Past Secrets and Present Times
Chapter 25
By Megan
OK EVERYONE THIS CHAPTER ONLY HAS SOME GRAMMAR FIXED AND A FEW LITTLE THINGS ADDED.
A/N: They had a Backstreet Boy open the first season game and the first game ever at Gillette stadium. I was just there three Fridays ago and this ruins it. Oh well, Patriots still rock!
Shout outs: I figure the reviewers of chapter 23 and 24 deserve some shout-outs!
Katie: On sugar? If so we need to reduce your sugar intake. I'm writing more see!
Tiger: Short? Six pages typed isn't usually considered short but I'll work on makin' 'em longer.
Chachi: Someone's favorite story. Wicked cool! Thanks.
Splash: Specs= everything that is good and holy. I must agree. And your right Mitchell is kinda evil, but this story would be so boring without him. And the cliffhangers, I admit I hate it when other people use them, but they're so fun to write.
Moon*Star: See above. I'm at your command, hard at work on another chapter.
Lange: It's about time I got another review for you, and I'm glad you finally realized the sexiness that is Specs. You got Spot, don't worry about that. Congrats on starting college. Only three years from now and I'll be there. Too long… I'll update again soon. Please keep up the reviews. Hey, and guess what? I'm actually nice to Spot in this chapter.
Pina: Long time, no review huh? This one isn't quite a cliffhanger, but wait, there's more…
Katie: I know, Cliffhangers=death. But they keep you comin' back for more (that's why I use 'em)
MC: Trust me, you're only bad when every single one of your friends will tell you to your face that you're obsessed. Who's guilty of that? ::raises hand sheepishly:: Trust me, there's so much more coming.
Pretzel: It's all a puzzle…
And now for what I know you've all been waiting for…
The Story!!!
She glared up at him, not wanting to be the first to break the gaze. He was looking at her with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face.
"So you came after all," he said, as he broke eye contact and began circling her. "I didn't think you was actually gonna show."
"How do I know you haven't killed 'em yet?" She asked, not trusting him in the least bit.
With a wave of his hand Mitchell sent two of his newsies scurrying across the room. A stack of boxes was moved, revealing the three newsies in question. Specs and Bumlets were noticeably bruised, but Les, thankfully, was barely touched. Bumlets held the shaking little boy in his arms and Specs sat next to them staring at her. His arm lay around Bumlets' shoulder. All three were looking at her with a look of amazement.
She took a step in their direction but somehow Mitchell got there first. He sent her spinning to the floor. She looked up at him as she pulled herself up. How was she going to beat someone like him; he was at least twice her size.
"Are you forgetting our deal Hotshot?" He smirked, "Before you so much as lay a finger on them we fight."
"You boys alright?" She yelled, he had never said she couldn't talk to them.
"I'll live," Bumlets shouted.
"I'm ok," Specs said. "Les is fine too." The younger boy nodded and she allowed Mitchell to take back all of her attention.
"C'mon, Mitchell, just let Les get outta here. He's just a kid."
"Not on your life."
"I don't wanna have ta fight you Mitchell." She told him.
"I could just kill the three of them now." He interrupted.
"But my friends' lives are at stake so I guess that doesn't give me much choice."
With those words a fight started. The fight was remembered for as long as there were newsies in New York and as long as there were newsies there was never a greater fight.
The two began to circle each other. Neither ready to start the fist-to-fist contact quite yet. There were things that needed to be straightened out first.
"Why do you hate me, Mitchell?" she asked.
"D'ya remember when Spot first introduced ya to Rebel, an' ya hit me. That's when it started. And then Spot chose you as second in command. Youse a goil so even wit' his permission I couldn't a done nuthin' to ya. But ova the past few years I realized sumthin'."
"And what might that be?"
He paused and smirked evilly. "Youse a newsie, not a newsgoil. Dat means I can hit you." He threw his body forward, behind his powerful fist.
It was then that she realized what was perhaps her only advantage, speed and agility. Mitchell was too big to move as quickly as she did.
"An'," he went on as they began circling again, "there's all those times youse embarrassed me in public, the scar."
Hotshot had nearly forgotten. She looked at his face where a small scar ran across his cheek. The white line sharply contrasted with his tanned face. She barely remembered; she'd put it there with a ring at the age of twelve. The sharp metal had cut across his face when she hit him. Both Spot and Rebel had told her off for beating up a fellow newsie, again.
Mitchell used her small flicker of attention to draw the first blood of the battle. His fist drove forward and propelled it into her jaw. The force of the impact knocked her to the ground.
Cursing she was back up in seconds. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as it pooled in her cheek. She spat the small amount of blood into his face.
He wiped it off and pulled off his button up shirt to make it easier to fight. She pulled hers off too, leaving only her tank top on in the cool warehouse. It would only slow her down and make her easier to beat.
He was smiling swaggeringly at her and she was very tempted to lash out and knock the look off of his face. She darted out and struck his right eye squarely with her left hand, attempting to do the same with her right. He grasped her right hand before it could strike and twisted it behind her. Through practice she knew how to get out of his grip. She pushed away after bringing her nails across his face.
Mitchell yelled out in pain and tried to lash out at her, but she quickly dodged out of reach. She came back past him, but this time wasn't fast enough to avoid his fist. Something sharp scraped her cheek. Her hand flew up to the cut and red liquid was found on her fingers when she took them away.
"What was it that happened to that ring?" Mitchell asked, laughing.
"Rebel threw it into the harbor." she stated, wiping the blood away. He'd been threatening to take it so no one else got hurt and when she tried to take it back it had dropped into the harbor. He apologized for weeks but nothing could be done. Her mother's wedding ring was lost forever at the bottom of the harbor. Or so she had thought.
Glistening on Mitchell's thin fingers the ring sat. He'd found it and kept it as bribery, choosing the fight to reveal that he had it.
His grin widened and the older boy looked around at the newsies who were watching from the second floor. Hotshot took the chance and launched herself at him, bowling the older boy over. They both crashed into a large wooden crate, which splintered under the weight. As they retreated back to their respective corners both found themselves covered in scratches. A large cut sliced across Hotshots left arm.
She hadn't noticed before the silence that her friends were shouting to her. The three of them were yelling encouragement and ideas. As Mitchell reached for her instinct took over. She let him take hold of her right wrist and let his force flip her over his shoulder, bringing her knee in between his shoulder blades. He cursed releasing her.
"You little bitch!" he yelled as she danced out of reach.
"Oh, and I suppose you expected me to just stand here and let you kill me," sarcasm dripped off her words.
A piece of broken board flew on her direction, knocking her feet from under her. She avoided the other pieces, using other crates as shields.
"Come out an' fight!" he shouted once he grew tired of her hide-and-seek."
"How am I supposed to fight you if you get to fight with weapons?" she snapped , crouching behind a stack of boxes.
"You can use weapons too, I just happen to know you don't have any on you." He plainly told her.
"Oh that's so much help now!" she yelled, reaching for her back pocket where her slingshot was but realizing she'd left it in Manhattan. "I really wish you had my knife right now, Specs!"
She calmly walked from behind the boxes to the open are that was now littered with straw, pieces of boards, blood and footprints. He met her and they attacked each other. A set of punches and kicks found both of them on the ground. Hotshot nursing more cuts, and Mitchell a bloody nose. Mitchell was up faster and kicked her hard in the stomach before she could rise as well.
The kick made her stiffen and freeze for a moment, during which he kicked her again and again. She finally jumped up and took hold of a handful of his hair. She dragged him down by it and brought her knee into his stomach.
While Mitchell recovered from the pain she stood back, catching her breath and trying to catch a glimpse of the newsies upstairs. Wick should've had them all up there by now. It was only then she began to worry that it had actually been a trap.
Mitchell pulled her towards him and tried to twist her arm behind her back enough to break it. She yelled, twisting repeatedly out of his grip. She brought one leg behind his left one and helped his feet slide out from under him.
In seconds he was up and had tackled her to the ground. She squirmed out of his grip again and climbed a pile of boxes, trying to gain an advantage by height. She caught Wick's eye and he made a signal that meant there were problems.
Hotshot groaned. Problems meant it would take longer for them to get there and she wasn't sure how long she could hold Mitchell off for. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins but she had no idea how long it would last for.
She took her time on the boxes to look over both of the fighters. Mitchell was grinning, even though blood was flowing freely from his nose and the three scratch marks that crossed his cheek. His right eye was swelled, but not enough that he couldn't open it. Numerous cuts crisscrossed his arms; the deepest running from his shoulder to halfway to his elbow.
Hotshot realized that she was probably the more injured of the two. Two long cuts crossed on her left arm. The other was covered in minute scratches. She could still taste blood in her mouth, though the bleeding had stopped, but the cut along her cheek was still bleeding freely. A large bruise covered a large portion of the front of her lower right leg from when a scrap of wood had hit her. There were surely more injuries that she could not see but she wasn't about to start paying attention to them.
At the same time Mitchell was watching her, only one thought echoing through his deranged mind. Kill her! Kill her! Something inside him seemed to yell it, driving him on and pumping adrenaline through his veins. He heard only muffled versions of what his minions were yelling from the platforms above.
Wick stood on the top floor watching the two of them. Hotshot's eyes showed a little bit of panic, but her stance made him sure she could hold him off just a little longer. He turned to the man he had once considered a friend and a leader. Had it been modern day he would have just been sent off to an insane asylum. He allowed his face to sink a little as he realized it was probably better that she kill him now. He just didn't want to have to watch it. He gulped audibly as Mitchell went for a box at the bottom of the stack Hotshot was standing on.
She turned her attention to the fight as Mitchell came back to the boxes. It all depended on which one he pulled out of the pile. He chose one and pulled it out but the pile did not topple over as he'd hoped it would. The next box however brought the tower crashing down. She managed to jump clear of the catastrophe. Mitchell pushed boxes aside to get to her and hit her so hard it sent her crashing to the ground. He picked something up from the ground and swung. She dodged ton the side and the crowbar hit the floor inches from her head, sending sparks up from the cement surface.
She rolled over and up, causing him to hit the floor again. When she stood he swung it at her several times. She either ducked, jumped, of just moved out of his range. He tripped over a loose board and sent the weapon flying across the floor.
She jumped at him, letting her fists fall wherever she could land them. The two of them rolled around on the dirty floor. Many punches and kicks were landing, putting both of them in considerable amounts of pain, well considerable amounts more pain than they were already in. During the time they were face to face he was whispering curses and insults. She just glared defiantly back at him and kept silent. She was smiling inside because she knew it unnerved him a little.
By quickly straightening her legs sha sent him flying through the air. He'd almost had her pinned that time. He skidded after he landed and threw a board at her. She dodged it easily but didn't miss the look he was giving her. He wanted to end this soon, very soon.
He sent his body sailing toward her with a powerful lunge. She wanted to just dodge to the side but this needed to end. A trick Spot had taught her flew forward from the depths of her mind where it had been lost long ago. It was then that a certain 'newsie instinct' seemed to take over. She moved enough to the side to avoid him from hitting her dead on. And took hold of his arm and shirt as he went by. Using his momentum to help her she swung him around so he was lying on the ground, facing the ceiling. Her foot was positioned on his neck. Most people would think that he could easily just throw her off, but anyone who had learned to fight as she had knew all the damage she could do in that position. She could suffocate him if she held her foot down hard enough; make him die a slow, painful death. There was also the option of breaking his neck. She'd seen it done before. Mitchell knew the dangers and lay still, breathing heavily.
She could kill him now and she knew it, but Hotshot didn't really want to kill him. She just wanted all the fighting between them to be over. Wanted to stop him from hurting her friends and keep him far from New York. She applied more pressure to her foot and leaned down into his face.
"You listen to me, Mitchell," she hissed, "I am sick of fighting with you over something so stupid. It's over, right now! You know very well that I could kill you in this position and youse got no one to help you." She ignored the grin on his face. "I really hope someone else kills you though. You cause more problems than you fix."
She took a breath and stepped off of his throat. He sat there looking at her, stunned.
"You have until dawn to get out of New York. I'm going to make it my personal mission to make sure every newsie in New York knows your face, knows the scabber you are. And I swear to God, Mitchell, if I ever, ever, see you around here again…" She let her statement hang and took a deep breath, "I'll kill you. Do you understand?"
Mitchell only nodded and slowly inched back from her. Hotshot turned to where her friends were sitting. They looked relieved, scared, and tired all at the same time. In one motion each of the three pairs of eyes went wide, but Bumlets was the first to gain use of his voice.
"Hotshot, look out!"
Even his warning came to late. She turned ever so slightly when she felt Mitchell's iron grip on her wrist. As he spun her around by her left arm she heard a sickening sound, not a crunch of breaking bone but another, more gruesome sound, and her arm went numb below the shoulder. His right hand came in contact with her left eye, surely leaving an ugly bruise in its wake. She spun to the floor and hit the cement hard. When she hit the floor she found she didn't have the strength to get up. She watched as he crossed the room and rolled over onto her back as he came over.
His men were shouting for him to stop but he didn't seem to hear anyone. He didn't even seem to hear a voice that was loud, and distinctively Spot's coming from the front of the building. He was deaf to everything save the task he'd been waiting so long to carry out. He stood over her then, gripping the crowbar like it was his only chance at life.
"It's about time you got what you deserved," he grinned arrogantly, "And I'm just the one to give it to you. To think, some girl thought she could be a newsie." He laughed, "May you rot in hell. You could never have beaten me."
Everything from that second on seemed to move in slow motion. He lifted the crowbar above his head and began to bring it down in a blow that would shatter her skull. Hotshot turned to look over at her friends as Specs' voice rang through her ears. Her eyes met his and she saw he was holding something. A small, metal object flew from his hands and skidded over to where she lay. She knew what it was and nearly cried out. With expert skill she scooped up her switchblade and pressed the button that would open it. Mitchell didn't seem to see the blade in time. With as much strength as she had left Hotshot hurled the blade. Every single muscle in her body ached with protest but if she put it off for even a second there was no questioning that she would die. The force behind the throw was powerful, the blade burying itself hilt-deep in Mitchell's chest.
The crowbar dropped harmlessly to the floor as Mitchell froze, staring at the hilt of a knife, protruding from his chest. Blood spurted out of him as he reached up to touch it, seeming to not find it real. As he touched the deep wound everything became real and he let out a yell of agony. His eyes were wide with horror as he looked at her. Their eyes met for a brief moment and his body continued to fall forward. The look in his eyes and what she read in them would stay with her for the rest of her life. The weight of his large body crumpled over her, blood spilling out of the wound and staining her clothes. He was dead before he landed; the weight of his body coming down fully on her.
Hotshot used her last surge of adrenaline to push Mitchell's body off of her. It rolled with a sickening thud and a sort of splash due to the blood that covered the ground. She forced herself to sit up, and edged herself a few feet away from him. Her body tried to flop back to the ground, exhausted, but Specs was behind her, leaning her against him.
"Les didn't see that, did he?" she asked, sucking in a few deep breaths.
"No, Bumlets got him to look away. It's alright." He pulled her into a more upright position to keep her awake.
She breathed a sigh, not wanting to scar the child at such an early age. Hotshot had seen plenty of fellow newsies die. It was the reason Spot was so emotionless and she did not want Les to turn into Spot for any reason.
"We need to get you to a doctor," Specs said, "Someone needs to look at your arm." He was looking the rest of her cuts and bruises over to make sure there was o other serious harm done.
"Get in front of me." She told him, repeating the order when he didn't move. She placed her left hand on his shoulder and ordered him, "Hold my arm there. Don't let go."
"Hotshot, don't." He pleaded, refusing to hold her hand against him. He knew what she was going to do and had heard that it was a very painful procedure.
"Specs," she said calmly, "Hold my hand against your chest or I'll use one of the beams."
He took tight hold of her arm; determine not to let go.
Hotshot tensed for the pain that would surely explode in her arm as she straitened it and pushed as hard as she could, forcing her shoulder back into the socket. She didn't care if she was supposed to be one of the bravest newsies in New York. She screamed in pain, and let Specs pull her into his arms again. She dug her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and held her breath, willing the pain to stop. It exploded in her arm and more seemed to be released over time.
When Spot and the others entered the room, following Wick the pain and her arm had lessened a little. She sat in Specs' arms as Bumlets joined them, holding a very distraught Les. Spot was the first one to make it to her side. He gave her a glance before yelling to a few of the other newsies. Snoddy, Wiser, and Roman came over to her, cleaning the cuts as carefully as possible. Spot walked over to the motionless body. "My God, I can't believe you killed him," he said it more to himself than to her. He stood over the body of the man he'd once considered an ally, but now considered an enemy of the worst sort. Though he didn't like the fact that one newsie had killed another he believed justice had been served in this case.
Spot used his foot to flip over the body and stared at it in horror. Of course no one except him, his brother, and Hotshot could tell. He looked over the beaten newsie, trying to gather what had happened. Hotshot was watching him from where she sat in front of Specs. As the three 'doctors' of the newsies backed away Spot pulled the knife free from the corpse. Blood seeped out, staining his clothing and the floor a deep crimson, and a few turned away in disgust. Many of them were staring at her, unable to believe that this girl had killed one of the most feared non-newsies. Spot wiped the blade clean on a small rag and handed it to Specs. The boy promptly closed it and put it in his pocket.
It was then that the second wave of newsies came in. It included Dutchy, Pie Eater, and David. David paled at the sight of the cadaver on the floor and looked around frantically for his younger brother.
"Bumlets' got 'im Dave," Hotshot called.
At the same time David spotted the dark haired boy and ran over to him taking the smaller boy in his arms. Les was crying a little and seemed eager to get to his brother. His hands secured themselves in the fabric of David's shirt and didn't seem to want to release him. Pie Eater was right behind David and hugged his best friend. Bumlets slouched against him a bit, tired and injured from the whole ordeal. Dutchy slid to the ground next to Specs and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"You alright?" he asked.
Specs only nodded.
Spot turned to Hotshot, whom all the newsies were now staring at. Before he could speak she did.
"I know you wanna know what happened Spot, but I can't do it right now. I swear I'll tell you before court starts again next week but not now, not now." She stared right into his eyes as she spoke. There were only a dozen or so people who had seen the whole thing and knew what really happened. She wanted to leave it that way, at least until tomorrow.
He nodded and yelled orders for most of the newsies to return to Manhattan, this now included Wick and his comrades. Specs, Dutchy, Spot, Wick, Jack, Rebel, and Roman were staying to set up the room. Hotshot had insisted on staying with them, telling Race to run to the mansion to tell Rosa she wouldn't be home until the next day.
The seven boys cleaned up the room the best they could and hid the body in a pile of boxes, not that anyone would care that Mitchell died, but the chance was still there. Before they put him there Hotshot slid her mother's wedding ring off of his fingers and into her pocket. Hotshot refused the help offered on the way back to Manhattan and walked on her own. Halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge she couldn't walk anymore and her legs collapsed under her. She cried out and sank against the wall.
Spot leaned down in front of her not quite meeting her eyes, "Do you want someone to carry you?"
"No," she said forcefully knowing very well there was no chance he'd listen to her and still wanting to take care of herself as always. She tried to pull herself up but had difficulties and dropped back to the ground, hitting the pavement hard with her already bruised fists. Some of the bruises broke, letting some blood seep onto the pavement.
Spot took her hands in his and made her look at him. "Let someone help you for once," he said. He called to Specs, who was waiting with the others a few yards down the walkway, just out of earshot of their quiet conversation.
Hotshot glared at him as Specs began walking toward them.
"Please, Brooke." He looked at her with concern in his eyes as Specs came and stood by them.
She nodded and Spot whispered to Specs. The taller newsie leaned down, sliding one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, and picked her up. She leaned her head against his chest, "Thanks Specs."
"No problem." He began walking to catch up with the rest of the group. They all looked at her for a moment but looks from either Spot, her, or both made them continue on their way.
More weird looks were sent her way when the group entered the bunkroom. Almost everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at her, even the younger boys, Les, Snipeshooter, and Boots raised an eyebrow. None of them thought they would ever see someone carrying Hotshot unless she had passed out. They all know she never wanted anyone to help her. But now, seeing Specs carry her in, and not knowing what happened in Brooklyn kept them from responding. Even Racetrack, who always had a comment on the tip of his tongue when he saw the two of them together in any intimate way, was silent. The room remained silent as Specs placed her in her bunk. The silence continued as she curled up under the thin blanket. Only after they were sure she was asleep did the newsies talk in hushed whispers about what had happened.
All the while one of them sat on his bunk, watching her closely. Even when Dutchy tried to talk to him Specs just stayed silent, shaking his head and clenching his fists. He gave his bed to one of the newer newsies that night and then sat on the end of her bunk, his legs stretched out next to her and his back against the frame. He finally allowed himself to fall into a restless sleep.
A/N: Wow, this chapter is finally done. I'm thinking there will only be about five more chapters, but then who knows. Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter. New reviewers, Yay! Other new reviewers are always appreciated. This chapter took me a while to write and the other ones left might to. Bear with me I'm trying but, School Ugh!!! More soon, I promise.
Also any more girlfriend profiled are greatly appreciated. I've got ten, but that means ten newsies are still free…
Luv ya lots
~Megan~~~
AGAIN I'M SORRY THAT I'M JUST REPOSTING THIS BUT I WANTED MY FRIEND TO EDIT IT AND I WANTED TO GET IT UP SO MUCH I JUST… YOU GET THE IDEA. NEW CHAPTER SOON.. ~Megan~~~