Note from Author: Woo hoo! Only a few more chapters to go. But remember:
reviews = new chapter. Enjoy! PS: I would rate this chapter a PG-16 for
some use of coarse language that isn't used as often in other chapters.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Darby Rockwell finally understood what it was like to be one of the condemned to the gallows on the day of their execution. The spectators of course were insanely joyous; they loved bloodshed. They were oblivious to the pain of the condemned, only that they were present to view the atrocious climax of the death sentence.
Darby felt like one of the damned, her head hung, while she latched onto one of the scarlet crushed velvet curtains adorning the bay window. It seemed as though each sharp tug of the corset strings brought the tears closer to break point.
The last moments were ticking away on the clock of freedom. The sky had darkened to a deep charcoal; meaning that in no time it would be pitch black and it would be time for the ball to start. All the elite guests would arrive, they would merrily dance, and then the marvelous feast would be broken out and right after that was when David Van Wyck would slide out of his chair and onto his knee, bestowing her with the gleaming ring. It had happen before, yet now there would be no apple pie to break her fall.
Yet, Darby knew that tonight would not be as impossibly difficult if she had not met Spot Conlon. True, he was only a lowly newsboy, but the real world, the world of accents and spitting handshakes, was embodied in him. She had only known him for less than a week, yet the pain in her shattering heart was unbearable whenever she thought that she would perhaps never again see him.
The wedding, of course, would be in the very near future. Darby didn't doubt it for a moment that with the exquisite dress sent from Paris she was due to wear tonight, another had been sent along with it: a pompous, immaculately white wedding dress. She would be pushed down the aisle in reluctance and tears and then David Van Wyck would own her. And there was absolutely nothing she could do.
The corset was finally tied. Darby let go of the now crumpled drape and inhaled. A tear slipped from her cheek at the compression of the garment.
It was then that a high, nasal voice pierced the air. "Oh, Darby! Do hurry up! The guests will be arriving soon."
Darby did not even raise her head to regard her mother; she only stood pale, her eyes falling to the plush white carpet.
Ava was soon on her, pushing her and prodding her, finally shoving the dress at her.
"Darby! Do hurry up, will you? You better not keep David waiting!"
Darby had to use all force possible not to annihilate her mother once and for all. She only raised her head, the iridescent pale peach dress askew in her arms, to see her mother exit the room in a flourish, in only corset and slip, her brown hair piled upon her head accented with horrible ornaments ranging from flowers to faux birds.
She still remained in her own somber state, and it was in no time before the maids had dressed her, all uttering oohs and ahs.
Darby let her eyes wander to the grand mahogany full-length mirror, only feeling revulsion and an infinite sadness at the reflection that stared her back. She looked like a vision, of course, the dress was impeccably suited for her, accenting every curve of her body. The pale color emphasized the rouge that they had stained her cheeks with, trying to achieve a glow on her otherwise pallor skin. The strand of pale pink diamonds around her neck glittered vaingloriously in the light, matching the ones that had been weaved in to her intricate hair style. She of course looked the part of an elegant socialite, alas, her dark blue eyes retained no shimmer, showing to those that viewed closely enough that she had left her heart and soul back at the dock behind the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House.
"OH! My DARLING! You look so BEAUTIFUL!"
Ava Rockwell had returned, this time fully dressed in an ostentatious deep blue gown smattered with glitter.
Darby only raised a brow slightly, her rouged lips in a perfect line, as she watched her mother in the mirror come behind her and rest her vein laced hands on her shoulders.
"You look absolutely beautiful, darling! Why, why don't you looked overjoyed?"
Darby had to suppress herself from breaking out into maniacal laughter. Her mother, nor anyone else, had the slightest idea that she knew that she was going to be forced to become that vile man's fiancée tonight.
Her forlorn expression never transformed.
"Well," Ava said, stepping back, somewhat flustered at her daughter's behavior. Though, suddenly, a smile lit up her red-lacquered lips. "Oh, Darby, you'll never guess who arrived?"
Darby bit down on her tongue from asking whom.
"David!" Ava cried, her eyes lighting up. "Well, dear, David arrived. Well, you don't have to look too ecstatic! Well, anyway, David called up and wanted to know that if you were ready if he could have a word with you."
At the mention of that infernal name, Darby's face ignited to twelve shades of hellfire red, Ava not seeming to take heed, continuing, "Well, all I have to do is say that you are complete since you obviously are. You know, Darby, it was never this good with your father and I. Your father was such a skirt-chaser when I met him! I never thought he'd settle down into the wonderful man he is today-but David Van Wyck, now there's a catch. You should be thanking your lucky stars each night that you have a man like that in your life. He is such a gentleman!"
Darby was now as crimson as the Devil's hide with infuriation. It was grand that her mother halted there, claiming she was going to get David and exiting, for Darby had in her grasp one of her fantastically expensive pale salmon hued stilettos, poised toss it at her mother, not caring whether it hit her head and shattered her skull or not. She released a marvelous scream and heaved it instead against the mirror, causing it to shatter, the glimmering shards falling to the carpet in a fluster of metallic twangs.
Hearing the hushed voices and footsteps echoing up the stirs, Darby burst into bitter, frustrated tears, falling onto her bed, sinking into the voluptuous bedding. She wished for nothing more between heaven and hell at this moment than to once more feel that wonderful, intoxicating feverish temptation that she could only experience in embraces with Spot. She wished it to banish the searing cold that had overpowered her heart.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Rockwell, you're wonderful." David Van Wyck's sickeningly charming voice seeped through the door like a revolting slime.
Darby halted her tears, raising her head, her eyes narrowing into slits of burning hatred.
"Thank you, Mrs. Rockwell. Did I tell you that you look like a goddess tonight? Oh, think nothing of it! Oh, don't flatter yourself, please! And I will see you at dinner!" David was halfway in the bedroom doorway. "Until tonight, Mrs. Rockwell." He then turned towards Darby, his features seeping impossible arrogance, as he slowly shut the door behind him.
"Why, hello, Darby girl," he said, his appearance in a dark raven suit impeccable. "Don't you look like a goddess tonight?"
"Fuck you," she snapped, uttering each syllable distinctly.
David raised an eyebrow and clucked his tongue, placing his hands in his pockets and ambling across the room slowly. "Darby girl, come now. Such harsh words from such a beautiful girl. Surely, you did not learn such words from your mother? Now, she was quite flattered when I called her immortal."
Darby regarded him with burning eyes from the bed. "That's because my mother is an idiot with out any brains whatsoever. You can't work your awful magic on me."
He released a false laugh, halting in front of the mirror. "No, Darby girl, your quite right. Perhaps I don't work it on you, but that doesn't matter, now does it? You must know of the little arrangement that is going to occur tonight, do you not?"
"How could I not?" she spit venomously. "Tonight's my execution."
David released the same laugh, his eyes bright with pride. "Oh, your execution. I'm so sorry to hear that, but I daresay that you were misinformed for you see, tonight we will become engaged." His gaze fell to the mirror shards and he nudged them with his light reflecting black shoes. "Broken another shoe, Darby girl? Well, you might want to stop that dreadful habit now. You see, I'm a practical man and I shan't spoil you with replacements."
With a quick thrust, Darby had pushed herself off the bed and over to David Van Wyck, her face burning with rancor. "Why me? Why the hell did you have to pick me? Why can you not marry some other girl! Plenty of whores named Airabella throw themselves at your feet, practically begging for you to take them. WHY ME?"
He raised an eyebrow, his features lazy. "I pick you? I'm sorry if you had your hopes riding on that notion, yet it is untrue. Our parents picked each other. And besides, I really don't fathom that I would have chosen you as a bride, anyhow. You are too stubborn and passionate. Of course, you will have to do." A malicious smile slithered up his lips as he eased Darby against the wall. "You hate me so and I enjoy it so. You make me enjoy it even more as I see the hate shimmer in your eyes even as I speak." His hand fell to Darby's upper thigh, his voice lowering. "You see, I wish to teach you a lesson. If I must have you as a wife, you must be behaved. And at this rate, you are going to be the same obnoxious bitch as you are now. No, Darby girl, just wait until our wedding night. You will be mine and you cannot do a single thing. And I will make you wish that you would have appreciated me. I will make you and you will cry and you will learn." He leaned closer, his hot breath playing in her ear canal. "You will be mine and I will fuck you breathless, and when I grow tired of you I can always seek out the whores named Airabella."
Darby could only stare into his proud eyes, fear cascading through her, her lips slightly parted. "You bottomless bastard."
David elicited in that beguilingly charming laugh again, stepping back. "I, the bottomless bastard, Darby girl? Well, my mind may wander but at least I am not a cheating little slut."
She narrowed her eyes. "What in the hell do you mean?" she spat.
He cocked a brow, an exaggerated frown forming on his lips. "Oh, come now, Darby, you know exactly what I'm talking about. What would your poor parents think if they found you were running about town with a newsboy!"
She released a terrible gasp, covering her hand with her mouth. "How-how did you know?" her voice was shrill.
David's features were listless, yet his dark eyes glimmered. "Oh, I'm not that much of an idiot, Darby girl," he kicked a shard of glass with the toe of his shoe. "That night I thought at first that your voice was Ava's, but then I realized you tricked me when I saw your mother nowhere. So I ran back up to the room only to find the door locked. But since you were deathly ill with the Spanish Influenza I knew you were fibbing through your teeth so I looked through the keyhole and saw you and that Irish bitch talking. And as you disappeared out the French doors I ran down to the parlor and peered out the drapes. And what did I see?" He placed a hand to his forehead, his voice mockingly breaking. "You and some newsboy scampering across the lawns and out the gates."
He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and approached Darby, who had frozen as though water had been induced into her veins, suddenly hardening to a clear glass. His lips were twisted into a wicked smile and his glassy eyes gleamed as he lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering every so slightly, "Tell me, Darby, has he fucked you yet?"
It was then as though a red-hot boiling liquid was surging its way throughout Darby's system, melting the ice, for she regained movement and quickly spat in his face with abhorrence.
David stepped back, his eyes clenched shut and his features twisted as he blindly felt for the handkerchief that was folded neatly in his breast pocket. He pulled it out with a flourish, wiping the saliva from his face; his countenance still filled with insolent arrogance.
He was poised to answer when there was a short wrap on the door and both directed their attention to it as it creaked open and a maid popped her head in. "Mister, Miss, it is almost time for dinner. They would like for you to escort the Miss."
David cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of the maid, who promptly disappeared. "I must tell you though," he said in a low voice. "You shan't see this newsboy once I own you. It would upset your mommy so." He neatly refolded his handkerchief and placed it in its rightful spot, his gaze falling to Darby, as he lent out his bent arm. "Dear bride?"
Darby regarded him with eyes narrowed in malevolence. "You may own my body, but you'll never, ever own my heart."
And without another word, she linked his arm and they exited the room.
***
It was the beautiful climatic finale of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake that washed over the ballroom, filling Darby's heart, causing her breathing to become labored, causing her pulse to race.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to forget that she was on the gleaming dance floor, her hand clasped in David Van Wyck's, the latter towering over her, an impossibly smug smile on his lips.
The empowering music swept through her as the orchestra played their utter souls out. She had attended the ballet numerous times and knew every scene by heart. In the music now was when the two lovers were jumping off the cliff and into the seas below to break the spell of the evil wizard.
A sudden, horrible thought entered her mind. She and Spot Conlon, racing feverishly hand in hand in time with the music, thundering down the Brooklyn Bridge-jumping off the massive structure and into the waters below so that the powers of the evil David Van Wyck were shattered once and for all and so they could be united forever.
Her eyes fluttered open and she once again found herself in the stifling ballroom, David's head bowed close to hers, the corners of his lips turned up. She uttered a choke and stared past him to see Airabella Arnside swishing in time with some lanky blonde boy, her eyes alight with absolute hatred.
Darby averted her gaze to David's ebony garment-covered shoulder. She doesn't need to glare at me so, she thought bitterly. If only she knew how readily, I'd like to hand the stupid bastard over to her.
She allowed her mind to wander to the music once again, yet it was only a few brief moments later it ended. Her eyes still fixated to the glittering ground, she felt David carefully pull his hand away from hers, not seeing him motion to the orchestra so halt.
He loudly cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen! If I could have your attention please?"
All individual conversations died away as every body in the room contorted so their gaze could fall on him. Darby suddenly lifted her eyes, taking heed of her mother and Christina Van Wyck in the corner, blowing their noses and John Rockwell and Robert Van Wyck near the grand table, knowing smirks lighting their faces and quietly shaking hands.
She could feel the absolute fear begin to creep up her backbone, yet she forced herself to keep still. She must keep to the schema.
David had his hands raised, bent at the elbows. He wore a gleaming smile, his perfect teeth glaring in the soft light. "I'm sorry everyone to deny you the wonderful music, but if you will please bear with me for just a moment, I just feel as though something has to be done right now that should have happened long ago."
An escaped sob from Ava sliced through the room.
His smile only grew as he panned the guests, his eyes finally falling to Darby. "Darby girl," he said in that disgustingly charming voice. "I'm sorry that this couldn't have been completed before, but we had our set backs." He cleared his throat, falling to one knee, clasping one of Darby's hands into his. "Darby girl, you know how much I love you."
Both mothers' cries pierced the air before they smothered them in handkerchiefs. Darby felt her face heat up fantastically, wishing desperately to pull her hand away and spit in his face. Yet, she willed herself to stay collected.
David continued, his proud eyes burning into his. "I know we've had our differences." He patted her hand. "But I never stopped loving you. I've always loved you. You are the most beautiful creature on the face of this earth to me, Darby Rockwell. And I don't know how I would ever, ever live my life if you weren't part of it. I feel as though in the beginning of time all humans were divided in two and all out life we look for our soul mates, and it is rarely, if ever, we find them." His smile grew, Darby swearing she could see her reflection in his blinding teeth. "But I know you are my soul mate and you would make me the happiest man on earth if--" In one quick motion he had reached into his coat pocket and retried a velvet covered box, and opened it with a flick of the wrist, revealing a huge glittering rock sitting atop a golden band. "-if you would marry me, Darby Lynn Rockwell?"
Under the awful circumstances, Darby had to force her lips from curling into a smile. Well, here goes nothing, she thought.
Stepping back in great exuberance, throwing her hand to her heart and releasing a grand sigh, she cried, "Oh! Oh my goodness! I don't know what to say! I truly do not know what to say! I-I'm just incredibly stunned!"
Darby watched in malicious mirth as David's smile faltered and the arrogance in his eyes was replaced by genuine surprise.
"Oh my!" she exclaimed, forcing tears to well in her eyes as she raised a hand to her face to fan them away. "I-I don't know what to say!" Her gaze flickered to Ava, who sat with a handkerchief to her nose and gripping Mrs. Van Wyck. "Mummy, I don't know if I can answer--" She allowed the fictitious tears to fall with a vengeance. "Would you mind if I cleaned up first? This is no way to accept a proposal?"
Ava Rockwell was so completely stunned that she sat motionless for a moment, before she released Mrs. Van Wyck and dabbed her eyes. "Yes, yes of course! Oh, what a wonderful day this is!"
Darby forced more tears as she stepped away from David, who gazed up at her with bulging eyes, the diamond sparkling in the light. She brushed under her eyes to rid the tears as she backed away, her eyes locked on his. "Oh, my darling David. This is just no way to accept a proposal. I will be back shortly."
And with a flourish, Darby spun around and exited the hall, still erupting in great, charlatan sobs of happiness. She continued with this fabrication until she had safely passed by the last of the butlers, before they abruptly stopped and her features hardened in determination.
"Stupid idiots," she murmured under her breath, picking up her pace, winding through the hallways and finally to the parlor where she marched over to the doors. With out so much as second thought, she flung open one of the sizeable doors, the twilight's coldness suddenly overtaking the room. Yet, she felt none of this for her pulse was racing tenfold and it filled her with a feverish high.
Quietly shutting the door behind her, Darby quickly slid off her stilettos with the opposite heel, allowing her soles to become accustomed to the searing ground before she took off like a bullet being fired from a gun. She leapt the stairs in one bound and was down the walk and out the gates in a whisper. Absolute freedom and longing and liberty and determination surging powerfully through her, she pumped her legs as forcefully as humanly possibly, her head high, breathing sporadic, and ornate hair rapidly coming undone, flying behind her like a cape in the wind.
The breathtaking music of Tchaikovsky's finale reverberating through her head, she ran as though she was in a blind, dark dream. She took no footnotes whatsoever of the surroundings she was in one second and out the next. Took no heed of the eyes that quickly burned into her. She only allowed her bare feet to pound against the cracked cement, hot and cold mixing inside her, causing a sensational high, as she followed her instincts to the only place on earth she desired to be.
She suddenly halted, her feet unbearably hot and stinging against the pavement, the free strands of her hair whipping in the slight gusts of winds, her breathing heavy and head cocked, as she read the words that were illuminated in the soft light: Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House.
Inhaling in a deep breath, she was up the stairs and slamming open the door in a breath, paying no heed whatsoever to the protests of the band of boys that sat around the same makeshift table. Her breathing was heavy and labored as she willed herself up the stairs, placing her hands on her thighs and pushing off. She rounded the corner, banging into a wall, and flew down the hallway to the golden light at the end, the floorboards moaning under her weight.
Darby only collapsed when she was in the doorway, falling against the frame, her body weak. A group of boys were littered on the bunks and on the floor, all gazes shifting to her. Yet, she only regarded one, her eyes soft and on fire.
Spot Conlon was straddling a decrepit chair about-face, the hilt of a cane firmly in his grasp as the other polished the head. Alas, the cane quickly fell to the floor in a clamber as his jaw dropped and eyes grew wide in disbelief. "Dahby?"
She mustered a nod, a tired smile playing on her lips.
He blinked, his wide eyes, a stunned smile playing on his lips, as he rose suddenly, knocking the chair to the floor. He was standing in front of her, his emerald eyes glittering, his hands on her shoulders. "What-what in da hell are ya doin' here?"
Darby's simper widened, as she breathlessly tried to form the words.
He shook her shoulders harshly, his eyes wide. "But Van Wyck-da parhy? What about you gettin' married?"
Darby opened her mouth, poised to answer, when she glanced over Spot's shoulder to see all the newsboys gaping at her. She motioned with her head as he briefly looked over his shoulder. In a quick motion, he had pushed Darby out of the bunkroom and into an adjacent room across the hall. As he shut the door behind them, they were engulfed in utter darkness.
"Spot?" Darby softly whispered, taking an insignificant step forward.
The sound of a match was heard being stuck, and suddenly a small bright flame erupted, casting a glow on Spot's visage. He cupped a hand around it and lowered the flame to a lantern, which was soon ablaze. He released a smile and blew the match out.
Darby let her eyes adjust to the room, though even with the blaze was still shrouded in shadows. "This is your room, I take it?" she inquired, taking in the atmosphere.
Spot nodded, rubbing his hands together, panning the room, "Yeah, it's not much, but, hell, its home." His eyes suddenly fell to her as his features took on a serious tone. "Why ya here?"
Darby allowed her gaze to snap from the warped bed to his glimmering eyes. "I couldn't do it," she simply replied.
"Couldn't do what?" he asked, stepping closer to her.
"I was there waltzing about with him, when the revelation struck that I didn't have to marry him. I couldn't marry him. I could imagine myself his dutiful little wife, and I realized that I would commit suicide if that were to actually occur. And I realized that there was no place more in the world that I wanted to be than right here."
Spot cocked a brow and reached out for her gloved hand, taking it in his clammy grasp. "Dahby, do you know how goddamn insane ya are?"
She allowed her cupid-bow lips to fall open, absolute confusion sweeping over her. "Insane?" she murmured.
He nodded, regarding her as though she were a frail child. "Christ, Dahby, ya really screwed t'ings up this time--"
Darby pulled away from his grasp, her voice rising in indignation. "How could I screw things up? I declare, but isn't this what you wanted--"
Spot elicited a short laugh, the light and shadows playing on the smooth crevices of his face. "What I wanted? Dahby, how da hell could I not want ya? Jesus Christ!" He involuntarily picked up his arm, lowering it behind his head and running a hand through the back of his dirty blonde hair. "But it's not what I want! It's not what you want-I-ya really expect dat ya can jist go runnin' off from ya hoity-toidy lifestyle and then what? Live in a goddamn lodgin' house?"
Darby felt bitter tears find their way to her eyes. "No, of course--"
His eyes gleamed with a fire and he stepped closer towards her. "Ya so naïve, Dahby, ya know nuttin bout da real woild and den ya jist expect ya can t'row it all away like dat and make it in da real woild? And what? Cry on me shouldah, little, goil?"
She was not at all selective of the hot sharp tears that streamed down her face. "You, you, bastard. You fathom that I would, I would MISS that world if I were to leave it? You must be more idiotic than I could have ever imagined. I have never, ever belonged to that world and you know of none of my sufferings and, and you want me to go back?" He made an attempt to grasp her hand, yet she only pulled away. "No, no. Don't touch me!" His silhouette was blurry through her tear-infected vision. "I am not some stupid little rich girl! I am so much more than that and if you cannot see that, then--"
Darby did not care at all to disguise the bitter tears. Spot released a minute sigh and took her hand in his, pulling her into his embrace. She broke down even more at him questioning her decision, her nose buried into the comfortable material of his moth-eaten shirt, his soft breathing with the faintest traces of dated nicotine and alcohol apparent.
"Dahby," he whispered, his hot breath dancing in her ear. "I'm only makin' shoah dat ya--"
Yet, Darby interrupted his soft statement, her eyes alive with a blue fire. "If I was not certain with my entire heart and soul then I would be back with David Van Wyck's glittering ring on my finger, not here."
She was unable to fathom what he was pondering as he read her face with his eyes. "All right," he said simply, before lowering his head, pressing his lips against hers.
Darby released a small gasp, falling gloriously into him. She tilted her head, trying to accommodate the impossible passion that swirled through her head and through out every vein in her body. He pressed back more vehemently and with a vengeance. As the same fiery exhilaration coursed through her once more, all notions of whether if being at the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House was correct or not were dashed from Darby Rockwell's mind at that moment.
Even though blind to the world, violent sparks of scarlet hues flashed in Darby's mind as her arms found their way around his neck and her hands into his wonderful hair, her fingers intertwining in it. He suddenly broke away, his breathing heavy, and his perspiration slicked forehead against hers. His green eyes blazed with a question that could not possibly be expressed by words. Darby only closed her eyes and pressed her mouth against his, parting her lips and savoring the taste of gin and cigarettes, answering.
His lips parted from hers, as Darby found his neck. He worked skillfully, stands of his hair falling in his eyes, carefully loosening the exquisite peach garment. Their eyes connected for a moment before Darby raised her arms above her head and in a whisper the wonderful dress was on the floor. His fingers were quickly unknotting the corset as she was clumsily snapping open his buttons of his dark blue shirt. She slid his suspenders off and rested her burning cheek against his cold, clammy chest.
As the layers were pulled off in an excruciatingly slow manner, Darby suddenly felt like a silly, immature girl against a master of the art who has dedicated himself to it for his entire life span. Yet, he only had to gaze at her with those eyes and all fears were banished and replaced by sultry passion as his lips met hers once again and he silently blew out the lantern, engulfing the room in darkness, as they fell to the bed, a feverish temptation suffocating her.
***
It was rude hollers that woke Darby Rockwell the next morning and her mind issued only one cause. She started, her eyes closed, and released a groan.
"That damn newsboy," the growled rather groggy, her eyes still shut from sleep. "I told him not to sell his horrid newspapers in front of my house-- "
It was only when someone violently shouted "DARBY" that consciousness fully returned to her and reality hit quite brutally.
Last night. Ball. Swan Lake. David. Proposal. Brooklyn. Spot-oh CHRIST!
Her eyes fluttered open and what she espied caused her to elicit an awful scream. The clear morning sky filled the room, and the awful scene unfolding. Spot Conlon was to his feet, his hair and expression awry, dressed in only trousers. Police officers flanked him, grasping either arm tightly.
Darby soon realized that she herself was without clothing and she tightly brought the moth-eaten blanket tightly around her, assuming a sitting position on the lumpy mattress. Her eyes were wide with disbelieve as Spot finally caught her gaze. He opened his mouth, poised to speak, when a cry halted him.
"Darby!"
Darby abruptly snapped her head to the doorway and what she viewed caused cold waves of fear to tango down her spine.
David Van Wyck stood in the doorframe, still wearing the same opulent suit from the previous night, fierce worry adorning his features.
"OH DARBY!" he cried, spreading his arms at full length and rushing over to her side, gathering her in his arms.
She was too utterly stunned to ward him off. She only repetitiously shook her head, the blanket pressed tight to her, David's arms snaked about her, pulling her tight, the unwelcome smell of musky cologne invading her nostrils.
"Oh, Darby, you must be traumatized!" he cried, that note of deceptiveness laced into his worry. She shifted her haze to him, still lightheaded. "What-what do you mean traumatized?"
His eyes opened wide in a flourish of shock. "Oh, you poor child." He turned to regard the police officers. "See what he's done! That ruffian has beguiled her into concluding that nothing happened!"
Quick fury coursed through Darby as she indignantly squirmed out of his grasp. "What are you babbling about? Why in the hell are you here?"
David opened his mouth in exaggeration when one of the officers said in a gruff voice, "Alright, boys, lets git him out of here and where he belongs."
Darby watched in marvelous horror as the officers linked their elbows with Spot's and began to drag him backwards, absolute bewilderment emerging on his face.
"HEY! WAIT! WAIT!" he hollered, his voice high, his heels digging into the splintering floorboards.
Yet, the officers were overwhelmingly powerful, and it was when they had him in the doorway that Darby released an ear-shattering scream and sprang off the mattress and over to one of the officers, grasping his elbow and desperately trying to remove him from Spot.
"LET HIM GO!" she screeched, her blazing eyes interlocking with the officer. The latter only looked over her shoulder and to David. "Git the kid some help, will ya? We'll take care of him alright," he said motioning with his head to Spot.
Darby watched incredulously as David only nodded and as the police officers had a kicking and hollering Spot out the door and into the hallway.
"NO! NO!" she screamed, poised to pick up her feet and sprint after them, when she felt a strong hand on her bare shoulder, holding her back.
She slowly turned around to see David staring at her with solemn eyes.
She regarded him with heavy breathing and wide eyes for a moment before she screamed, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"
David only nodded and released his grip on her. He strode over to the only window in the room and stared out if for a moment before he turned to Darby. "My, my, my, Darby, he really has you, hasn't he?"
"HAS ME WHAT?" she cried in desperation.
David bowed his head, an expression adorning his face as though he was in mass. " You must remember? Last night? After I proposed, you claimed you were going to the restroom to freshen up, but you were so incredibly overwhelmed that you went outside to catch your breath. That's when you saw the newsboy, the newsboy who was dangerously obsessed with you outside the gates. You tried desperately to scream, yet he overpowered you."
Instantly Darby felt the nausea manifest itself and the reason being vacuumed from her mind.
He continued, regarding her as though he was bearing the news of the death of a loved one upon her. "Yes, Darby girl, and the bastard brought you back here-back to this room, where he-where he--"
"Where he what?" she monotonously inquired, fearing to know the answer.
David's large eyes grew solemn. "Where he raped you."
For a moment, she could not comprehend what he had said. And then it hit her like a bullet to the abdomen. "YOU BASTARD! YOU BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!" she screamed, lunging at him, her claws unsheathed.
Yet, David easily caught her and released a malevolent laugh, as he pinned her arms behind her back, turning her about. "Oh, no, Darby," he said in a low voice. "I'm sure I'm not the one that will get killed today. I'd be rather worried about the newsboy."
His hot exhalations in her ear, he forced Darby across the room and over to the window, what she saw causing her to break down into bitter tears.
Hoards of officers in their pressed blue suits swarmed about in front of the lodging house, some of them forcefully ushering Spot into one of wagons labeled with the ungodly words stenciling of House of Refuge; her mother, fainted on the steps of the lodging house, her father worriedly fanning her face. All the Brooklyn newsboy clumped into an irregular mass outside, some being inquired by yelling officers, all watching as their leader was lead hissing and kicking into the wagon.
Darby shut her eyes turned her head away, letting the convulsions overwhelm her entire body.
"I told you that you wouldn't see that newsboy once I owned you," David hissed arrogantly into her ear, only igniting more bitterness in the tears.
"Oh, and by the way, dear bride, you forgot this last night." With a quick flick, he produced the glittering engagement ring and slipped it on Darby's finger, the cold metal feeling utterly atrocious against her skin.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Darby Rockwell finally understood what it was like to be one of the condemned to the gallows on the day of their execution. The spectators of course were insanely joyous; they loved bloodshed. They were oblivious to the pain of the condemned, only that they were present to view the atrocious climax of the death sentence.
Darby felt like one of the damned, her head hung, while she latched onto one of the scarlet crushed velvet curtains adorning the bay window. It seemed as though each sharp tug of the corset strings brought the tears closer to break point.
The last moments were ticking away on the clock of freedom. The sky had darkened to a deep charcoal; meaning that in no time it would be pitch black and it would be time for the ball to start. All the elite guests would arrive, they would merrily dance, and then the marvelous feast would be broken out and right after that was when David Van Wyck would slide out of his chair and onto his knee, bestowing her with the gleaming ring. It had happen before, yet now there would be no apple pie to break her fall.
Yet, Darby knew that tonight would not be as impossibly difficult if she had not met Spot Conlon. True, he was only a lowly newsboy, but the real world, the world of accents and spitting handshakes, was embodied in him. She had only known him for less than a week, yet the pain in her shattering heart was unbearable whenever she thought that she would perhaps never again see him.
The wedding, of course, would be in the very near future. Darby didn't doubt it for a moment that with the exquisite dress sent from Paris she was due to wear tonight, another had been sent along with it: a pompous, immaculately white wedding dress. She would be pushed down the aisle in reluctance and tears and then David Van Wyck would own her. And there was absolutely nothing she could do.
The corset was finally tied. Darby let go of the now crumpled drape and inhaled. A tear slipped from her cheek at the compression of the garment.
It was then that a high, nasal voice pierced the air. "Oh, Darby! Do hurry up! The guests will be arriving soon."
Darby did not even raise her head to regard her mother; she only stood pale, her eyes falling to the plush white carpet.
Ava was soon on her, pushing her and prodding her, finally shoving the dress at her.
"Darby! Do hurry up, will you? You better not keep David waiting!"
Darby had to use all force possible not to annihilate her mother once and for all. She only raised her head, the iridescent pale peach dress askew in her arms, to see her mother exit the room in a flourish, in only corset and slip, her brown hair piled upon her head accented with horrible ornaments ranging from flowers to faux birds.
She still remained in her own somber state, and it was in no time before the maids had dressed her, all uttering oohs and ahs.
Darby let her eyes wander to the grand mahogany full-length mirror, only feeling revulsion and an infinite sadness at the reflection that stared her back. She looked like a vision, of course, the dress was impeccably suited for her, accenting every curve of her body. The pale color emphasized the rouge that they had stained her cheeks with, trying to achieve a glow on her otherwise pallor skin. The strand of pale pink diamonds around her neck glittered vaingloriously in the light, matching the ones that had been weaved in to her intricate hair style. She of course looked the part of an elegant socialite, alas, her dark blue eyes retained no shimmer, showing to those that viewed closely enough that she had left her heart and soul back at the dock behind the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House.
"OH! My DARLING! You look so BEAUTIFUL!"
Ava Rockwell had returned, this time fully dressed in an ostentatious deep blue gown smattered with glitter.
Darby only raised a brow slightly, her rouged lips in a perfect line, as she watched her mother in the mirror come behind her and rest her vein laced hands on her shoulders.
"You look absolutely beautiful, darling! Why, why don't you looked overjoyed?"
Darby had to suppress herself from breaking out into maniacal laughter. Her mother, nor anyone else, had the slightest idea that she knew that she was going to be forced to become that vile man's fiancée tonight.
Her forlorn expression never transformed.
"Well," Ava said, stepping back, somewhat flustered at her daughter's behavior. Though, suddenly, a smile lit up her red-lacquered lips. "Oh, Darby, you'll never guess who arrived?"
Darby bit down on her tongue from asking whom.
"David!" Ava cried, her eyes lighting up. "Well, dear, David arrived. Well, you don't have to look too ecstatic! Well, anyway, David called up and wanted to know that if you were ready if he could have a word with you."
At the mention of that infernal name, Darby's face ignited to twelve shades of hellfire red, Ava not seeming to take heed, continuing, "Well, all I have to do is say that you are complete since you obviously are. You know, Darby, it was never this good with your father and I. Your father was such a skirt-chaser when I met him! I never thought he'd settle down into the wonderful man he is today-but David Van Wyck, now there's a catch. You should be thanking your lucky stars each night that you have a man like that in your life. He is such a gentleman!"
Darby was now as crimson as the Devil's hide with infuriation. It was grand that her mother halted there, claiming she was going to get David and exiting, for Darby had in her grasp one of her fantastically expensive pale salmon hued stilettos, poised toss it at her mother, not caring whether it hit her head and shattered her skull or not. She released a marvelous scream and heaved it instead against the mirror, causing it to shatter, the glimmering shards falling to the carpet in a fluster of metallic twangs.
Hearing the hushed voices and footsteps echoing up the stirs, Darby burst into bitter, frustrated tears, falling onto her bed, sinking into the voluptuous bedding. She wished for nothing more between heaven and hell at this moment than to once more feel that wonderful, intoxicating feverish temptation that she could only experience in embraces with Spot. She wished it to banish the searing cold that had overpowered her heart.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Rockwell, you're wonderful." David Van Wyck's sickeningly charming voice seeped through the door like a revolting slime.
Darby halted her tears, raising her head, her eyes narrowing into slits of burning hatred.
"Thank you, Mrs. Rockwell. Did I tell you that you look like a goddess tonight? Oh, think nothing of it! Oh, don't flatter yourself, please! And I will see you at dinner!" David was halfway in the bedroom doorway. "Until tonight, Mrs. Rockwell." He then turned towards Darby, his features seeping impossible arrogance, as he slowly shut the door behind him.
"Why, hello, Darby girl," he said, his appearance in a dark raven suit impeccable. "Don't you look like a goddess tonight?"
"Fuck you," she snapped, uttering each syllable distinctly.
David raised an eyebrow and clucked his tongue, placing his hands in his pockets and ambling across the room slowly. "Darby girl, come now. Such harsh words from such a beautiful girl. Surely, you did not learn such words from your mother? Now, she was quite flattered when I called her immortal."
Darby regarded him with burning eyes from the bed. "That's because my mother is an idiot with out any brains whatsoever. You can't work your awful magic on me."
He released a false laugh, halting in front of the mirror. "No, Darby girl, your quite right. Perhaps I don't work it on you, but that doesn't matter, now does it? You must know of the little arrangement that is going to occur tonight, do you not?"
"How could I not?" she spit venomously. "Tonight's my execution."
David released the same laugh, his eyes bright with pride. "Oh, your execution. I'm so sorry to hear that, but I daresay that you were misinformed for you see, tonight we will become engaged." His gaze fell to the mirror shards and he nudged them with his light reflecting black shoes. "Broken another shoe, Darby girl? Well, you might want to stop that dreadful habit now. You see, I'm a practical man and I shan't spoil you with replacements."
With a quick thrust, Darby had pushed herself off the bed and over to David Van Wyck, her face burning with rancor. "Why me? Why the hell did you have to pick me? Why can you not marry some other girl! Plenty of whores named Airabella throw themselves at your feet, practically begging for you to take them. WHY ME?"
He raised an eyebrow, his features lazy. "I pick you? I'm sorry if you had your hopes riding on that notion, yet it is untrue. Our parents picked each other. And besides, I really don't fathom that I would have chosen you as a bride, anyhow. You are too stubborn and passionate. Of course, you will have to do." A malicious smile slithered up his lips as he eased Darby against the wall. "You hate me so and I enjoy it so. You make me enjoy it even more as I see the hate shimmer in your eyes even as I speak." His hand fell to Darby's upper thigh, his voice lowering. "You see, I wish to teach you a lesson. If I must have you as a wife, you must be behaved. And at this rate, you are going to be the same obnoxious bitch as you are now. No, Darby girl, just wait until our wedding night. You will be mine and you cannot do a single thing. And I will make you wish that you would have appreciated me. I will make you and you will cry and you will learn." He leaned closer, his hot breath playing in her ear canal. "You will be mine and I will fuck you breathless, and when I grow tired of you I can always seek out the whores named Airabella."
Darby could only stare into his proud eyes, fear cascading through her, her lips slightly parted. "You bottomless bastard."
David elicited in that beguilingly charming laugh again, stepping back. "I, the bottomless bastard, Darby girl? Well, my mind may wander but at least I am not a cheating little slut."
She narrowed her eyes. "What in the hell do you mean?" she spat.
He cocked a brow, an exaggerated frown forming on his lips. "Oh, come now, Darby, you know exactly what I'm talking about. What would your poor parents think if they found you were running about town with a newsboy!"
She released a terrible gasp, covering her hand with her mouth. "How-how did you know?" her voice was shrill.
David's features were listless, yet his dark eyes glimmered. "Oh, I'm not that much of an idiot, Darby girl," he kicked a shard of glass with the toe of his shoe. "That night I thought at first that your voice was Ava's, but then I realized you tricked me when I saw your mother nowhere. So I ran back up to the room only to find the door locked. But since you were deathly ill with the Spanish Influenza I knew you were fibbing through your teeth so I looked through the keyhole and saw you and that Irish bitch talking. And as you disappeared out the French doors I ran down to the parlor and peered out the drapes. And what did I see?" He placed a hand to his forehead, his voice mockingly breaking. "You and some newsboy scampering across the lawns and out the gates."
He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and approached Darby, who had frozen as though water had been induced into her veins, suddenly hardening to a clear glass. His lips were twisted into a wicked smile and his glassy eyes gleamed as he lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering every so slightly, "Tell me, Darby, has he fucked you yet?"
It was then as though a red-hot boiling liquid was surging its way throughout Darby's system, melting the ice, for she regained movement and quickly spat in his face with abhorrence.
David stepped back, his eyes clenched shut and his features twisted as he blindly felt for the handkerchief that was folded neatly in his breast pocket. He pulled it out with a flourish, wiping the saliva from his face; his countenance still filled with insolent arrogance.
He was poised to answer when there was a short wrap on the door and both directed their attention to it as it creaked open and a maid popped her head in. "Mister, Miss, it is almost time for dinner. They would like for you to escort the Miss."
David cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of the maid, who promptly disappeared. "I must tell you though," he said in a low voice. "You shan't see this newsboy once I own you. It would upset your mommy so." He neatly refolded his handkerchief and placed it in its rightful spot, his gaze falling to Darby, as he lent out his bent arm. "Dear bride?"
Darby regarded him with eyes narrowed in malevolence. "You may own my body, but you'll never, ever own my heart."
And without another word, she linked his arm and they exited the room.
***
It was the beautiful climatic finale of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake that washed over the ballroom, filling Darby's heart, causing her breathing to become labored, causing her pulse to race.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to forget that she was on the gleaming dance floor, her hand clasped in David Van Wyck's, the latter towering over her, an impossibly smug smile on his lips.
The empowering music swept through her as the orchestra played their utter souls out. She had attended the ballet numerous times and knew every scene by heart. In the music now was when the two lovers were jumping off the cliff and into the seas below to break the spell of the evil wizard.
A sudden, horrible thought entered her mind. She and Spot Conlon, racing feverishly hand in hand in time with the music, thundering down the Brooklyn Bridge-jumping off the massive structure and into the waters below so that the powers of the evil David Van Wyck were shattered once and for all and so they could be united forever.
Her eyes fluttered open and she once again found herself in the stifling ballroom, David's head bowed close to hers, the corners of his lips turned up. She uttered a choke and stared past him to see Airabella Arnside swishing in time with some lanky blonde boy, her eyes alight with absolute hatred.
Darby averted her gaze to David's ebony garment-covered shoulder. She doesn't need to glare at me so, she thought bitterly. If only she knew how readily, I'd like to hand the stupid bastard over to her.
She allowed her mind to wander to the music once again, yet it was only a few brief moments later it ended. Her eyes still fixated to the glittering ground, she felt David carefully pull his hand away from hers, not seeing him motion to the orchestra so halt.
He loudly cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen! If I could have your attention please?"
All individual conversations died away as every body in the room contorted so their gaze could fall on him. Darby suddenly lifted her eyes, taking heed of her mother and Christina Van Wyck in the corner, blowing their noses and John Rockwell and Robert Van Wyck near the grand table, knowing smirks lighting their faces and quietly shaking hands.
She could feel the absolute fear begin to creep up her backbone, yet she forced herself to keep still. She must keep to the schema.
David had his hands raised, bent at the elbows. He wore a gleaming smile, his perfect teeth glaring in the soft light. "I'm sorry everyone to deny you the wonderful music, but if you will please bear with me for just a moment, I just feel as though something has to be done right now that should have happened long ago."
An escaped sob from Ava sliced through the room.
His smile only grew as he panned the guests, his eyes finally falling to Darby. "Darby girl," he said in that disgustingly charming voice. "I'm sorry that this couldn't have been completed before, but we had our set backs." He cleared his throat, falling to one knee, clasping one of Darby's hands into his. "Darby girl, you know how much I love you."
Both mothers' cries pierced the air before they smothered them in handkerchiefs. Darby felt her face heat up fantastically, wishing desperately to pull her hand away and spit in his face. Yet, she willed herself to stay collected.
David continued, his proud eyes burning into his. "I know we've had our differences." He patted her hand. "But I never stopped loving you. I've always loved you. You are the most beautiful creature on the face of this earth to me, Darby Rockwell. And I don't know how I would ever, ever live my life if you weren't part of it. I feel as though in the beginning of time all humans were divided in two and all out life we look for our soul mates, and it is rarely, if ever, we find them." His smile grew, Darby swearing she could see her reflection in his blinding teeth. "But I know you are my soul mate and you would make me the happiest man on earth if--" In one quick motion he had reached into his coat pocket and retried a velvet covered box, and opened it with a flick of the wrist, revealing a huge glittering rock sitting atop a golden band. "-if you would marry me, Darby Lynn Rockwell?"
Under the awful circumstances, Darby had to force her lips from curling into a smile. Well, here goes nothing, she thought.
Stepping back in great exuberance, throwing her hand to her heart and releasing a grand sigh, she cried, "Oh! Oh my goodness! I don't know what to say! I truly do not know what to say! I-I'm just incredibly stunned!"
Darby watched in malicious mirth as David's smile faltered and the arrogance in his eyes was replaced by genuine surprise.
"Oh my!" she exclaimed, forcing tears to well in her eyes as she raised a hand to her face to fan them away. "I-I don't know what to say!" Her gaze flickered to Ava, who sat with a handkerchief to her nose and gripping Mrs. Van Wyck. "Mummy, I don't know if I can answer--" She allowed the fictitious tears to fall with a vengeance. "Would you mind if I cleaned up first? This is no way to accept a proposal?"
Ava Rockwell was so completely stunned that she sat motionless for a moment, before she released Mrs. Van Wyck and dabbed her eyes. "Yes, yes of course! Oh, what a wonderful day this is!"
Darby forced more tears as she stepped away from David, who gazed up at her with bulging eyes, the diamond sparkling in the light. She brushed under her eyes to rid the tears as she backed away, her eyes locked on his. "Oh, my darling David. This is just no way to accept a proposal. I will be back shortly."
And with a flourish, Darby spun around and exited the hall, still erupting in great, charlatan sobs of happiness. She continued with this fabrication until she had safely passed by the last of the butlers, before they abruptly stopped and her features hardened in determination.
"Stupid idiots," she murmured under her breath, picking up her pace, winding through the hallways and finally to the parlor where she marched over to the doors. With out so much as second thought, she flung open one of the sizeable doors, the twilight's coldness suddenly overtaking the room. Yet, she felt none of this for her pulse was racing tenfold and it filled her with a feverish high.
Quietly shutting the door behind her, Darby quickly slid off her stilettos with the opposite heel, allowing her soles to become accustomed to the searing ground before she took off like a bullet being fired from a gun. She leapt the stairs in one bound and was down the walk and out the gates in a whisper. Absolute freedom and longing and liberty and determination surging powerfully through her, she pumped her legs as forcefully as humanly possibly, her head high, breathing sporadic, and ornate hair rapidly coming undone, flying behind her like a cape in the wind.
The breathtaking music of Tchaikovsky's finale reverberating through her head, she ran as though she was in a blind, dark dream. She took no footnotes whatsoever of the surroundings she was in one second and out the next. Took no heed of the eyes that quickly burned into her. She only allowed her bare feet to pound against the cracked cement, hot and cold mixing inside her, causing a sensational high, as she followed her instincts to the only place on earth she desired to be.
She suddenly halted, her feet unbearably hot and stinging against the pavement, the free strands of her hair whipping in the slight gusts of winds, her breathing heavy and head cocked, as she read the words that were illuminated in the soft light: Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House.
Inhaling in a deep breath, she was up the stairs and slamming open the door in a breath, paying no heed whatsoever to the protests of the band of boys that sat around the same makeshift table. Her breathing was heavy and labored as she willed herself up the stairs, placing her hands on her thighs and pushing off. She rounded the corner, banging into a wall, and flew down the hallway to the golden light at the end, the floorboards moaning under her weight.
Darby only collapsed when she was in the doorway, falling against the frame, her body weak. A group of boys were littered on the bunks and on the floor, all gazes shifting to her. Yet, she only regarded one, her eyes soft and on fire.
Spot Conlon was straddling a decrepit chair about-face, the hilt of a cane firmly in his grasp as the other polished the head. Alas, the cane quickly fell to the floor in a clamber as his jaw dropped and eyes grew wide in disbelief. "Dahby?"
She mustered a nod, a tired smile playing on her lips.
He blinked, his wide eyes, a stunned smile playing on his lips, as he rose suddenly, knocking the chair to the floor. He was standing in front of her, his emerald eyes glittering, his hands on her shoulders. "What-what in da hell are ya doin' here?"
Darby's simper widened, as she breathlessly tried to form the words.
He shook her shoulders harshly, his eyes wide. "But Van Wyck-da parhy? What about you gettin' married?"
Darby opened her mouth, poised to answer, when she glanced over Spot's shoulder to see all the newsboys gaping at her. She motioned with her head as he briefly looked over his shoulder. In a quick motion, he had pushed Darby out of the bunkroom and into an adjacent room across the hall. As he shut the door behind them, they were engulfed in utter darkness.
"Spot?" Darby softly whispered, taking an insignificant step forward.
The sound of a match was heard being stuck, and suddenly a small bright flame erupted, casting a glow on Spot's visage. He cupped a hand around it and lowered the flame to a lantern, which was soon ablaze. He released a smile and blew the match out.
Darby let her eyes adjust to the room, though even with the blaze was still shrouded in shadows. "This is your room, I take it?" she inquired, taking in the atmosphere.
Spot nodded, rubbing his hands together, panning the room, "Yeah, it's not much, but, hell, its home." His eyes suddenly fell to her as his features took on a serious tone. "Why ya here?"
Darby allowed her gaze to snap from the warped bed to his glimmering eyes. "I couldn't do it," she simply replied.
"Couldn't do what?" he asked, stepping closer to her.
"I was there waltzing about with him, when the revelation struck that I didn't have to marry him. I couldn't marry him. I could imagine myself his dutiful little wife, and I realized that I would commit suicide if that were to actually occur. And I realized that there was no place more in the world that I wanted to be than right here."
Spot cocked a brow and reached out for her gloved hand, taking it in his clammy grasp. "Dahby, do you know how goddamn insane ya are?"
She allowed her cupid-bow lips to fall open, absolute confusion sweeping over her. "Insane?" she murmured.
He nodded, regarding her as though she were a frail child. "Christ, Dahby, ya really screwed t'ings up this time--"
Darby pulled away from his grasp, her voice rising in indignation. "How could I screw things up? I declare, but isn't this what you wanted--"
Spot elicited a short laugh, the light and shadows playing on the smooth crevices of his face. "What I wanted? Dahby, how da hell could I not want ya? Jesus Christ!" He involuntarily picked up his arm, lowering it behind his head and running a hand through the back of his dirty blonde hair. "But it's not what I want! It's not what you want-I-ya really expect dat ya can jist go runnin' off from ya hoity-toidy lifestyle and then what? Live in a goddamn lodgin' house?"
Darby felt bitter tears find their way to her eyes. "No, of course--"
His eyes gleamed with a fire and he stepped closer towards her. "Ya so naïve, Dahby, ya know nuttin bout da real woild and den ya jist expect ya can t'row it all away like dat and make it in da real woild? And what? Cry on me shouldah, little, goil?"
She was not at all selective of the hot sharp tears that streamed down her face. "You, you, bastard. You fathom that I would, I would MISS that world if I were to leave it? You must be more idiotic than I could have ever imagined. I have never, ever belonged to that world and you know of none of my sufferings and, and you want me to go back?" He made an attempt to grasp her hand, yet she only pulled away. "No, no. Don't touch me!" His silhouette was blurry through her tear-infected vision. "I am not some stupid little rich girl! I am so much more than that and if you cannot see that, then--"
Darby did not care at all to disguise the bitter tears. Spot released a minute sigh and took her hand in his, pulling her into his embrace. She broke down even more at him questioning her decision, her nose buried into the comfortable material of his moth-eaten shirt, his soft breathing with the faintest traces of dated nicotine and alcohol apparent.
"Dahby," he whispered, his hot breath dancing in her ear. "I'm only makin' shoah dat ya--"
Yet, Darby interrupted his soft statement, her eyes alive with a blue fire. "If I was not certain with my entire heart and soul then I would be back with David Van Wyck's glittering ring on my finger, not here."
She was unable to fathom what he was pondering as he read her face with his eyes. "All right," he said simply, before lowering his head, pressing his lips against hers.
Darby released a small gasp, falling gloriously into him. She tilted her head, trying to accommodate the impossible passion that swirled through her head and through out every vein in her body. He pressed back more vehemently and with a vengeance. As the same fiery exhilaration coursed through her once more, all notions of whether if being at the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House was correct or not were dashed from Darby Rockwell's mind at that moment.
Even though blind to the world, violent sparks of scarlet hues flashed in Darby's mind as her arms found their way around his neck and her hands into his wonderful hair, her fingers intertwining in it. He suddenly broke away, his breathing heavy, and his perspiration slicked forehead against hers. His green eyes blazed with a question that could not possibly be expressed by words. Darby only closed her eyes and pressed her mouth against his, parting her lips and savoring the taste of gin and cigarettes, answering.
His lips parted from hers, as Darby found his neck. He worked skillfully, stands of his hair falling in his eyes, carefully loosening the exquisite peach garment. Their eyes connected for a moment before Darby raised her arms above her head and in a whisper the wonderful dress was on the floor. His fingers were quickly unknotting the corset as she was clumsily snapping open his buttons of his dark blue shirt. She slid his suspenders off and rested her burning cheek against his cold, clammy chest.
As the layers were pulled off in an excruciatingly slow manner, Darby suddenly felt like a silly, immature girl against a master of the art who has dedicated himself to it for his entire life span. Yet, he only had to gaze at her with those eyes and all fears were banished and replaced by sultry passion as his lips met hers once again and he silently blew out the lantern, engulfing the room in darkness, as they fell to the bed, a feverish temptation suffocating her.
***
It was rude hollers that woke Darby Rockwell the next morning and her mind issued only one cause. She started, her eyes closed, and released a groan.
"That damn newsboy," the growled rather groggy, her eyes still shut from sleep. "I told him not to sell his horrid newspapers in front of my house-- "
It was only when someone violently shouted "DARBY" that consciousness fully returned to her and reality hit quite brutally.
Last night. Ball. Swan Lake. David. Proposal. Brooklyn. Spot-oh CHRIST!
Her eyes fluttered open and what she espied caused her to elicit an awful scream. The clear morning sky filled the room, and the awful scene unfolding. Spot Conlon was to his feet, his hair and expression awry, dressed in only trousers. Police officers flanked him, grasping either arm tightly.
Darby soon realized that she herself was without clothing and she tightly brought the moth-eaten blanket tightly around her, assuming a sitting position on the lumpy mattress. Her eyes were wide with disbelieve as Spot finally caught her gaze. He opened his mouth, poised to speak, when a cry halted him.
"Darby!"
Darby abruptly snapped her head to the doorway and what she viewed caused cold waves of fear to tango down her spine.
David Van Wyck stood in the doorframe, still wearing the same opulent suit from the previous night, fierce worry adorning his features.
"OH DARBY!" he cried, spreading his arms at full length and rushing over to her side, gathering her in his arms.
She was too utterly stunned to ward him off. She only repetitiously shook her head, the blanket pressed tight to her, David's arms snaked about her, pulling her tight, the unwelcome smell of musky cologne invading her nostrils.
"Oh, Darby, you must be traumatized!" he cried, that note of deceptiveness laced into his worry. She shifted her haze to him, still lightheaded. "What-what do you mean traumatized?"
His eyes opened wide in a flourish of shock. "Oh, you poor child." He turned to regard the police officers. "See what he's done! That ruffian has beguiled her into concluding that nothing happened!"
Quick fury coursed through Darby as she indignantly squirmed out of his grasp. "What are you babbling about? Why in the hell are you here?"
David opened his mouth in exaggeration when one of the officers said in a gruff voice, "Alright, boys, lets git him out of here and where he belongs."
Darby watched in marvelous horror as the officers linked their elbows with Spot's and began to drag him backwards, absolute bewilderment emerging on his face.
"HEY! WAIT! WAIT!" he hollered, his voice high, his heels digging into the splintering floorboards.
Yet, the officers were overwhelmingly powerful, and it was when they had him in the doorway that Darby released an ear-shattering scream and sprang off the mattress and over to one of the officers, grasping his elbow and desperately trying to remove him from Spot.
"LET HIM GO!" she screeched, her blazing eyes interlocking with the officer. The latter only looked over her shoulder and to David. "Git the kid some help, will ya? We'll take care of him alright," he said motioning with his head to Spot.
Darby watched incredulously as David only nodded and as the police officers had a kicking and hollering Spot out the door and into the hallway.
"NO! NO!" she screamed, poised to pick up her feet and sprint after them, when she felt a strong hand on her bare shoulder, holding her back.
She slowly turned around to see David staring at her with solemn eyes.
She regarded him with heavy breathing and wide eyes for a moment before she screamed, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"
David only nodded and released his grip on her. He strode over to the only window in the room and stared out if for a moment before he turned to Darby. "My, my, my, Darby, he really has you, hasn't he?"
"HAS ME WHAT?" she cried in desperation.
David bowed his head, an expression adorning his face as though he was in mass. " You must remember? Last night? After I proposed, you claimed you were going to the restroom to freshen up, but you were so incredibly overwhelmed that you went outside to catch your breath. That's when you saw the newsboy, the newsboy who was dangerously obsessed with you outside the gates. You tried desperately to scream, yet he overpowered you."
Instantly Darby felt the nausea manifest itself and the reason being vacuumed from her mind.
He continued, regarding her as though he was bearing the news of the death of a loved one upon her. "Yes, Darby girl, and the bastard brought you back here-back to this room, where he-where he--"
"Where he what?" she monotonously inquired, fearing to know the answer.
David's large eyes grew solemn. "Where he raped you."
For a moment, she could not comprehend what he had said. And then it hit her like a bullet to the abdomen. "YOU BASTARD! YOU BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!" she screamed, lunging at him, her claws unsheathed.
Yet, David easily caught her and released a malevolent laugh, as he pinned her arms behind her back, turning her about. "Oh, no, Darby," he said in a low voice. "I'm sure I'm not the one that will get killed today. I'd be rather worried about the newsboy."
His hot exhalations in her ear, he forced Darby across the room and over to the window, what she saw causing her to break down into bitter tears.
Hoards of officers in their pressed blue suits swarmed about in front of the lodging house, some of them forcefully ushering Spot into one of wagons labeled with the ungodly words stenciling of House of Refuge; her mother, fainted on the steps of the lodging house, her father worriedly fanning her face. All the Brooklyn newsboy clumped into an irregular mass outside, some being inquired by yelling officers, all watching as their leader was lead hissing and kicking into the wagon.
Darby shut her eyes turned her head away, letting the convulsions overwhelm her entire body.
"I told you that you wouldn't see that newsboy once I owned you," David hissed arrogantly into her ear, only igniting more bitterness in the tears.
"Oh, and by the way, dear bride, you forgot this last night." With a quick flick, he produced the glittering engagement ring and slipped it on Darby's finger, the cold metal feeling utterly atrocious against her skin.