Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.
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A/N: First off, this chapter references several things that will make a ton more sense if you read the few chapters I have posted of the story Frostbitten. (previously titled The Taste of Hell) Apologies major for the delay of this chapter. Been stressed in the big league way because of finals, but I am back ^_^ Not that any one care. No one even bothered to review my last chapter. - tear - I think I am going to cry. I have no fans. Boo hoo! - bawls - Just for that, this is going to be a sad chapter! Bah humbug!
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Warning: This chapter is PG-13 for all of the normal stuff in my fictions, such as: angst, language, death, pain, stuff like that, and one really freaky sequence that I had a lot of fun writing. ^_^
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Chapter 5: Damn
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"Comes the blind fury,"
-- John Milton
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They had fallen asleep together on the roof, Emily and Spot. Sitting together under the stars, Emily's head resting on Spot's chest, his arms wrapped around her. The heat around them had kept them warm, but when they woke that morning, the normally bright blue sky was replaced by dark gray skies. Thanks to Spot's early morning routine, they woke early enough for Emily to sneak back into the Lodging house undetected, but she didn't meet his eyes the whole time. He suspected she was embarrassed and didn't press the situation. In fact, he was slightly embarrassed by the whole ordeal.
What in the devil had he been thinking? Romancing the daughter of the lodging house owner, no not only romancing her, falling asleep with her under the stars after talking to all hours of the night. What in the world had he been thinking? If anyone found out about this, they would laugh him out of Brooklyn. This was Spot Conlon, he wasn't supposed to have a steady girl. Love them and leave them, except he never really got around to the first part. His traditional motive was much more along the lines of use them and leave them. Until Frost, and now there was Emily, what in the hell was happening to him?
After Emily was back in the lodging house, he shimmied down from his place. He headed towards the gates, not even bothering to stop at the livery or any of his usual points of interest. His mind was spinning, not able to rest on one certain thought for more than a few instants. Had he really kissed Emily? All of the events of yesterday seemed surreal. Why had he done it? Was he really that stupid? He might as well have signed his own death sentence.
Damn, was the only word he could conjugate in his racing mind, Damn!
No one was at the gate, why should there be? He was taken back to the times that Frost had been there waiting for him. He had loved Frost, he still did, and he felt for the cross necklace that he still kept as a sign of his love for her. How could he still be in love with Frost and feel so intensely what he did for Emily? But what he felt for Emily wasn't the same… was it?
Closing his eyes again, he tried once more to picture Frost's face in his mind. The sparkling dark eyes kept fading into the green though, and the odd shaped nose turning up into a freckle covered form. The chestnut hair turned dark in an instant and the thin lips filled out slightly. Over and over he would try and formulate Frost's vision in his mind, but again and again Emily would appear.
Damn, he thought again, completely and thoroughly frustrated. Damn.
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//Cause your working,
Building a mystery,
Holding on,
Holding it in…//
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Shadow moved with his same lazy grace as he approached the leader. His posture speaking of his non-caring laid back attitude, his eyes, sharp and keen, spoke an entirely different message. The once short Brooklyn leader stood with his cap pulled low over his eyes, his arms crossed, cane in place, and slingshot at his side. Overall conveying the message that he didn't want to be approached.
"Ya sleep a'ight?" Shadow asked, acting oblivious to the apparent body language.
"Yeah," Spot answered in truth. The fact was that he hadn't slept better in months. Though now he was sore, and not that well rested, he hadn't had a single nightmare or dream at all. Just long, peaceful sleep that had felt wonderful to his mind and soul. Shadow didn't tell his leader that his pale face and the dark circles under his eyes told otherwise.
"Why don'cha sleep at da Lodgin' House wit' da rest o' us?" Shadow was honestly curious. When the leader had sneaked out the window in the dark of the night, it had raised many questions in his mind.
"Dere's stuff dere dat I don' wanna be 'round," he said simply, closing the subject before it had even been opened.
"Whot kinda stuff?" Shadow prodded, trying to find something, anything that would help him on his cause.
"Da kinda stuff dat is best ta be forgotten," Spot looked at the annoyance to his side. "An' left alone," The ice in his tone made it clear, that for health reasons, Shadow should drop it.
"How many papes do ya sell?" Shadow asked, trying to keep the conversation alive, being a spy sent to find out information about Spot Conlon was proving to be more of a challenge than he thought it would be.
"Staht at one-fifty," he said, voice void of emotions.
"How fast do ya sell out?" Shadow prodded and Spot kept his annoyance masked.
"Depends," he responded cryptically, inwardly rejoicing at the spotting of the rest of the group.
"On whot?" Shadow refused to be ignored.
"On how fast dey sell," Spot offered, scanning the group of newsies as they got closer still.
"Oh," That quickly ended the snap-fire conversation that had whipped back and forth quicker than a tennis ball, wracking his brain, Shadow tired to think of anything he could say. An arrival of a group of rowdy kids took his attention away from these thoughts.
The pack was quickly identified as the newsies from the lodging house. All of them greeted Spot and one that he had known to be Outsider took place on the right hand side of Spot. Obviously a place reserved for a co-leader or second in command. Something told him that this Outsider was really more of a tool than anything. He didn't possess even half of the charisma or know-how that Spot did.
"Ya feelin' a'ight Spot?" The co-leader spoke, in a rather hushed tone, not wanting to draw attention to the unorthodox question. It was clear however that Spot wasn't on the top of his physical game.
"I'se fine," he seemed slightly annoyed at the question and Shadow took note of it, carefully listening to the two converse while seeming to be listening to something else.
"Hey Spot," a girl in the front with bright red hair heckled the leader. "Ya look like yous been up all night," Her large gray eyes shone with amusement. "Maybe wit' somebody I knows?" She raised an eyebrow and Spot gave her a glare.
Only Spot understood the underlined truth in that joke. The girl, Spitfire, had been a barmaid where several prostitutes had worked before she became a newsie. Her growth had come early to her, making her look much older than eleven, and was able to lie about her age to work there as a waitress of sorts. Spot had done a background check and found that she had never sold her own body, but was familiar with several girls that had on regular basis. Shadow noted this exchange curiously, but looked at the pretty girl that spoke with a different kind of interest.
Other friendly jibes came Spot's way, none of them serious, or too demeaning. No one dared take that risk, and Spot was soon spared of all of this because the gates opened. Shadow noted that he took all of this in stride, seeming to record what everyone said, storing it away in some databank that he had constructed for each newsie. Knowing the reputation of this boy, he probably had just that, a databank. In which some sort of blackmail or bad gossip was held against each and every one of them. A clever fox he was indeed, but not too clever. This Spot had better watch himself, because he was about to be beaten at his own game.
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"So whot yous is sayin' is dat dis spy o' youahs, is goin' ta woyk wit' Spot Conlon, win 'is trust, an' make 'im so 'e ain't got no friends?" Rift asked, the majority of the Queens' newsies were assembled after the day's selling.
"Dat's 'bout it," Lice leaned back in the one, old, broken down chair they had. "Den 'e's goin' ta come back ah whot it is, heah an' tell us all 'bout da group," he explained. "Den when dey least expect it, we strike."
A murmur of approval ran through the violent group at the sound of their leader's impassioned words. They might not be getting what they wanted right now, but as long as they had the promise of bloodshed, their willingness to follow their leader's orders was increased. As long as they didn't have to wait too long, Lice knew that he could keep them subdued, but if Shadow failed to do his job…. He had killed before and he would do it again, nothing would stand in his way from being the leader. Nothing would stand in his way to beat Spot Conlon.
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//Your different now,
Do you know that?
You've change somehow,
Can you see that…?//
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"Whot's da mattah Cowboy?" Racetrack sat next to his brooding companion. It was unlike his friend to sit with a scowl on his face for too long.
"I'se just t'inkin' Race," Jack replied, not feeling like being cheered.
"Yous t'inkin'?" Racetrack looked shocked. "Ah youah shuah you's feelin' a'ight Jack?" Race good-naturedly joked, managing to crack only a small temporary smile out of his friend. "Yous t'inkin' 'bout Cowgoil again?" He ventured cautiously, the leader's old flame still dangerous territory.
"No," Jack shook his head, his mousy brown hair falling into his eyes. "I were t'inkin' 'bout Brooklyn."
"Brooklyn?" Race recognized Jack's name for Spot. "Why yous t'inkin' 'bout 'im?"
"Cause," Jack thought out loud. "Dat boy's been actin' strange," Jack pondered, his thoughts becoming speech.
"An' Spot was evah noymal?" Race tried to lighten the mood a little, only to fail miserably.
"Nah, it's moah dan dat," Jack searched for the words. "It's jus' dat 'e's gettin' inta somet'ing dat he don't know 'bout," Jack didn't really know what he was saying but it made sense. "He's fallin' foah a goil dat ain't sposed ta be falled for, an' Queens is doin' somet'ing an' I'se not shuah whot it is," Jack grappled for the right words. "Spot's in trouble," he spat out finally, looking directly into his friend's eyes. "An' he don' know it."
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//You make believe,
That nothing is wrong,
Until your crying,
Crying on me…//
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Jack didn't know how wrong he was, Spot knew he was in trouble, deep trouble, he just wouldn't show it. Losing his heart to a girl who didn't know the first thing about love was bad enough, but with Queens on the offensive, and then suddenly dropping out of the picture, it had Spot worried. It doesn't take too much to figure that Queens was waiting for something, but Spot didn't know what and it was making him antsy.
A few beat-up boys were not enough for a full out war, but diplomacy was definitely out of the question. It was clear that no one from Brooklyn was welcome in Queens, or even in the general area of it. Everything was so confused at the same time as being so plainly clear, it was frustrating. What was Spot supposed to do? All of the territory battles he had fought had been quick little scuffles between a few leaders, never an actual war. What exactly was Queens doing anyway? Did they even want a war, did they even know what they were doing?
The new situations had Spot completely confused, but he wouldn't show it, such were the pains of leadership. The other pain was the risk he took any time he decided to care about anyone. While everyone has to deal with that risk, the effect that it took on them perhaps wasn't as great as Spot's. Everyone he had genuinely cared for was gone forever, and he couldn't believe that he was being stupid enough to fall for love again. Hadn't he learned his lesson with Frost?
Damn, He kept thinking. Damn ya Spot Conlon, Frost's own words came back to haunt him. Damn me, he thought. Damn me ta bloody hell, he lit a cigarette and started on a walk, unsure where this walk would take them.
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//Am I crazy?
Am I dreaming?
Blind to the pain,
And to your scheming…//
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"Yous all knows dat Spot's just controlin' all o' yous," Shadow spoke to some grumbling young boys. "Do ya really t'ink dat 'e could soak alla yous?" It had been a long hard selling day and rumors had been floating around about Queens. "Ya t'ink dat 'e's really goin' ta take cahah o' yous if Queens comes?" Shadow continued to entice them. Some listened interested, some listened because they didn't feel like moving others tried not to care, but the words pricked at their conscious.
This was the lesser of the newsboys and girls, the ones that weren't in Spot's inner-circle. The down and outs of the group, the new ones, the ones that had never really taken their stand in the bunkroom society, these were the ones that Shadow was appealing to. He knew that the destruction all began with a seed, and these were the most fertile soil he could find.
"Spot Conlon's not'in moah dan a cowahd," he stayed quiet, though his impassioned words carried a deeper meaning than any screamed tiding.
"You's wrong!" One of the smaller boys exclaimed. He had grown up on the stories of Spot and his great reputation, the boy was a walking legend, and he wouldn't have this stranger attacking his hero. "Spot Conlon's a newsie," he said firmly through his several missing teeth. "An' he's a darn good one too!" A slight wave of voices fluttered through the crowd and the glares at Shadow told him that the whispered words were not in his favor.
Knowing when it was best to be quiet, he was, and leaned back, closing his mouth. Soon the conversations went back to normal, only a few would look back at him with a strange look, or a whispered question to one of their friends, but Shadow had done his job. The seed was planted, and he knew that it was taking root.
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//It's all so familiar,
It's like,
It's like a memory,
From a dream…//
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The walk took him to places that he hadn't known existed. Streets that had long been forgotten, places and memories far gone and faded haunted the shadowy, narrow, passageways. Strangely recognizable landmarks and byways of the deserted area overwhelmed Spot. Standing in a single Spot he, circled slowly, taking it all in. What was this place?
"Are you lost boy?" A motherly voice came from behind him.
"Whot?" Spot whirled around to find a young woman, he guessed around twenty years of age, standing behind him. Her auburn hair was pulled loosely into a bun. The shawl of torn lace hung droopily around her work sagged shoulders. A strange light shone in her eyes, those strange eyes that seemed to reflect the whole world.
"Are you lost?" Her accent was missing, there was no distinct tone or phrasing that marked her in any category or breeding.
"Lost, me? No," Spot processed his thoughts and threw the long dead butt of his cigarette on the dirt streets, habitually grinding it with the heel of his boot.
"For whom do you search?" She questioned, openly.
"I ain't lookin' foah nobody," Spot puzzled at the woman's questions. Nobody had ever done this to him, and it had been years since anyone had called him a boy.
"Then what brings you here?" She posed the question. "Something must have drawn you," she prompted and Spot recoiled.
"Who is you?" Spot went defensive, not liking being the receiving end of all the questions.
"I'm just a person like you Spot Conlon," She smiled sweetly and Spot took a step back, how did this lady know his name? It was probable that she knew him from reputation, and his cane marked him, but she seemed too old and didn't seem like she would have been in the right circle to be familiar with him.
"Shit," he breathed, mind racing. "Yous one o' does crazies I'se hoyd 'bout," he pointed his finger at her. "Yous one o' does peoples dat follow oder people 'round an' find out stuff 'bout them," he backed away a little more, and the woman made no attempt to follow him.
"No, you know I'm not," she shook her head slightly, there was something very familiar about her, and for some odd reason, Spot believed every word she said.
"Den who ah yous?" he frowned, confused at his own behavior and at the happenings around him.
"That doesn't matter right now, what matters is that you are safe," she didn't smile now and Spot was utterly confused. What was this woman talking about?
"O' course I'se safe," he scoffed, smirking. "I ain't got no reason not ta be!" he bragged.
"Oh silly boy and your games," she scolded mildly. "You know not what trouble awaits you if you heed not my warnings," she looked directly into his eyes on those words and a chill shot down his spine.
"Whot da hell ah ya talkin' 'bout lady?" Spot's natural reaction to fear was anger.
"I'm talking about the danger that you are in Patrick," She used his birth name and he froze for a moment.
"Horse shit," he breathed. No one knew that was his name, not even Frost and she was long gone.
"Yes, I know a lot about you Patrick O'Connor," she smiled and Spot took another step back, blue curses coming nonsensically from his lips. "You recognize this place? You should, this is your old home," she pointed to the brick building, standing across from them.
"Dat's impossible," Spot denied, looking up and down the exterior, looking for evidence of fire. "It boyned down da day I ran," he felt bold by this and took a few steps closer to her, wagging his finger. "I'se not shuah whot games yous playin' heah lady, but I'se tellin' yous now dat I'se not fallin' foah it," he looked back at the building and then at the lady who wasn't smiling anymore. "Dis place boyned yeahs ago, it wos toyn down aftah dat!" He pointed out the flaw in her argument.
"Yes it did burn didn't it Patrick?" She spoke again, almost patronizingly. "But the fire wasn't set by someone leaving the lamp on and going to bed was it?" She saw the pain flicker in his eyes. "Yes, you remember, it was you that set the fire that night," she smiled again, sadly this time. "Wasn't it?" the smile became a knowing smile, telling him that she didn't even need the answer.
"I don' knows whot yous talkin' 'bout lady," Spot said coldly, his body tensing.
"Oh but you do," she stepped forward, making the first move that she had made since Spot had first seen her. Instinctively he wanted to back away, but her eyes locked with his, holding him where he was. "You knocked the lantern when you were trying to not step in your mother's blood, your father had killed her and your brother and sister, do you remember?" her pale, slim hand stretched up and touched his cheek. It was shockingly warm.
"Who ah you?" Spot breathed. There was no way that she could know what she knew. Her strange, strange eyes flickered as they stared into his.
"You remember, you remember how he beat you, do you remember how you ached for weeks after that beating?" She didn't wait for an answer. "That pain is minimal if you don't heed my warnings," She was deadly serious and she drew back her hand. Instantly Spot felt cold all over, the loss of contact connected with a sudden sense of panic.
"Whot warnin'?" He thought, he remembered what good warnings did, warnings had killed his Frost. The woman's eyes almost seemed to film over, as if a second eyelid had flashed over them, closing sideways instead of vertically, then was gone in an instant.
"You miss this girl," She reached out and touched the gold cross. "Such a pretty necklace, such an unresolved character, such an indomitable spirit," she spoke more to herself than Spot, ignoring his question entirely, but reading his mind. "You loved her very much didn't you?" Spot now knew that answering her questions were useless, she already knew the answer, he didn't know how, but he just accepted the fact that she was going to know them. "She loved you too," the words brought exceeding joy to Spot. "She loved you more than she will ever know," she looked up at him sadly. "But you don't remember her face do you?" she kept asking questions that she never let him answer, this one she let hand in the air.
"I nevah said dat," Spot swallowed hard.
"Oh but you didn't have to," she shook her head. "The mind does that sometimes, it makes room for new memories, so it gets rid of old ones," her voice was smooth and calm as she studied the cross again before looking up at him. "Just because you cannot remember doesn't mean you loved her any less than before," with those wise words, she dropped the cross to his chest again and stepped back. "But my time grows short as does yours," her tone deadly serious as she looked down the street and Spot followed her gaze. A large dark cloud was forming on the horizon.
"What warnin'?" Spot repeated, anxious now. Again the second eyelid closed over her eyes, coating it as she looked towards him blankly. Goosebumps rose over his whole body and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight at the sight, then she began to speak.
"Be careful Patrick O'Connor, take the help of friends, but chose them wisely. For even the most devoted comrade can become your enemy whenever he chooses," she directed. "Your weakness lies in her strength and her strength in yours, do not shun her or turn away from her, her light will be the beacon that guides you," her prophetic speech continued. "Don't be afraid to look behind you, always look behind you Patrick. Your pride is your weakness as her humble attitude is hers. If you continue to cling to your ways, you will both be destroyed," the woman began to fade into the thin air, and Spot blinked to see if it was really happening. "You're a marked man Patrick, take care that you leave nothing unchecked, nothing unturned, you are the holder of your fate," she spoke as she evaporated. "Be not afraid to look behind you, your pride is your weakness," she repeated. "Together you will conquer, you and her, apart you shall fall."
"Wait," Spot called to the woman as she disappeared. "Her who?" His cry was desperate but she continued and his eyes darted to where the darkness had been forming, it was there again, but thicker and darker still.
"Together you succeed, apart you shall fail, heed my warning's friend Patrick," She spoke her last words as she completely faded. "Heed my warnings…." And she was gone. The manifestation was gone as if she had never been. The evanescence of her departure was disturbing, but Spot's eyes moved to the darkness, it was moving towards him, and quickly.
Unable to pause and puzzle over this woman or her warnings, he ran. He ran like he had never run before, barely touching the ground as he soared as a gazelle over the dirt streets and alleyways. Still the all-consuming black cloud pursued him like a great wall of smoke enveloping the entire city as far as the eye could see. Gasping, he turned and saw it moving closer and closer, and he sped up as much as he could.
Your weakness lies in her strength, the voice echoed in his head. 'Er who? He puzzled, running up a flight of stairs and coming to the rooftops of what he thought to be New York. Sprinting at full speed, he jumped from one building to the next. Their distance no more than a wide creek. The gold tipped cane he carried tucked in his belt loop, pounding against his leg as he ran. Still the darkness followed him, his every move. Then he came to a building whose jump was impossible, no fire escape and it were too late to head back. Unsure of what else to do, Spot jumped, flying off the edge he closed his eyes expected to hit the hard ground.
Imagine his surprise to find that he instead landed in something wet, very wet and soon he was soaked. Opening his eyes, he saw he was underwater. How had he gotten there? These buildings weren't near the wharf, were they? Opening his eyes, he saw a light near the surface and underneath him the darkness was swirling upwards, trying to reach him. He had to make it to the light. Upward he swam, pulling himself nearer and nearer to the surface.
His breath soon was giving out and his vision was blurring from the water. How deep was he? How far did he have to go? The light was partially blocked now, by a figure, which was it? He strained to see whom the girlish shadow belonged to, but he couldn't make it out. At the sight of it though, a new burst of energy was sent through his body and he made it to the surface to find only that the darkness was still chasing him and he was in the middle of a lake. Gasping for air, he swam to the shore, his clothes were soaked, his shoes were soggy, and the darkness was still chasing him.
"This way Patrick!" he heard a voice with an Irish accent call and he saw what seemed to be his mother beckoning him in a forest.
"No! Dis way!" Frost called from another clump of trees, her face blurred to his vision, but she two was motioning for him to follow.
"Spot!" A faint voice touched his ears and he knew it to be Emily.
Your weakness lies in her strength, the voice echoed. Together you will conquer, apart you shall fall, and another phrase reverberated as he struggled to pick the correct lead. His time was running out, the darkness would soon be upon them. Her light will be the beacon that guides you, phrase after phrase assaulted him. The cross on his chest began to burn, then the key, each a sign of two of the people. Did this mean that Emily was his choice or that she couldn't be.
Going with his gut instinct he turned to the raven-haired girl and the other two disappeared as they had come, into nothing. Dis 'as bettah be da right one; Spot didn't wait to find out because he ran, and she ran with him. Thorns tore into his flesh and branches pulled on his hair, Emily appeared unscathed. Branches scratched him and twigs were stuck in his hair, yanking at his cap. The cane that represented so much to him was more of a hindrance than help. Still the darkness pursued.
Falling, he was falling again. The forest had ended in a sharp cliff and both he and Emily had fallen off, falling to the ground, but it was soft. A green meadow, he was not in New York anymore that was for sure. Emily was at his side still, running already, they were on their feet, had they landed that way? His clothes were still wet and he knew that his blood soaked his clothes as well as the water from the lake. Suddenly, Emily vanished. The darkness gained rapidly then, it had been held at bay when she was there, but now it was unleashed in its full fury.
Damn, The thought ran though his head again for the hundredth time that day. Never looking back, he kept running and before he knew it, he couldn't see where he was going. It was black every where, no light, nothing anywhere, it was just an oppressive burning blackness that couldn't be satisfied or doused. Groping around in it, the key and the cross began to burn again. Tearing at them, he let out a scream only to have it swallowed in the night.
"You didn't look behind yourself, did you?" It was that woman's voice again, he could hear her, but she could see her. He didn't need to see her to know that her question was rhetorical.
"Wheah am I?" Spot tried to move in the direction of the voice, but couldn't.
"Don't forget my warnings," she advised, and Spot knew that she was fading away again. A terribly desperate feeling over took him he couldn't be alone in this blackness!
"Wait!" he called. "Don't leave me!" There was no answer, but he began thrashing in the darkness, trying to break its hold, but he couldn't. The engulfment was complete and final. The total isolation was terrifying, more terrifying than any experience he had ever had before. The aloneness was so complete that he felt that he was separated from everyone and everything, completely and thoroughly alone.
The burning metal on his chest caused him to cry out. It was searing into his flesh and he didn't know how to remove them. Then the tears came, there was no one there to help him, no one there that cared, no way to relieve him of the pain that was on so many levels it was indescribable. Letting out a terrible final scream, Spot curled into a tiny ball and wept.
"Hey mistah, you a'ight?" Spot opened his eyes and he was back in New York, he could see, there was no darkness, no strange woman, no pain….
"Whot?" he asked.
"Yous weah screamin' an' I'se just checkin' if yous a'ight?" the boy was no more than five, all of his baby teeth still in tact.
"Yea, yea I'se fine," Spot felt for his money in his pocket and surprisingly it was still there. His cap was there, as was his cane, and his slingshot. His cigarette was no where to be seen, but he had smashed it under his boot when he was talking to that lady, hadn't he?
A dream, that is what it had to be, he reasoned mentally with himself as he watched the small boy retreat. There was no possible way that any of that had happened to him, it was just another one of his dreams. He had sat down on the bench to rest and think and had fallen asleep as he had thought. Yes, that was it, but no - wait - he didn't remember sitting down and as he looked around he wasn't quite sure where he was. It took him several minutes to realize that he was in Manhattan. No matter what he had thought before, he knew that there was no way he had crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and no one could convince him otherwise.
"Spot Conlon?" He knew that voice before he even saw the person.
"Yeah Race? Whaddya want?" He was impatient, but still the cool intimidating leader.
"If you's don't mind my askin', who ah ya doin' heah?" His voice was one of reverence and respect, maybe a hint of fear.
At least some t'ing will nevah change, Spot thought mirthlessly.
"I'se can be wheah evah I'se wanna be when evah I'se wanna be dere," Spot took the defensive, rising to the occasion. While he had gotten a growth spurt, Race hadn't, and he towered over the boy.
"Yous be needin' a place ta stay tanight?" Race asked weakly, his cigar hanging forgotten in his hand. "It's gettin' late an' we'se got an extrie bunk oah two," he offered and Spot started walking towards the Manhattan Lodging House.
It nevah happened, he reasoned. Dere is no way dat it happened, he scratched the back of his capped head. Something was in his hair. Reaching back, he pulled out the offending item. It was a twig with leafs still attached. How could he have a twig with the leafs still… Swiveling his head, he looked around behind him. Racetrack was there, but he wasn't interested in that, searching the crowd he saw the woman standing there. Her auburn hair catching the dying rays of the sun, she smiled as a carriage passed in front of her, and when the carriage had moved out of the way, she was gone.
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Emily was scrubbing the entry hall when something odd happened to her. Several of the boys from upstairs came down and started talking to her. Each of them asking in turns about Spot, one of them in particular. He was a tall boy with shaggy blonde hair and gray eyes set deeply in his head, she had seen him with Spot before and guessed him to be another leader.
"Has yous seen Spot 'round?" The gray-eyed boy asked, his eyes automatically went to the disfiguring bruise on the side of her face. Emily ducked her head.
"No," she shook her head. "Not since this morning."
"Do ya knows wheah 'e is?" The gray-eyed boy said, she could hear the hint of disgust in his voice. He thought her to be ugly, her thought the bruise to show weakness, and she knew that weakness wasn't permitted.
"She ain't goin' ta know, Outsidah," A short dark boy spoke.
"Shaddup an' let 'er tell me," Outsider growled.
"He's right, I don't have any idea," Emily carefully turned her head so the side with the bruise was away from them as she continued scrubbing.
A string of curse words flowed from the short dark boy and Outsider elbowed him sharply. "Don' coyse in front o' a lady," he reprimanded.
"Sorry miss," the short dark boy muttered.
"So yous got no idea wheah 'e is?" Outsider prodded.
"No," Emily shook her head.
"Well t'anks anyway," Outsider nodded, putting back on his cap as he turned away. Emily smiled when she heard him cursing well within earshot of her. At least he had the decency to not do it directly in her presence. The boys, no matter how many manners or airs they would try to adopt, their street roots always took hold, but that didn' bother her. Boys would be boys, but there was no way to hide the complete distaste for the bruise she had on her face. Shutting her eyes tightly, she squeezed back her tears, then continued with her work.
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//Damn,
Damn,
Damn,
Damn….//
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"Whot ya doin' heah Brooklyn?" Jack asked, as the boy entered through the main door, Racetrack in tow.
"I'se stayin heah foah da night," He said. "Needed a lil' change," His all knowing act was on in full swing, but Jack looked at him with doubt.
"Youah feelin' a'ight Spot?" Jack's eyes shifted nervously.
"Yeah, I'se fine, just 'round da area an' don' feel like walkin' back," he lent his cane against the wall. "So ya got a bunk foah me oah whot?"
"Yeah, I gots a place foah yous," Jack started up the stairs and Spot followed, forgetting his cane at the door. A little ill-at-ease with his friend's sudden appearance, Jack tried to start a casual conversation. "So how's dat goil, ya know da one at da lodgin' house?"
"Emily?" Spot raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah, dat dame yous were just bein' nice ta," Jack hid his mirth at the words.
"Oh," Spot reached the top of the stairs and went to the bunk that Jack pointed to. "She's doin' fine," Spot couldn't remember what he had told Jack about her, but he didn't want to find out.
"So ya still bein' nice ta 'er?" Jack leaned against the bedpost, as his friend sat down on the mattress, he seemed tired.
"Yea, o' course I'se bein' nice," He looked up at his tall friend. "I'se a nice guy when I wanna be," he told the skeptic.
"Yous a nice guy when dere is somet'ing yous want," Jack chuckled. "Why ya wont dis goil so bad Spot?" he teased and Spot reached for his cane but he couldn't find it.
"Wheah did I put my cane?" He searched. "Dammit," he muttered and Jack's chuckle turned to a laugh. "It ain't funny Jackie-boy," He headed for the stairs.
"So yous just bein' nice ta 'er?" Jack followed along. "Dere ain't nuttin' behind it?" Spot started to wish Jack to the bottom of the east river.
"No, dere ain't nuttin' else," Spot went down the stairs. "I likes 'er an' I likes spendin' time wit' 'er," he found his cane. "An' dats all," he neglected to inform Jack about the kisses they had shared the night before, or how comfortable he had been with her in his arms.
"Whot 'bout Frost?" Jack pointed to the necklace that was still hanging around Spot's neck. The question hung for a few moments as Spot remembered what the strange woman had said about her.
"Ya can nevah foahget a goil like Frost," Spot answered solemnly and Jack stayed silent. Even though the Brooklyn leader never admitted it to Jack, he had loved Frost. Jack had loved her too, and when you love someone you never forget about them, ever.
"'Ey Jack, we'se gotta pokah game stahted ovah heah, wanna play?" Specs called over to their leader.
"Yeah, shuah," Jack agreed. "Ya wanna play Spot?"
"Shuah," Spot nodded, "Deal me in," he needed a distraction from the days activities.
Is'll 'ave time ta talk ta Spot latah, Jack reasoned, thinking of the previous mediations of the day. Even if dere ain't nuttin' Is'll feel bettah, and then without any more worry, he moved to circle of boys. Now wasn't a time to dwell on problems, real or imaginary, now was the time to play poker.
The time for Jack to talk to Spot never came as the Brooklyn leader bowed out after the first game claiming that he needed to get up early so he could make it to Brooklyn in time to sell. So he climbed the stairs and went to the bunk assigned to him, pulling off his shirt and undershirt, her bent to remove his shoes. When he did, he was surprised to find that his sock were wet. Surely his feet hadn't sweated that much, then it came back to him, and he had swum in these shoes early. If the twig had been in his hair and the woman had been on the street, how strange would it be to find his socks were wet?
Pulling them off of his feet, he resolved not to think of it anymore, it never happened, and nothing was going to happen. Even if it had happened, what would you call it? It wasn't a dream, it wasn't reality, and it was somewhere in between. In the place between asleep and awake, where dreams still feel real, and the world is altered, but he wasn't going to think about it. Still the woman's warning rang in his head as he lay there.
You're a marked man Patrick, take care that you leave nothing unchecked, nothing unturned, you are the holder of your fate, and he remembered every word perfectly. Be not afraid to look behind you, your pride is your weakness, the vision continued. Together you will conquer, you and her, apart you shall fall, the strange words haunted him. Her who? Had Emily been the right choice? Rolling over on his side, he thought one single and solitary word that summed up all of the frustrations and pent up emotions he felt. Damn.
. : ^_^ : .
//With the ties of romance,
Comes the doubts,
The fears,
And the beauty…//
. : ^_^ : .
Emily sat on the rooftop alone that night. It was strange; Spot hadn't been there that day. He had missed days before, but she had felt so sure that he would have been there today, especially after last night. Did it mean anything to him? She wondered. It had meant the world to her. A few weeks ago she wouldn't have dreamed of it ever happening with anyone, and most definitely not this boy.
Something was wrong, Emily could feel it. Her father hadn't come home tonight, that was becoming more and more frequent. Every once in awhile in the past he wouldn't come home from where ever he had been, but now it happened weekly. His dealings were secret and Emily wasn't aloud to ask what they were. That lesson had been learned quickly when she had asked he had slapped her and told her never to ask again. She hadn't and she didn't plan to.
Holding her bruised cheek in her hand, she remembered how the newsies had looked at it when they were talking to her. They had gawked at it, staring as though it was an oddity they had never seen. Most likely they had seen it several times; she felt that they themselves had experienced bruises and marks quite like it. Still it was a mark of shame, a mark of weakness, the eternal brand of silent suffering.
Inside she felt dead. Every time her father struck her, or told her she was worthless, she believe it, and something inside her died. Perhaps she really was worthless, a nothing that was a nobody. That was most likely all Spot saw her to be as well. How it hurt to think that, but the seeds of doubt had already been sowed and there was no retracting them.
Sighing deeply she looked at the sky, the stars were hidden tonight. Nothing was magical about the deep endless sky with no sign of light anywhere. The endless expanse was filled with nothing but heavy, angry, dark clouds that blotched out the beauty of the shining lovelies. Standing, she headed back to the window, there was no magic tonight, only pain.
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Outsider had that strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him something was wrong, but he didn't know what. The proposition that it had something to do with Spot didn't sit well with him. With Queens acting strangely, anything could have happened to their leader. Lately he had been moody and brooding. Those two things didn't normally label Spot Conlon. Obviously, the Queens situation had him worried, but maybe there was something else.
Rumors had been flying around the Lodging house. Rumors about different thing, but all having to do with Spot. Some them held to Spot and the lodging house owner's daughter, Emily. Others had to do with different ones of Spot's stories being false tales. Others still blatantly claimed that Spot was a terrible leader and she be 'removed' so to speak. These were nothing new, there were always grumbles here and there, but these were more than grumbles and people seemed to be listening to them.
Meanwhile, Shadow knew all of this. His work was underway. If he couldn't find any real stories, he could always make a few up. No one would dare to actually ask Spot if they were true, his intimidation was working against him in this case. Soon he would be able to report to Lice and phase two would be underway.
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A/N: Eh… I know… kind of a weak, short chapter, especially for having to wait for it so long, but no one was waiting for this one I guess… because no one reviewed my last chapter… WAA! I guess that is what I get for re-posting it over the shout outs…. Oh well, I am not disheartened. This place isn't about getting reviews, it is about being able to put up your works for the enjoyment of others. I really hope you did enjoy this chapter, and if you did, you can give me some encouragement and tell me so! Just click the little box down there, please! ^_^
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE, EVE EVERYONE!
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
HAPPY KWANZA
HAPPY HANUKA
HAPPY WHATEVER-YOU-CELEBRATE!
I celebrate Christmas, but whatever. I posted this Chapter on the 23 of December, so try to figure out what the Merry Christmas Eve, Eve thing means. ^_^ If you can tell me, umm… You get… A gift-wrapped newsie of your choice for a Christmas present! Um… well… maybe not, but whatever… I'm going now.