ending the conversation.

She lowered her head and quickened her pace—it was almost eight now.

Darby finally reached the corner of Main and Jackson, without any sign of Katrina. She sighed and leaned again the sign that professed the meeting of the two streets.

Darby cast her gaze up to the gray December sky. Although the snow was coming down lightly, it was still bitterly cold out due to the fierce winds—making Darby all the more thankful for the dark blue overcoat and hat (and shoes) that protected her.

A feeling of silliness washing through her, Darby let her tongue just out in attempt to see if she could catch any fallen snowflakes on it.

She had been having no luck, when she heard the cheerful voice ring out, "Trying to catch snowflakes on your tongue, silly Darby?"

Darby lowered her head to see that Katrina was standing in front of her, wearing a dark green ensemble that only the more enhanced her eyes.

She laughed. "Hello, Kat. I daresay, but I think that you are late."

Katrina rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush, Darby. It's only a few minutes past eight."

"But if I recall you said eight sharp…" Darby reminded.

Katrina rolled her eyes yet again as she linked her arm through Darby's. "I'll get down on my knees and grovel later, Darby, but let's hurry. It's too goddamn cold out."

As they began walking through the crowded sidewalk, Darby commented, "Kat, you complain about being cold in a coat and hat. I was in weather even colder than this without any damn shoes on!"

A smile lit up Katrina's face. "Ah, yes, Darby! You were telling me about some bloke who gave you his shoes!"

Darby felt her cheeks ignite at the memory of the mysterious Spot Conlon. "He didn't give me his shoes, Kat. I only borrowed them."

"Ah, me!" Katrina swooned. "Maybe he is your knight in shining armor, Darby! The one who will rescue you from the evil David Van Prick's clutches!"

Darby had to laugh along with her friend, when another thought found its way into her mind. "Kat?"

"Hum?"

"Where is this party we are going to anyway?"

Katrina's green eyes lit up and a sly smile formed over her lips. "That, Darby, you will find out soon."

"Kat…" Darby started.

But Katrina just waved a finger. "Oh, shush, Darby. You will find out…"

Katrina halted and broke her arm away from Darby's. She seemed to be looking around for some unknown object.

Darby raised an eyebrow. "What in the world are you looking for?"

Still looking around, Katrina replied, "Is this the corner of Harrison and Gulf?"

Darby looked up and in the glare of the streetlight saw the sign that proclaimed Harrison Street and Gulf Way.

Darby nodded. "Yes, it is, Kat. But why?"

Katrina locked gazes with Darby. "Because, I was supposed to meet him here."

"Him?" Darby asked incredulously.

"Uh-huh," Katrina murmured, standing on tiptoes to look over people's heads. "Now where the hell could he be…Ah ha! There he is!"

"There is who?" Darby asked, trying to follow her friend's gaze, yet seeing no one out of the ordinary.

"Whitie, of course!" Katrina cried, waving her arms in the air as though trying to catch someone's attention.

"Whitie?" Darby murmured, trying to recall anyone who she knew was named Whitie. The name did not ring a bell.

"Whitie! Oh, Whitie!" Katrina cried, still standing on her tiptoes. "Over here!"

All of a sudden, a rather comely boy on the tall side with a shock of blonde hair, making his way through the crowds, appeared.

Darby's gaze followed him as he approached Katrina. "Katrina?"

Katrina nodded and smiled, her gaze locked with his. "Yes, Whitie, it's me."

Whitie finally reached Katrina's side, his cheeks stained red from the cold and his breathing heavy, but all the same a cheerful smile on his face.

"Wow, Katrina, ya look…goigeous," he stammered, his breath obviously taken away.

Katrina's face turned scarlet as she playfully swatted Whitie. "Oh, stop."

All the while Darby stood dumbfounded.

After looking into each other eyes for sometime, Katrina finally remembered Darby.

"Oh!" she cried, turning towards Darby. "Whitie, I forgot. This is my friend Darby Rockwell. Darby, this is Whitie Wilson."

Whitie grinned and stepped forward, offering his hand (although not spitting in it) to Darby. "How d'ya do?"

Darby took his hand. "Very well, thank you. And yourself?" she replied, somewhat uncertainly.

Whitie turned back to Katrina. "Well, shall we go?"

Katrina nodded and beamed, and taking Whitie's arm, they began walking, Darby tagging along at Katrina's opposing side.

After a few moments of walking, Katrina and Whitie were engaged in conversing about the weather, when Darby had had enough. She pulled on Katrina's collar, causing her to link on Whitie's arm to break.

"What?" Katrina asked, she and Darby walking abaft Whitie.

"Kat, who the hell is he?" Darby hissed, trying to keep her voice low.

Katrina let out a laugh. "Whitie?"

"Yes, Whitie!" Darby cried.

Katrina let out a clear laugh as she once again linked arms with Whitie. "Whitie, Darby just asked me who you are."

Whitie looked at Darby and smiled. "Why, I'm Whitie Wilson, ma'am."

Darby rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean," she said under her breath.

Katrina sighed. "Well, Darby, as you know I was on that utterly atrocious brunch date with Steve yesterday, if you recall, and it was just going awful so I left. As I was walking home, I happened to spy Whitie here selling his newspapers. I just thought him too cute of a thing to pass up, so we started talking, and he invited me to the party tonight!"

Darby reeled in shock. "A newsboy?"

Katrina caught her gaze. "Yes, a newsboy, Darby. Don't look so surprised!"

Darby felt as though she could wring Katrina's neck right that moment. Whitie only made it worse by asking, "D'ya have a bad history with newsboys, Darby?"

Darby looked at him, stammering, unable to answer his question. How could she possibly tell him that she had been raised under the teaching that all beings who weren't wealthy and in the lap of luxury were inferior? Of course, Darby didn't take this quite as literally as her parents did. Yet, the opulent Katrina Van Witt walking arm in arm with a newsboy in only a threadbare jacket and a spotted derby hat?

Darby shook her head. "No, Whitie, I have no history at all. It's…"

"It's just that you'd rather see me with some rich socialite on my arm instead of a newsboy?" Katrina asked.

Darby grew flustered, knowing she had really put her foot in her mouth this time. "Kat…"

Katrina laughed. "Oh, Darby, relax! You've been so conditioned to your mother's fancy-schmancy dinner parties with old bats who reek of formaldehyde that you don't know how to live! Money isn't everything, Darb, living life up is everything!"

Darby let out a sigh. "You are such a bitch, Katrina."

Katrina giggled. "I know, Darby. That's why you love me."

The trio walked in silence for a few moments, before they came to the start of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Darby immediately halted, looking apprehensively at the structure.

Katrina stopped walking and turned around, raising an eyebrow at her friend. "Darby, what the hell is your problem?"

Darby's big blue eyes grew wide. "It's the Brooklyn Bridge," she stammered, sounding idiotic.

Katrina exchanged glanced with Whitie. "So?" she asked. "It's the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge. It will not bite, Darby! Stop being silly!"

Darby's gaze flickered from Katrina to the bridge. She couldn't tell her of all the horrid tales her great aunt Bernice had scared her silly with, tales from over the bridge.

Tales of tall dark men who stole little girls from their beds. Tales of the witches who used little girls noses in their potions. And the tale that stole the show—the carnivorous troll that resided under the bridge itself.

Of course, Darby had only been a small, gullible girl when these stories had been told to her. But everyone on Main Street knew of the horrors that lurked on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Darby?" Katrina asked, waving a hand in front of Darby's face.

"Huh?" Darby cried, rebounding to reality once more.

"We thought we lost you there for a moment there, Darby," Katrina laughed.

Darby slowly nodded.

"Well come one, don't just stand there!" Katrina cried, grasping Darby's wrist and pulling her forward.

But Darby halted once more. "But the troll!" she whined.

Katrina cast Darby a pathetic look. "Darby, quit being a dumbass. Your Aunt Bernice was a smelly old bat who told you those stories just to scare you. There is nothing over the Brooklyn Bridge that isn't on Main Street."

"Yes there is, newsboys," Darby said under her breath as a persistent—and impatient—Katrina pulled her onto the bridge.

Darby kept her eyes closed the entire time they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. She had a confession to make—it wasn't her great Aunt Bernice's tales she was desperately afraid of, it was her fear of heights.

She let out a sigh of relief when they finally reached the opposing side. Darby finally opened her eyes, and what she saw made her breathing faster.

They area they walked through now resembled the quarters that the bordello was housed in as she sat on the bench crying last night.

A sudden, an immature, fear found it's way to the pit of Darby's stomach. That a tall dark man, witch, or troll was bound to jump out of the shadows and snatch her.

She then wished that she could be at home, perched in front of the warm fire that crackled in the hearth.

But that wasn't so. She was walking in an area of Brooklyn that was over the bridge with her best friend and an unknown newsboy in the dead of December.

And her cravings only got stronger when Whitie announced, "Well, welcome to the party."

Darby looked up and uttered a long sigh when she saw the dark gray building looming in front of her, golden light streaming through the windows and resonant commotion coming from inside the walls.

And on top of that, in peeling paint the words stenciled on the building read Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House.

Darby wished she had a weapon of choice so she could murder Katrina.