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. The song lyrics posted through out are not mine. They belong to the label, the producers, the artists, the writers, the band, and anyone else who is associated with their genius. I don't own them, I never will, I am not making money off of them, and I take no claim to them at all.
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A/N: I sat down to write this chapter and I had to sit and think for a second which story I was writing. I have to gear myself differently each time I write Frostbitten, it's hard to get into my head what characters are in each story. AGH! Okay, now that I vented about that, I am going to actually write.
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Warning: This chapter is rated PG - 13 for a lot of profanity, violence, scenes of domestic abuse, and just general angst and sadness.
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Chapter 6: Complications
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"None so blind as those that will not see,"
-- Matthew Henry
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"Dammit!" Spot exclaimed under his breath as he woke in the Manhattan lodging house. So it really had happened, it wasn't some strange dream or hallucination.
Rolling over onto his stomach, he buried his face in his pillow and uttered a string of loud vile profanity. When he was quite through, he got up and dressed swiftly but silently. He still had to get back to Brooklyn before the gates opened. There were no days off for the newsies, and even though he had enough money to miss a week's selling, it was a status position. If you didn't sell papers, you weren't a newsie, and if you weren't a newsie, how could you be their leader?
Going down the stairs, he met Kloppman down in the lobby. Handing him a coin, he paid for his night's board without a word. For being such a dishonest scoundrel, he was shockingly moral. Heading out the door, he started to Brooklyn at a dead run. He didn't pay attention to the people who stared at him as he passed by them at a sprint. The lookers and gawkers weren't a new thing to him.
Sometimes as he ran his cane would bang against his shins, or his slingshot would come lose, but he didn't have time to slow down. The sky was overcast, the wind had picked up, but it was still hot. By the time he was at the Brooklyn Bridge, he was dripping with sweat and winded. Taking his pace down to a jog he made it to the gate in good time. The group wasn't even there yet, and he stood waiting, trying to catch his breath and clear his thoughts.
The run had done him good, it had helped to release pent up feelings as well as energy. The calming effect of such a strenuous activity was pleasing, but he still had the same problems he had before the exercise. Queens was still baffling in their behavior, his feelings towards Emily were baffling, and the general unrest among the newsies was becoming apparent. Something was afoot and he had no control over it, this was not a feeling that he liked or was accustomed to. Distraction from his train of thoughts came with the arrival of his comrades.
When he saw the crowd of boys and girls approaching, he steadied his breathing and much as possible. It wouldn't do for them to see him in such an exhausted state. For tired he was, the sleep in Manhattan had been as troubled as his sleeps in his Brooklyn shack. The arrival of the group was a relief to Spot for it allowed him to focus on something other than his turmoil filled thoughts.
The first thing that Spot noticed about his group was that none of them were too eager to greet him and some didn't greet him at all. All of them seemed to be casting him shaded glances and some talked in lowered voices. Immediately he was suspicious, was there more news from Queens? When Outsider took his place next to the leader Spot spoke to him.
"Is dere somet'ing happenin' in Queens?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the group.
"Not dat I knows of," Outsider shrugged, he was clearly uncomfortable.
"Whot's all dese people talkin' 'bout?" Spot motioned to the group with his cane, glowering at them all from under his lowered cap.
"Differ'nt t'ings," Outsider shifted awkwardly.
"Whot kind o' differ'nt t'ings?" Spot growled, knowing that Outsider wasn't telling him something.
"I ain't shuah," Outsider swallowed heavily. "Why don'cha ask 'em?" Spot's eyes narrowed as he looked at his friend, and Outsider shrank ever so slightly.
"Yous!" Spot pointed with his cane to a pair of small boys who were staring out-rightly at the leader, obviously talking about Spot. "Twitch, Light," he called there names out and there was an eerie hush among the newsie ranks. The rattle and clatter of the street busy around them, but their own mass silent. "Whot ah yous talkin' 'bout?" He kept his cane pointed directly at them, unwavering and intimidating.
"N-nuttin' mistah S-Spot suah," Twitch sputtered.
"Yeah, nuttin'," Light agreed all too quickly.
"Whot kinda nuttin'?" Spot's eyes narrowed further.
"W-we'se weah t-talkin' 'bout yous," Twitch blurted out and his friend gave him a withering glance.
"We'se weah talkin' 'bout sellin' papes," Light quickly covered. "An' how good yous ah at it," after that was said, Light quickly elbowed his companion.
"An' how good am I?" Spot prodded.
"Y-yous da b-best," Twitch was rubbing his sore arm from where Light had jabbed him.
"Dat's right," Spot lowered his cane and looked over the whole group. Every eye was on him, no one talked, no one moved. The street activities buzzed around all of them, but they seemed to be under a spell. "I'se da best," Spot scanned the group. "I'se da leadah," the gate started to open behind him. "An' any moran dat says differ'nt, Is'll soak em," with that, he turned and stormed up to the distribution center.
Behind him, the rest of the newsies shuffled in, scared that Spot knew exactly about what they were all speaking. Only one walked fairly confidently inside, it was Shadow. Most of the others simply assumed that he didn't know well enough to be afraid of Spot at this time, but that wasn't the case at all. Inside, he was soaring, his mission was almost being completed for him.
When Spot marched out with his papers, the crowd parted like the red-sea as he passed through. Spot intimidated all of the newsies. Which was a problem, but not one without a solution. While intimidation was a powerful leadership tool, it could be defeated if they simply discovered that he wasn't worth being afraid of. There inlayed the trouble, how could he make their leader look weak in front of all of them?
It might have been a problem, but every problem had a solution. It was only a matter of time before this Spot Conlon would be a thing of the past and Brooklyn would be in a state of chaos. Only a matter of time before Shadow would be able to report back to Lice with the news. The sweet taste of victory already filled his mouth as he waited in line for his papers. Yes sir, this was going to be a time to remember.
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//Why'd ya have,
To go an make,
Things so,
Complicated…?//
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"Lice!" Bruiser ran panting into the warehouse where they made their home.
"Whot?" Lice sounded annoyed, he had just been daydreaming about the success that he was anticipating with much delight.
"We - we'se got - a prol'em," Bruiser leaned over, trying to suck air into his burning lungs when Drifter came in shortly behind him, gasping the same way. Lice was at full attention now, he easily reclined pose on the chair had changed to a tense standing position.
"Whot kinda prol'em?" He marched over in front of the two breathless boys. "Whot kinda problem?" He yelled when he didn't get an answer.
"Dere's - somma da - dere's a -" Drifter sputtered.
"Speak up, man!" Lice grabbed both of them by the collars of their shirts. "Whot ah you's talkin' 'bout?"
"S-somma da boys," Bruiser panted. "Dey caughta goil," he explained, trying hard to catch his breath.
"Whot's so specoil 'bout catchin' a goil?" Lice's strange eyes narrowed.
"She-she's from - Brooklyn," Drifter added to Bruiser's statement. At the sound of the word Brooklyn, Lice's fists tightened on the fabrics of their shirts.
"An' why does it mattah dat she's from Brooklyn?" Lice growled. His strange eyes narrowing dangerously.
"She s - said dat," Bruiser took a deep breath, stuttering under his leader's intense gaze. "Dat dey'd bettah let 'er go, oah else," he dropped off, trying to gain his breath still.
"Oah else whot?" Lice exploded, his anger apparent.
"Oah else - da - Brooklyn newsies - would - soak us," Drifter managed through his gasping breaths. Lice's mind jumped to all kinds of conclusions. This girl could be a newsie with Spot, but then again, she might just know him. Or she could be just using the name for intimidation purposes, but something told him that it was the first.
"Whot do we'se know 'bout dis goil?" Lice asked, trying to resolve this conflict in his head.
"Nuttin'," Bruiser answered, his breath slowly returning.
"Shit," Lice muttered, letting go of the boy's shirts and turning his back to them. Pacing back and forth, Lice thought of what to do. There were several options, but he couldn't imagine what he was to do. "Wheah ah dese boys?" he questioned.
"Dere ovah - 'bout fifteen - blocks," Bruiser managed. "I ain't shuah - whot de's - goin' ta do - wit' her," he stood slowly.
"Dey can't bring 'er back heah," Lice thought out loud. "We'se a'eady took too many chances takin' doe's Brooklyn kids," Lice announced. "But we'se nevah took a goil afore," he muttered as he resumed his pacing. "We'se could get da infoahmation dat we'se need an' den we'se won' havta wait as long foah Shadow," he reasoned. "But if we'se takin' dat goil, we'se could be ruin Shadow," He continued with his absent babble, the two boys now sitting on the ground, able to draw in more steady regular breaths. "Yous say dat she wos fifteen blocks from heah?" he asked to the two on the ground.
"Yeah," Drifter affirmed and Bruiser nodded.
"Dat means dat she wos deep inta Queens," he muttered. "Whot do ya t'ink da lil' whoah wos doin' in heah?" the question hung in the air. "She can't come back heah…" he continued to murmur under his breath and Drifter cleared his throat.
"Whot do ya want us ta do?" Drifter ventured tentatively, unsure what reaction to expect from his distracted leader.
"Whot?" Lice asked, snapping back to the present.
"Whot do ya want us ta do?" Drifter asked again, his breathing returning to normal.
"Go find da boys," Lice paused for a moment, then continued. "Tell dem," he thought again. "Tell dem ta let da goil go," he decided and both of the boy's jaws dropped.
"Let 'er go?" Bruiser spoke in disbelief.
"Yes, let her go," Lice spoke plainly.
"Why?" Drifter chimed in.
"Because, we'se don' need her," Lice explained.
"T'ink o' all da infoahmation dat da broad could give us!" Drifter protested.
"We'se got a damn spy ovah in Brooklyn!" Lice exclaimed, angered at their failure to comply with his wishes. "Do ya t'ink dat dis goil can tell us anyt'ing dat Shadow ain't goin' ta find out?" He asked angrily. "Do ya t'ink dat I'se don' know dat we'se could use da goil?" he posed question after question. "We'se could use 'er foah a lil' while, but den we'se goin' ta have Shadow come back and we ain't goin' ta need her," he explained, not calming down. "Da only t'ing dat keepin' dis goil is goin' ta do is hoyt us," Lice took a deep breath before he went on. "Shadow's doin' da spyin' foah us, we don' need ta pick dis goil foah none," he was so preoccupied, that he didn't see the three boys come in with a struggling girl.
"Shadow's a spy?" the sound of a high pitched voice from behind him startled Lice out of his anger. "Dammit! Why do I'se always havta fall foah da wrong type?" The girl swore, spitting on the ground. Lice was shocked.
"Who is dis goil?" Lice demanded of the three.
"Dat's da goil we'se told ya 'bout," Bruiser's voice came from behind.
"Shit!" Lice threw his arms up in the arm and the girl shrunk back a little, even though two burly young men held her firmly on both sides.
"We'se t'ought dat since youah spy were takin' so long dat yous might wanna have an update," The third boy, the one not holding the girl, offered.
"So ya took mattahs inta youah own hands?" Lice ran his fingers though his mousy brown hair.
"Yeah," one of the piped up.
"Well now, t'anks ta yous," he motioned to the three. "We'se got ouah selves a complication," he pointed to the girl. "Now alla Brooklyn's goin' ta be lookin' foah 'er, ya evah t'ink o' dat?" Lice voice started to rise again.
"Oh," the third boy who hadn't spoken yet, spoke. "Shit."
"Yeah," Lice sounded incredulous. "Shit."
"Why don' we jus' let her go back?" Proposed Bruiser.
"Because," Lice's voice was a deadly calm, "She hoyd 'bout Shadow."
"So whot ah we goin' ta do wit' her?" Drifter asked, now standing and moving up beside his leader.
"We'se goin' ta keep 'er heah," Lice's mouth curled into a wicked smile. "If we'se goin' ta have guest, we'se might as well loin moah 'bout her," he looked at the girl again, and her eyes grew wider as she looked into his two-toned ones.
"Oh Gawd," she gasped. "Yous da boy dat Fiah was talkin' 'bout," she breathed.
"Fiah?" Lice raised his eyebrows. "Is dat lil' bastard able ta talk a'eady?" he sounded slightly disappointed. "Well we'se just goin' ta havta make shuah dat we'se do a bettah job dis time," his smile held nothing but cruelty, and his smooth tone nothing but malice. "Lemme introduce meself," Lice took on the mock air of a gentleman. "I'se Lice," he told her plainly. "An' yous a complication," he pointed to her, his terrible smile still in tact as he leaned down very close to her face so she could hear his next whispered phrase. "An' I don' like complications."
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//These tears I don't show,
The ones I cry in the silence,
Hurt more when I know,
That all your words are true…//
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"Emily!" Her father's voice soared through the empty lodging house. "Emily get down here!" He yelled up the stairs of the private quarters.
"Yes da?" she came running down into the kitchen.
"What were you doing up there?" He asked.
"I was working da," she answered weakly.
"What kind of work?" he grilled.
"I was cleaning," she clarified.
"Why weren't you down here starting my lunch?" He asked.
"Because, it is only ten o'clock in the morning," She explained. "Normally you don't come back for lunch until noon," she kept her eyes on the floor.
"And that is your excuse?" he sounded disgusted. "When I want lunch, I get my lunch," he raised his voice. "I work hard to keep you from living on the streets and I can't even have my lunch when I want it!" he exclaimed.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "If you like, I will start your lunch now," she offered.
"No!" He shouted. "I don't want you to start it now, I want it to be done now!" he yelled in her face and she tried hard not to flinch.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You're worthless!" he told her. "I don't even know why I keep you here!" with those angry words, her father turned and stalked out of the kitchen. "I won't be back for dinner!" He yelled back as he opened the door and slammed it behind him.
Shaking, Emily lowered herself to the floor. Tears stung her eyes as she covered her face with her hands. Leaning back against the wall, she cried. She was worthless, and she knew it. It was a sad thing, but she knew what had to be done. If Spot ever bothered to return, she would have to tell him to stop, to stop coming to see her.
Already, she had selfishly let him come, ignoring the danger she put him in every time he arrived. If her father ever caught them together again, he would probably kill Spot. She knew of his temper and the terrible mood that he so often was in. She also knew of the guns that he had and the fits he could often fly into. Yes, if he ever found Spot and her together in a way that they had been just one night ago, it could be fatal.
There were suddenly so many complications. Complications that confused and baffled her more than anything else ever had. Why did this have to effect her the way it did? Was it so hard to simply dismiss Spot from her life? Yes it was, because whenever someone's heart was involved it was complicated. Why had she allowed it to go so far?
So Emily sat alone with her tears and her complications.
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//Why do we,
Say "goodbye,"
When it's really,
Not that good…?//
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The streets were busier than normal today. Everyone seemed to need to go and buy something or go somewhere. It was as though they sensed the rain in the clouds and were hurrying to get their errands done before the storm struck. The early August heat was still intense, the humidity added only the insufferable heat.
Around three in the afternoon, Spot was heading towards the lodging house. Yesterday had been so incredibly strange that he hadn't been able to see her and he wanted to do so. The day of selling had been harder than normal even with more customers out and about. The haunting of yesterday was still pressing heavily against his mind.
When he entered the front door of the lodging house he went automatically to the kitchen. Emily wasn't inside, so he knocked on the door that led to the private quarters only to receive no response. Searching over the building, he couldn't find her. Entering the bunkroom, he saw that Fire was resting comfortably, maybe he had talked more since that night, but right now Spot didn't care. He wanted to talk to Emily, not Fire. So he went out the window and around the edge. Sure enough, she was sitting on the roof, and Spot silently approached.
"Hey," he said softly, sitting next to her. She was all curled up into a ball, her head buried in her knees and her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. "Yous a'ight?" he reached his arm around her shoulder, but found some resistance when she shrugged it off.
"Please go away," her voice was muffled as her face was firmly planted in her knees.
"Whot?" Spot frowned.
"Go away," she said again. "Please."
"Why?" Spot didn't understand.
"I want to be alone," came the muffled response.
"Did I do somet'ing wrong?" Spot worried, but she shook her head, her long braid shaking across her back.
"No, just go," she shuffled her feet so she turned away from him slightly.
"I ain't goin' no wheah till yous tell me whot's wrong," Spot said firmly, not appreciating being bossed around.
"Nothing is wrong, go away," she insisted, but he knew that she was lying.
"If nuttin' wrong, why do yous wanna be alone?" he posed the question.
"I like to be alone," she insisted.
"Horse shit," Spot didn't censor himself as he was growing angry at her persistent avoidance.
"Please Spot," she finally looked up at him. "I need to be alone."
"An' I," Spot swallowed hard to keep him self from yelling. "I needs ta talk ta yous," he kept his voice low, but his tone was underlined with thunder.
"We can talk later," she offered, hoping to be better at avoiding him so that the later would never come.
"We needs ta talk now," he insisted, her eyes were red around the rims, suggesting that she had been crying.
"Spot please…" she sounded frustrated and Spot was baffled by her odd behavior. Normally girls were the ones that demanded to talk, now she was trying to get him to be quiet and go away!
"Please whot?" he frowned, doing his best to keep his temper in check.
"Leave," she spoke simply.
"Why?" he started the endless cycle of questions over and Emily let out an agitated sigh.
"I can't tell you," She sounded defeated.
"Why not?" Spot pressed. "Yous can tell me any t'ing," he told her and she placed her head back in her knees.
"Go away," she spoke a little more forcefully than before.
"No!" Spot insisted. "I ain't leavin' until yous talk ta me!" He knelt in front of her and wished her to raise her eyes to his again.
"There is nothing wrong," she lied.
"Jus' tell me!" Spot tried, exasperated.
"No!" she exclaimed raising her eyes to his again. "There isn't anything to tell," she pleaded with her eyes for him to understand. "I just need to be alone, please, leave me," she searched Spot's confused face.
In that instant, in the moment that the look was exchanged, something changed. The softness and concern that had been in Spot's face hardened and the confusion in his eyes melted to anger. Sadness welled up inside of her with the bittersweet realization that this was for the best. Spot couldn't be trusted, and the risk was far too great to even try. Though the pain in his eyes took whatever victory she might have claimed and tore it to shreds along with her heart. Standing stiffly, Spot adjusted his cap on his head.
"Fine," he backed off, his movements' jerky and sharp as one doing his best to control his anger. "Yous can stay up heah alone," the raw emotion that had been so apparent a moment ago was now being covered with his usual sarcastic mask. "I can see dat I ain't wanted 'round heah," he brushed some imaginary filth from the front of his shirt, practicing the art of being aloof. Emily watched him sadly, feeling his withdraw. "If yous'll excuse me, I'se got t'ings ta do," he sarcastically doffed his cap and bowed regally at the waist. Before he straightened, he met her eyes and winked rakishly. Though behind the self-confidence and the smirk, Emily could see the darkness in his eyes.
"Spot," she felt her heart twisting inside of her. "I'm sorry," she tried, knowing she had hurt him more than she had ever thought she could, but he held up a hand to silence her from going further.
"No," he looked away, malice lacing his cool words. "Yous wanna be alone," he tucked his cane into his belt loop. "Yous can be alone," he started off to the edge of the roof to lower himself down. "I'se won' be boderin' yous again," he started to lower himself. "G'bye," and with that he slid off the side. Emily heard a sound thud as his feet made contact with the earth, then the heavy, angry footsteps marching into the distance.
I'm sorry Spot, She thought. But you deserve someone who isn't worthless.
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//Stopping me,
Back stabbing me constantly,
Remembering all the times,
That you fought with me…//
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"Whot ah yous talkin' 'bout?" Outsider scratched his head, standing across from the strange new boy with big ideas and treasonous words.
"Spot's jus' usin' yous," Shadow told him. "Evah body can sees it," he said frankly.
"Dat ain't true, me an' Spot's friends," Outsider denied, trying not to remember all the times he and Spot had argued, all the times he had helped Spot and never been helped in return.
"If yous such good friends, did ya know dat he likes dat one broad, Emily?" He dropped the question smoothly.
"Whot?" Outsider's eyebrows skyrocketed. "Da lodging house owner's daughter?" Surely this boy couldn't mean….
"Yeah," Shadow nodded lazily. "Dats da one," a sly smile quirking his lips.
"No," Outsider shook his head. "Dere ain't no way…." He frowned.
"Ah you so shuah?" Shadow tested. "He's been spendin' alota time wit' her," he pointed out.
"Yous wrong," Outsider said firmly, definitely. "Spot ain't like dat," he claimed. "An' yous bettah watch youah self, oah else Spot's goin' ta soak ya," With that, Outsider turned and walked away.
Though it hadn't been an instant success, Shadow knew he had done his job. For the seeds of doubt and distrust were now sown in the boys head and the rest of the newsies were already torn by the rumors that were floating around. Smiling, he headed towards a low priced diner. He was hungry and he had the money to buy a meal, perhaps the management might know something about Spot.
Meanwhile, Outsider was left alone with thoughts that left him discontented and upset.
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//I tried to sew it up,
To weaken your system,
I had you throwing up,
I brought you back into things…//
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Storming down the streets, Spot kicked at the hard ground. No dirt came off of the hard packed, cracked, earth, and it didn't satisfy his rage. Everything inside of him was swirling around in a torrent of confused emotions as he felt that he was being torn in two directions. How could he want to kill someone, but want to kiss them at the same time?
Swearing vilely, he took off into a violent run, not knowing where he was going, and not caring either. Through the crowded streets, he sprinted, running into people, upsetting carts and baskets, but not stopping. He was blinded by the burning rage that was swallowing him whole.
Kind that is what he had been, and she had shunned him. Why had he even tried? Kindness showed weakness and weakness wasn't allowed. The thought of himself being weak fueled his feet faster as he propelled himself in no specific direction. He ran until his limbs ached, his lungs burned, and his muscles screamed for relief. Collapsing against the wall of a brick building, he grasped at the key and cross around his throat.
Sucking in the air that his body craved, Spot didn't even bother to wipe the sweat that was dripping down his trembling body. Closing his eyes, he mentally berated himself for being so stupid. Hadn't he learned his lesson already? Opening his eyes, he looked around himself.
He was in an alley, and there was no one else in the passageway with him except the few rats that would skirt past every so often. At the sight of them, he was transported back to the refuge, to that cell where the rats had been the only contact with anything else living. Not wanting to remember, he closed his eyes again and let the sound of his heavy breathing drown out their scurrying.
When he had been running, the wind from his pace had helped cool him and keep him from overheating, but now as he stood still in alley where all the wind was shielded, his core was quickly warming. Bile began to rise in his throat and he tried to choke it down to no avail. Doubling over, he vomited violently. Spilling whatever content he had in his empty stomach on the dirt ground of the alley. Sweat dripped into the puddle of vomit as he stayed bent in half, unsure if he had finished.
The sound of flies buzzed his ears as his body convulsed again as his poor stomach tried to purge itself of its non-existent content. The dry heaving made Spot's throat sore, but he was thankful for the physical distraction from his emotional pain. After a few moments, he straightened and wiped his mouth across the back of his sleeve. The heat had made him dizzy and he tottered precariously.
Do not shun her or turn away from her… The words came back to him and he gripped the sides of his head, trying to force the voice out of it. Your pride is your weakness, The voice reminded and he swore, completely sick of the repeated warnings.
"Shaddup!" He yelled as the words of the previous day reverberated inside his skull, adding to his turmoil.
If you continue to cling to your ways, you will both be destroyed, the prophecy taunted.
"Shaddup!" he staggered down the alley, his feet unsure as he continued to cover his ears with his hands, his eye shut.
Together you will conquer, you and her, apart you shall fall, The voice continued like a recording, repeating over and over in his mind.
Stumbling, Spot fell hard onto the ground, not even bothering to open his eyes, he curled into a ball on the ground. Rocking back and forth, he tried to will the voices to go away. The complete rigid control that he normally had over himself was gone as he tried to quiet that voice inside his head. The emotions raged inside of him, tearing him apart as he rocked.
Why did he have to let this girl inside of him? Spot already knew the answer, he was addicted to the rush, the fall, the risk. Most all he was addicted to the pain that came with it. Anger, frustration, self-loathing, hate, rage, sadness, confusion, and the feeling of complete and total chaos bounced around in his soul, tearing it apart at the seams.
Tears stung the back of his eyes as he hit the absolute low that he could. Things were spinning out of control as he tried hard to keep some dignity and not break down. It was little use and he ducked his head, the first of the hot tears ran scalding down his cheeks. Frustrated, he brushed them away, wishing that the voice were so easy to be rid of.
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//Today is fine,
And she burns,
Today is fine,
And she burns…//
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"Lemme go!" the girl with bright red hair protested, struggling against the boy's hold.
"Not a chance doll," the boy's face twisted into a bitter smile. "Yous goin' ta tell me jus' whot I wanna know," he slammed her down onto the chair and took the rope that his assistant handed him. "We'se goin' ta have a nice lil' chat," he spoke with such frightful calm that the girl's eyes were wild with fear as he tightly tied her to the chair.
"I don' knows nuttin'," she already denied any knowledge. "Jus' lemme go an' I swear dat I won' tell nobody whot I hoyd," she promised, her voice a tremulous falsetto.
"Sorry doll," the boy who was tying her pulled on the rope, tightening it enough to draw a gasp from her lips. "Dat ain't da way dat it's goin' ta woyk," he began looping the rope into a knot.
"Please," She begged. "I ain't done nuttin' ta yous," she squirmed uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat as she was subject to the stares of dozens of boys. "Jus' lemme go."
"Nope," the rope tier came around in front of her, his eyes looking deep into her own gray ones. "Now yous goin' ta be a good goil an' tell me jus' whot I wanna knows," he smiled wickedly, his two-toned eyes flashing deviously.
"Whot if I don't?" she ventured bravely.
"Well den," Lice leaned closer to her face. "I'se got some ways ta persuade ya," he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back so her face was upturned. Brazenly, he pressed his mouth to hers, long and hard. When he pulled back, he was surprised when she spat on his face. Letting go of her hair, he wiped his hand down his face, and was even more shocked when he felt the toe of her boot come in firm contact with his shin.
Swearing loudly, he stepped back and the whole group of boys exploded in laughter, the girl seemed to be very satisfied with her self. It wasn't until Lice recovered from the assault that her manner changed. The evil light that flashed behind his eyes was enough to strike fear into even the hardest of hearts. Raising one hand, Lice snapped his fingers and the room fell absolutely silent.
"I hopes yous had youah fun," he growled. "Cause yous goin' ta regret dat," he stepped grabbed an extra coil of rope and stepped forward. Kneeling, he tied her legs to the legs of the chair and stood again. "Now," he started heavily. "Tell us 'bout da Brooklyn newsies."
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//Crawling in my skin,
Without a sense of confidence,
Consuming, confusing,
Crawling in my skin…//
. : ^_^ : .
Outsider's mind was plagued by the words that new boy had said. Could he possibly be right? No, he had known Spot for years and he wouldn't do that to him, would he? It was true that Spot was a strong leader and if he had to, he would forsake friends for power. He thought back to the first time they had met at the lodging house early that one cold morning.
They had both been younger than ten years old, and Spot had wakened him claiming that he had been crying in his sleep. The pretenses had been forsaken at that age, no restraints in the relationship as the simplicity of a childhood friendship was born. Had their relationship changed over time? Had the role of leader really effected Spot as much as Shadow had implied?
Spot wouldn't use him like a tool would he? He wasn't just a pawn in his game was he? No, he couldn't be, he and Spot had known each other for too long and too well to play each other. Hadn't they? It was true that Spot knew much more about Outsider's past than he knew about Spot's, but no one really knew Spot's past.
It was rumored that he had been raised in Ireland in a rich family, then kidnapped and shipped to America by a jealous relative. This could be a complete lie, or the whole truth, but no one would be able to tell you for sure. The secretive leader had no history before a certain point.
That wasn't ground for distrust though, was it? Just because he hadn't confided in Outsider didn't mean that he was plotting against him. It just meant that he hadn't told him, maybe Spot didn't remember. They were both incredibly young when they had met, and Outsider had related his past at a much earlier age that his current standing of sixteen.
Looking up at the sky, the dark clouds didn't comfort him. They only increased the deep foreboding that churned within his chest. Trudging down the hot crowded street, Outsider moved numbly towards the lodging house. This couldn't be a good complication.
. : ^_^ : .
"He left afore any of you were awake," Kloppman told Jack.
"Did 'e say anyt'ing 'bout comin' back?" Jack questioned.
"Not that I remember," Kloppman patted Jack's shoulder in a fatherly manner. "Don't worry, I'm sure he will get back to Brooklyn safely," Jack smiled faintly, if only his friends safe return home was all he had about which to worry.
. : ^_^ : .
//Am I drowning?
Am I fading away?
Am I drowning?
Am I fading away…?
. : ^_^ : .
Spot had little idea of the time he spent in that alleyway, trying to recover from the raging tide of emotions that had assaulted him. Tears and sweat were dried on his face and vomit crusted in the corners of his mouth and splattered on his clothes. He reeked of humanity in its lowest state and he desperately needed to wash. His hygiene however was very far from his mind.
While the voice had faded and no longer assaulted his senses like the relentless pounding of the tide, he couldn't rid himself of the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't a sickness like he had felt when he vomited, it was something much more controversial. To pinpoint the exact description would be impossible because it could be labeled several different things.
Sitting up right, he looked around the alley with swollen, red eyes. Then on shaking legs, he stood and took a few unsteady steps. Out on the streets, he took a few moments to get oriented, he hadn't been in this area of town for quite some time.
Walking on wobbly legs, he made his way towards the docks, he needed to take a swim. The people on the streets didn't seem to notice the slow moving lad who looked like he needed a good bath. They were too busy with their own problems to notice the obvious distress that the lad had. The golden tipped cane dragged at his side instead of striding along with pride. Even the slingshot in his waistband looked wilted.
After what seemed an eternity, he reached the docks. The day was hot and the bathers were many, but Spot paid no attention to any of them as they called out. Dropping his slingshot and his cane on the side, he dove in not even bothering to remove his clothes or shoes. The water that had been so soothing before was nothing but salt in his wounds.
The feeling of being totally immersed in the water only took him back to being covered in a very similar way in yesterday's unusual episode. Rising out of the water for a gasp of breath, he flipped his hair out of his eyes. No one approached him, no one bothered him, and he ducked under the water again, not swimming, just cleansing.
The murky silence of his solitude was unnerving. For one of the very few times in his life, Spot wasn't comfortable being alone. In fact, the last thing he wanted was isolation, but in the same, he didn't want to see anyone. He was vulnerable and he knew it, this was a very disheartening feeling for the powerful boy. Weakness was a sin of the highest degree and that was something he knew wasn't allowed, ever.
His lungs burned for air as he forced himself to stay under the surface. Maybe he could drown his emotions in the water churning around him as boy after boy took their turns jumping off the docks. Perhaps there was a way to submerge the traitorous heart that had betrayed his love to another until its last beat was beat. A different kind of darkness began to creep in over the sides of his eyes as he felt reality slipping from his grasp. Then tiny pinpricks of light shone against his closed lids, his mind hazed, and somehow his lung didn't seem to burn anymore.
Unconsciousness was slipping over him and he felt panicked, but tried to stay under a little longer. However, the self-control that he had so keenly honed into wasn't enough to deny his will to live. Bursting above the water, he took in a large gasping breath, almost scared that he had been so close to the other side. Deep breath after countless deep breath, he treaded above the water, unobserved by the majority of the lads. Once his mind had cleared slightly, he swam over the ladder and got out of the water. That was enough for today. His clothes clung to his body and he stripped them off the bottom layer and waited for them to dry. It took a substantially longer amount of time for them to dry this time, as it was cloudy. No one came up to talk to him as he sat on the crates and waited.
Waiting was torture for him for it only meant more time to think. More times to dwell on the past few weeks, the past few days, the past few hours, all of it in a whole was quite overwhelming. Now his mind drew him to the thoughts of Emily as she sat on the rooftop. How many different emotions had been spent on that rooftop? Contentment, anger, satisfaction, rage, pure bliss, confusion, happiness, hate, and a cornucopia of others, all of them contrasting one another. Right now he was still feeling those things as he sat high on his perch absently observing the boys playing on the docks and in the water.
Today's behavior had been out of character for Emily, and it had completely confused Spot. All he had wanted was to do talk. Then he had wanted to comfort her because it was clear she was hurting. Instead of accepting his comfort and kindness, she had bristled and pushed him away, isolating him. The feeling hadn't been pleasant and he cursed her.
Spot wanted to go back to that first night he had found her on the roof. The white gown hanging down to her ankles, her raven hair hanging free in the stillness of the night. The way she had let him hold her, and the absolute peace he had felt there in those moments. Everything had been simple then. Now everything was complicated, and Spot hated complications.
. : ^_^ : .
Shadow knew that his work was now almost done, all he had to do was make Spot look weak in front of the masses and he already knew exactly how to do that. A few hired thugs had been paid to attack Spot on Shadow's cue. There was no possible way that Spot could fend for himself with the pair of Goliath sized men.
The seeds of distrust and confusion had been sown deeply enough in his followers that it was a strong possibility that no one would fight for him. The complications that Shadow had created were part of the tangled web he hoped to weave. If his single mission had been to stir up the group and pitch them against each other, his job would have been complete.
. : ^_^ : .
//I get reckless,
Scared, confused,
I feel desperate,
So for you…//
. : ^_^ : .
Dried and dressed, Spot walked back to the lodging house. If nothing else, he had to see Fire. Everything inside of him hope that Emily wouldn't be there to see him enter, but everything inside of him desired that she be there, waiting. It wasn't to be so because she was no where in sight when he entered the front door. To stubborn and too proud to go and search for her, he went up the stairs to the boy's bunkroom.
Strangely, very few of the newsies were in the bunkroom. He had seen several down at the docks, but he also knew that there were several that hadn't been there. It was too hot to really do much else, but he tired not to focus on that right now. Now was the time to get his answers.
Heading into the bathroom, he got some water in a basin, remembering Fire's last request and headed back to the room. Every one of the eyes in the room was watching him carefully. No one had tried to wake Fire since the other night and he had stayed asleep. Apparently, whatever Queens had done to Fire had involved sleep deprivation.
Setting down the bowl, Spot shook the sleeping boy violently. There was no time for gentleness as Spot's temper was thin and his desire for answers consumed him. Slowly, the boys eyes creeped open and Spot paid no attention to the group that were slowly edging towards the bed for a better view of what was happening. When the boy seemed fairly awake, Spot took the bowl and forced Fire into a sitting position. That woke him as he hissed in pain at the sudden jarring and repositioning.
"Drink dis," Spot shoved the bowl to his mouth and Fire drank thirstily. Much like the last time, he spilled the water down his chin onto his chest. Both of Fire's eyes could now be opened and closed, but one was still obviously swollen. The swelling and bruising on his face was receding, but was still there. After he had drank the bowl dry, he sank back down onto the mattress and closed his tired eyes. "No!" Spot said sharply, shaking him again and his eyes stayed open. "Yous gotta stay away Fiah," Spot instructed.
"Why?" he rasped.
"Because I'se got some questions foah yous," Spot didn't wait but plowed right ahead. "Whot can yous tell me bout dis boy with two colored eyes?" He asked and Fire suddenly snapped to attention.
"How do yous know 'bout dat?" Fire asked shocked.
"Yous told me," Spot answered quickly. "Tell me whot ya can remembah," Spot prompted.
"He was da leadah," Fire remembered, his voice sounded much more alert than the day before. "Didn't see 'im till da last, punched me good," Fire coughed. "Didn't see 'im much…" his voice drifted as he started to fade into other thoughts and Spot shook him.
"Yous said dey asked ya stuff," Spot reminded. "Whot did dey ask yous?"
"Dey asked 'bout you, 'bout youah fightahs, 'bout how long I'd sold papes wit'choo," he listed. "But I didn't tell 'em nuttin'," he smiled proudly. "Dey didn't get nuttin' outta me," he restated with delight.
"Why did dey wanna knows dat?" Spot prodded.
"Dunno," Fire's eyes glazed slightly. "I'se so hungry," he stated. "So tired…," he added softly. Obviously the lack of food had depleted any reserve of energy he might have had left. Queens must have really raked him over the coals.
"Go get him somet'ing ta eat," Spot ordered digging into his pockets and tossing a quarter to a boy standing near. "An' I wont evahy cent back," he glared at the small errand runner with warning in his eyes. When he turned back to Fire he saw that the boy had slumped down and that his lids were firmly shut again. The steady lift and fall of his chest told Spot he was sleeping again.
"Dammit," Spot swore softly and looked at the group around him. "We'se ain't goin' ta wake 'im up till da food gets back," Spot instructed, knowing that whatever information Fire could give him would be practically worthless. Obviously Queens had been the one to question him and not the other way around. Irritated, frustrated, and mad, Spot was quickly annoyed by the silence and the stares. "Whot?" He asked, agitated.
"It ain't nuttin'," Ghost answered tentatively. "It's jus' dat Spitfiah didn' evah come back," Ghost referred to his girl.
"Weren't she sellin' wit'choo?" Spot asked, he hadn't even known Spitfire had been missing.
"Not taday, she wanted ta be alone," he informed and Spot grimaced at the reference to wanting to be alone. He knew that feeling all too well, but he didn't have time to think of that as Ghost continued with a question. "Do ya t'ink Queens took 'er?"
"Queens ain't been takin' no one," Spot's brow furrowed, the pattern not fitting. "Even if dey weah, it don' make sense dat dey'd take 'er," he speculated, wondering why they would want a girl. It was known that Spot was a ladies man to an extent, but he had been practicing an unusual span of celibacy. Also, Spot didn't let girls into his ring of leadership, so what good could this girl possible be to Queens?
"I sawed 'er goin' towards da Queens boahdah oilier," Spice offered. "I asked 'er wheah she wos goin' an' she wouldn't tell me," she looked a little crestfallen, and wilted even more under Spot's intense stare.
"Shit," Spot muttered, breaking his gaze from Spice. "If Queens took 'er dere ain't nuttin' we'se can do 'bout it now," he sounded defeated, but determined. "Dey seems ta retoyn da poyson aftah de's done wit' dem," Spot offered. "If dey have her," he added. "We'se can't do nuttin' 'bout it now," his words were made as an order.
"Yeah, we'se can beat dem bloody!" Ghost exclaimed. "If you ain't goin' ta help, I'se goin' ta Queens an' gettin her myself," Ghost made his way to the stairs.
"Stop!" Spot commanded and one of his top fighters turned. "Nobody goin' ta Queens," he ordered.
"I'se goin' an I don' cahah whot yous say," he challenged and Spot was temporarily set back by the blatant attack on his authority. In that gap, Ghost took the liberty of starting down the stairs and Spot followed close behind.
"You ain't goin' ta Queens," he followed after Ghost. "Ya don' even know if de's got youah goil," he brought up the point. "Foah all you knows, she out getting' dinnah some wheah," Spot continued with his verbal persuasion as he followed the boy to the bottom of the stairs.
"Who ah yous ta tell me whot I'se can do?" Ghost yelled back in his face. "Foah all you knows dey 'ave my goil dere an' de's rapin' 'er!" He whirled and started for the door.
"An' foah all you knows, yous walkin' inta a trap. If Queens wants anybody it's goin' ta be boys like yous," Spot followed Ghost out the door, unaware that the majority of all the newsies upstairs were following. "Do ya really t'ink dat de's goin' ta keep one lil' goil?" Spot knew that Ghost was listening to his reason because he was slowing his pace. "Ya ain't goin' ta do 'er no good gettin caught," That was the winner because Ghost stopped. "Wait a night an' see if she don' show up," Spot said and Ghost walked over to him.
"If I waits," he started. "An' she don' show up," he continued. "Will ya do somet'ing 'bout it?" The silence that followed was more oppressive than the heat that enveloped them.
"Depends," Spot answered diplomatically. "I ain't goin' ta declare wah just cuz some dumb broad gets caught," he added, and dark fire flashed in Ghost's eyes.
"Ya take dat back, dats my goil yous talkin' 'bout," he threatened.
"I ain't gotta take nuttin' back," Spot was mad enough as it was, but the fist that flew out and caught him along the jaw was enough to set him off completely.
In a matter of moments he had wrestled Ghost to the ground and had his knife pointed at his throat. The whole fight had been a complete blur, but Spot's nose was bleeding, and his sleeve was torn. Outsider had faired the worse of the two. Despite the fact he was at least three inches and thirty pounds larger than Spot, he lacked the highly developed skill, wit, and speed of his opponent. All of those that had witnessed this stood in silent awe.
"I'se da leadah," Spot growled as he stayed planted firmly on top of Ghost, knife aimed. "An' whot I says goes," he waited until he felt that Ghost had been sufficiently punished, then stood, handing the knife back to Ghost.
When they saw that the show was over, the crowd filtered back inside, all of them that are except for Spice. She stayed out with Spot and descended from the porch where she had been down to the ground level where Spot was.
"Ah yous okay?" She looked concerned and Spot wiped under his nose, the bleeding had stopped.
"I'se fine," He answered toughly, the fight had actually done him good. It had helped get out his pent up aggression. "T'anks," he added and started for the door.
"Wait," Spice grabbed his torn sleeve and caught him. "I'se got somet'ing to tell ya," she started and Spot turned to face her, his eyes questioning. "It's jus' dat," she looked up at him and turned a bright crimson, then continued. "I'se wanted ta tell yous dis foah a long time, but I ain't known how ta tell ya," she struggled for the words. "It's just dat… dat…" she paused then suddenly stood of her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, tangling her arms around his neck. Shocked, Spot put his hands on her waist. Unsure of what else to do, he returned the kiss.
. : ^_^ : .
//Here's hoping,
That I'm invited,
I'm choking,
Heartbroken…//
. : ^_^ : .
Emily had needed to clean the front windows for a long time. The smears from dozens of boys had long since taken their toll. Taking her bowl, soap, and rag, she moved to the entry hall. A large group of newsies had just progressed through the door and she was rather shocked. Normally they didn't come in such large groups, but she shrugged and moved on.
Stepping to the widow, she got her wet rag sufficiently soapy and pressed it to the window. The soap water blurred her view to the outer-world, but she could see two figures outside talking. One was a girl who was hidden almost completely by the tall boy in front of her. His back was to her, but she could see the girl stand up taller, wrap her arms around his neck, and kiss him.
The scene brought a sad pang to her heart, wishing that Spot were there with her. Even though she knew what she had done for them was the best, she couldn't help but wish that it was different. Sighing, she took a clean wet rag and started to clean off the soap. The bubbles gone, the figures were clearer but still distorted by the water. The boy's hands were now on the girl's waist as they continued to kiss. He was tall, lean, and dark, she was shorter, with dark brown hair and dressed like a boy. They must have been newsies here.
Taking the dry rag from her pile, she began to dry off the window and then she froze. That was Spot out there with that girl! He was kissing her just like he had kissed her the other night. Mortified, she dropped her rag on the ground and stared. Finally Spot lifted his head and looked down at the girl, Emily assumed that he was talking to her now and he made a motion back towards the lodging house, then turned his head and looked directly at her. At the sight of her, his mouth went slack and his face went blank.
Hurriedly, Emily cleaned up the mess, picking up everything she had used to clean the window and hurried back into the kitchen. Dumping the water into the large tub, she flung open the door to the private quarters and dashed up the stairs, soap, dish, and rags in hand. Locking the door, she put down the things on the floor and collapsed onto the chair nearest her. Hearing the pounding on the door below her, she hurried into a different room, closing the door after her so she wouldn't hear his voice. Throwing herself onto the bed in the room, she covered her face with her hands, and wept.
. : ^_^ : .
//So complicated,
So frustrated,
I want to hold you close,
I want to push you away…//
. : ^_^ : .
It took awhile for Spot to realize what he was doing. It felt nice to be kissing a girl, to push all other thoughts and worries from his mind, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Finally, he pulled back and looked stupidly down at the girl in his arms. Suddenly it became clear what had seemed wrong. In his arms he held Spice, not Emily.
"Spice," he started and cleared his throat, she had a dreamy far away look in her eyes. "I can' do dis," he informed her, snapping her back down to earth.
"Whot?" She asked stunned. "Why not?"
"Yous a nice goil an' all, but I likes someone else," he was bluntly honest.
"Who?" She asked, her bottom lip started to tremble.
"Ya know da goil dat woyks heah," Spot pointed behind him towards the lodging house, not sure why he was telling Spice this. Maybe it was because he felt that she deserved an explanation, he had taken advantage of her after all. "I likes…" he looked up at the door and his eyes moved instantly to the figure standing in the window beside the door. It was Emily.
Every other thought flew from his brain as he watched dumbly as she hurried away from the window, taking whatever she was doing with her. A strange sick feeling came back to him and he shut his mouth. Unsure of what else to do, he untangled himself from Spice and hurried into the building. His efforts were rewarded only by the sound of the private quarter's door slamming.
Rushing into the kitchen he pounded on the door calling out to her to open the door. He pounded until his hand ached from hitting it again and again on the hard wood. Completely and utterly defeated, Spot turned and slumped back against the door. Sliding slowly to the floor, he stared ahead blankly.
Don't be afraid to look behind you, always look behind you Patrick. Your pride is your weakness, The words taunted him.
Anoddah complication, he thought bitterly, kneading his temples. Just anoddah complication….
. : ^_^ : .
A/N: -Grabs a tissue and blows her nose- That chapter made me cry when I wrote it. After I finished I went and played all the newsie songs on the piano (I have the music book) to make me feel better and I was sitting there crying as I played piano. My mom got really worried about me. Ha, ha… Man this was depressing. I hope that you all don't hate me now for making everything that happened happen. -Hides from all the knifes and bullets aimed towards her.- As always, brutally honest reviews are always welcome.
Problems: Hey, thanks for the review. I'm glad that you like my story so far, and I'm glad that I have the accent down pretty well. I have actually had a hard time NOT typing in that form. I'm glad that you liked how I described Spot selling papers. I personally like that part. It makes me so happy that you actually feel like you are part of the story, as an authoress, that is one of the biggest compliments that I can get. ^_^ You like me! You really like me! Anyway, I can't tell you if Spot dies at the end of this story… you never know….
Annie: Ha, ha that I okay that you missed the 'new' fourth chapter. It really isn't that big of a deal, but I am glad that you liked it. I can't tell you if Emily was the right choice because if I did, that would ruin the story! Don't fall of your chair! I don't need you to hurt yourself, you are one of the only faithful readers I have for this story. -tear- Oh well, I am glad that I have you. Yes, Emily's dad is VERY stupid, but very vital to the story. If there weren't any bad guys, the story would be boring! You have to have that character you love to hate! ^_^
Ireland O'Reily: I'm glad that you are enjoying my way of writing the story. I personally didn't know if it was too confusing how I switched all of the different views and such, but I guess it isn't. Thanks for letting me know! So you liked my poetic Angel/Demon metaphor at the end of chapter 4 eh? I do too! He, he… I was aiming for the creepy, surreal feel with that one dream/prophecy sequence. I'm glad that I got that across to you. Thank you for your faithful reviews. ^_^
Strawberry Bunny: Hey, thanks for reviewing my story. I really try to have the people in my story stay in character. It is basically my number one priority when I am writing. I am glad that you like my story so far and I hope that you continue to enjoy. ^_^