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: AGH! I hate this story! Stupid plot, stupid characters, stupid authoress, stupid everything, man I am bad at this. I think I just might quit. I can't believe there are ten chapters of this drivel, I am ashamed.
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Warning: Besides the fact that this chapter sucks… I'd say it's about PG, maybe PG - 13.
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Chapter 10: Say A Prayer
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"Closed his eyes in endless night…."
--Thomas Gray
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"Married?" Emily almost choked on a bite of food.
"Yes," her father said roughly and Emily set down her fork, not having an appetite anymore.
"Why?" She asked quietly.
"Because, you're getting older and this is no place for you," he refused to make eye contact with he continued to shovel his food into his mouth. "It's all been arranged," he continued.
"If I may," she started hesitantly. "Who will I be marrying?" She felt bile rising in her throat.
"His name is Arthur Van-Morris," her father said. "He's a little older than you, but that doesn't matter," he shook his head as he spoke.
"How much older?" she blinked back the tears that were stinging her eyes.
"How much?" her father's head shot up and looked at her before he looked back down at the plate and muttered something under his breath.
"Excuse me?" Emily questioned politely.
"I think he's thirty or so," her father mumbled and Emily sat there dumbly for a time, letting the entirety information sink in.
"Pardon me," She pushed her chair back from the table and picked up her plate. Numbly, she moved into the kitchen and began to clean up the mess from dinner. Every thing was as though she was in a haze and she felt sick to her stomach, but what could she do?
She had no where to run, no where to turn to, and no one that cared. Spot cared. Though she knew this it brought her little pleasure, it only brought her pain. For she was engaged now to a man she had never met, a man she didn't love, and in four weeks she would become Mrs. Arthur Van-Morris. Blinking back the tears, she couldn't help but wonder where Spot was.
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//Come to me,
The only,
Broken hearted loser,
That you'll ever need…//
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Outside, the rain had finally stopped. The angry clouds overhead were clearing, showing the expanse of night sky. The stars sparkled with an enviable merriment, which seemed out of place in the moment. It was surprisingly chilly out on the roof of the Manhattan lodging house as the intense summer heat had faded into the wet night. The coolness in the air had done little to keep a girl with a shock of red hair from venturing out onto the roof's flat surface.
Spitfire stood alone up on the roof, not knowing why she had searched out the solitude. The doctor was still downstairs in the bunkroom with all of the newsies and she couldn't stay down there anymore. The few days had been hard and she needed release. Wrapping her arms around her torso she closed her eyes as the burning tears rose.
The first of many tears slipped down the soft curve of her cheek before it was followed by all of its companions. She cried for everything that had happened over the past few days, she cried for Spot, for Brooklyn, for the boys downstairs, and she cried for herself. As she stood and looked up at the skies, she felt little comfort, but the silent tears did her good.
"Spitfiah?" She heard Shadow's voice and started. Quickly she wiped the telltale trails off of her cheeks with the back of her still damp sleeve and gave a very unladylike snort before she turned to face him.
"Yeah?" she asked, looking up into his soft brown eyes.
"Ah yous a'ight?" he pressed one of his strong hands against her cheek, stroking it with his thumb.
"Yeah," she gave a wobbly smile. "I'se fine. I -" she took a deep shaky breath before continuing, trying to get her emotions under control. Showing tears, even to this boy, wouldn't do. For tears were only signs of weakness to them. "I'se just up heah ta t'ink a lil'," she informed and he eyed her with disbelief.
"Yous been cryin'," he stated simply and she ducked her head, he let his hand drop.
"How do yous know?" she looked at her feet.
"Yous look it," he put his hand under her chin and lifted it to his eyes. "Somet'ing wrong?"
"Nah," She gave him another half-hearted smile. "I'se just a lil' tiahd, 'sides," she explained. "Goils like ta cry," she joked slightly and the corners of his mouth turned up.
"So yous a'ight?" he asked again, still concerned.
"Yeah, I'se fine," she nodded and he drew his hand back from under her chin. "How's Spot?" She quickly changed subjects, avoiding the conversation that she knew they needed to have.
"Da doc says dat he might be able ta fix his eyes," Shadow squinted and looked up at the sky. "But he says can't do it right now cause Spot don' have enough strength ta do ta suahgahy," he looked back down at her and saw that she had wrapped her arms firmly around herself. "Yous cold?" he asked.
"Nah, I'se fine," she lied.
"Yous look cold," he pointed out.
"I said I'se fine," she sounded slightly irritated and he backed off.
"A'ight," he shoved his hands into his pocket and looked at the stars again. "Ya t'ink it'll rain s'moah?" he asked casually.
"I dunno," Spitfire shrugged looking up at the sky with him. "I'se nevah been able ta tell nuttin' 'bout da weddah," she informed. "But my faddah, damn," she shook her head, chuckling slightly. "I sweah dat he had somet'ing in his head tellin' him whot wos goin' ta happen," she smiled at the memory and Shadow looked at her.
"Wheah's youah pops now?" he questioned.
"He's dead," she said woodenly.
"Oh," Shadow searched for something to say, he should have known better than to ask. "I'se soahy," he offered.
"Nah, It's a'ight," she looked at him, locking eyes and knew that was a mistake.
"Spitfiah, I -" he paused, still looking deep into the gray depths of her eyes. "I - uh - back in Queens," he tried to figure out what he was trying to say. "Back when yous kissed me," he tried and she chewed on her bottom lip. "Did yous - I mean - what -" he stumbled over his words painfully. For normally being so articulate, this was terribly embarrassing.
"Why'd I'se do it?" She prompted and he looked relieved that she had been able to say it for him.
"Yeah," he nodded and now it was her turn to struggle for what to say.
"I guess," she started slowly. "I guess dat I kissed yous ta get yous ta be quiet," she admitted and he waited. "Maybe dere wos somet'ing moah," she shrugged.
"Yeah," Shadow spoke understandingly. Then he got nervous again. Licking his lips he looked down at her and seemed to have an idea.
"Ah yous a'ight?" Spitfire was concerned because he had a very curious expression on his face.
"I'se jus' t'inkin'," he paused. "Ya wanna try it again?" he offered hesitantly. "The kissin' t'ing?" he clarified and her eyes widened. Then she ducked her head as she blushed. "Whot?" he asked, thinking his idea perfectly reasonable.
"Ah yous seahious?" she looked up at him from under her long eyelashes.
"Yeah," he shifted uncomfortably and she stepped closer to him and raised her face.
"A'ight," she offered her mouth to him. "Let's try."
Shadow didn't need any more permission than that. Cupping her face in his hands, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly, gently. Then slowly, he pulled back and looking her deeply in the eyes. Silently, Spitfire granting him permission and he dropped his head again, pressing his mouth to hers as he wrapped his arms around her waist. The stars alone held witness to this event as they twinkled in the sky above. It was a long time before Shadow and Spitfire returned to the room below.
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//When somebody loved me,
Everything was beautiful,
Every hour we spent together,
Lives within my heart …//
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There was sadness in her eyes as she walked up the stairs. Perhaps Spot was up there, and they needed to talk. Their time was over to talk, and she knew it, but perhaps, just maybe she could just tell him that she was getting married. Licking her lips nervously, she knew that if she saw them she might break down crying again, and she couldn't do that. This was a mistake, it was all a mistake. As she reached the top of the stairs, she lost her courage and turned back around.
Turning she descended the stairs to hear the door creak open. Two very large loud boys laughing hysterically emerged. When they saw Emily on the stairs they stopped laughing and doffed their hats. Even the stupidest of brutes knew that rule.
"'Scuse us miss," One of them said as they passed her on the stairs.
"Your excused," she answered graciously, but paused. "Wait," She spoke in a sudden burst of courage. It's now or never she knew and turned. They both turned and looked at her questioning.
"Yes miss?" they asked almost at the exact same time.
"Do you know Spot Conlon is?" she asked hesitantly, feeling her cheeks reddening at the mentioning of his name.
"Uh, yeah, we knows who he is," the larger of the two answered after exchanging a strange look with his partner.
"Can either of you tell me if he is here?" She asked politely.
"No, he ain't here," the smaller shook his head.
"So you know where is he?" she questioned.
"Miss, Spot ain't goin' ta be 'round heah no moah," the larger of the two wrung his cap nervously in his hand and didn't meet her eyes.
"Why?" She asked quietly, not particularly wanting the answer.
"We pro'ly ain't da ones ta be tellin' yous," The smaller of the two looked ready to run.
"I don't mind," Emily comforted. "I just need an answer."
For about a minute, the two boys looked back and forth at each other, seeming to debate silently who would give her the sad tidings. Patently, Emily waited, but inside she was a buzz of nerves. Whatever was so terrible that they couldn't just come right out and say it? Had Spot left New York without telling her? Finally the smaller one looked back at her and cleared his throat.
"Spot's dead miss," he bowed his head respectfully, but more so to avoid her eyes.
"Dead?" Emily gasped, and she suddenly felt very dizzy.
"Yes miss," the smaller one glanced at his companion, then looked back at Emily who had put her hand on the wall for support. "Ah yous a'ight miss?" He asked.
"Yes," she fought against the blackness that was threatening to close in over her.
"Ya shuah?" The larger one asked.
"Yes," she pressed her eyes closed, trying to keep the darkness at bay.
"A'ight," the smaller one said and Emily heard them move away from where she was standing. "We'se goin' now miss," he excused them and Emily didn't respond. She couldn't.
A wave of nausea swept over her and she sat down on the steps. Spot was dead? It couldn't be possible, could it? Did he kill himself? Did someone kill him? Did those boys kill him? Was it her fault? Question after question tumbled over each other in a terrible turmoil that made her sick to her stomach. The last thing she asked herself before she got back up was, if Spot was dead, it really didn't matter if she got married, did it?
Picking herself up off of the stairs, she trudged solemnly to the private quarters of her house. Up the other flight of stairs and into her room, she shut the door firmly before opening the window and climbing out into the cool night air. Everything outside seemed so fresh and so clean, a time of new beginnings. Maybe this was the new beginning she was supposed to make.
Yes, she was comforted mildly by the idea. I am to make a new start, she tried to smile but failed miserably. Suddenly her knees felt weak and she sank onto the cool flat surface of the roof. Curling her knees up to her chest, she rested her cheek on top of them. Closing her eyes, the tears finally came.
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//Spilled her coffee broke her shoelace,
Smeared the lipstick on her face,
Slammed the door and said she's sorry,
She's had a bad day again…//
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Just as they said they would, the men met in secret once more after the set two days had passed. The grizzly sized man, Lindstrom, and the Irish man were all present again, all seemed nervous for something. The small man, Lindstrom, played with his immaculate handlebar moustache, and no one spoke for awhile.
"Do you think he will do it?" The grizzly man asked gruffly.
"He has to," the Irish man insisted.
"It is his life, we can't just force him into marrying your daughter," Lindstrom added.
"Yes we can," The Irish man insisted.
"And how do you plan to do that, O'Malley?" the large man growled.
"I have me information, an' it would be a shame if anybody else were to find out about it," The Irish man, O'Malley, responded.
"You mean blackmail?" Lindstrom sat up a little bit straighter.
"If you wish to call it that," O'Malley shrugged and Lindstrom let out a long sigh.
"I don't know," he shook his head. "Couldn't we simply use the information? Must we bring the girl into this?"
"No," The large man said finally. "Van-Morris already knows he is getting married," he explained.
"He does?" Lindstrom asked, surprised.
"Yes, and now that O'Malley has the records, there is no way out for him," The large man was strangely patient in his tone.
"But what about -" Lindstrom started again only to be cut off.
"You worry about your part of the job, and we will worry about ours," O'Malley said harshly.
"What about the girl?" Lindstrom persisted.
"What about her?" The grizzly man was becoming irritated with Lindstrom as well.
"Does she know?"
"Yes," O'Malley answered.
"Will she go through with it?"
"Yes."
"How can you be sure?"
"She will go through with it, mark my words," O'Malley promised.
"How is your side of the job going, Lindstrom?" The large man asked, switches topics.
"Smoothly," Lindstrom relaxed a little. "If your sides of the plan goes well, we won't have a single hitch," He twisted the tip of his moustache in his fingers.
"I have my side ready," O'Malley nodded.
"Mine is nearly ready," the grizzly man nodded.
"Are you sure that there isn't another way to do this? Lindstrom asked, seeming nervous again.
"We've been over this before," O'Malley growled. "This is how it will be done, no matter how many people are hurt."
"What if someone is killed?"
"Then the family will have to bury someone," the large man answered coolly, and it was clear that the conversation was over.
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The swirling blackness did only one thing for Spot in the three days that he passed in his condition. It gave him a lot of time to think, about everything. The time he spent before he was a newsie, the time he spent as a newsie, and the time he spent falling in and out of love. Strange concept it was to fall out of love. In truth he never had fallen out of love with Frost and he didn't plan on it anytime soon, but as for Emily…? It was better not to think about her now, it hurt more than any of the wounds he had sustained.
The doctor had bound his ribs and kept him motionless in the bed, but it didn't seem to do any good. Though he knew that tomorrow was the day of the surgery, he couldn't help but think of how he couldn't live in the darkness anymore. Just today, that know-it-all doctor had come to explain the surgery to him.
It really had sounded like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo to him, but he had taken away a little of the information. This blindness could be to the fact that in the fight, that had several blows to his head, some sort of blood clot or ruptured vessel could have occurred. What he was going to do was drill a few holes in his head and try and see if it was such. This could have caused too much pressure on certain parts of the eye, or parts of the brain that control the eye, causing them to shut down. There was one problem.
There was absolutely no way to be able to tell if this was the case in the matter. Though it was true that he had lost his vision in the fight, there was no evidence that he would ever regain his sight. There was no evidence that he would even recover from the surgery much less make it though it.
The idea of waiting for the surgery was for two reasons. One: so that Spot could regain some of the much needed strength he had lost. Two: to see if his vision would clear by itself. On this third day, Spot didn't feel any stronger and he couldn't see anything more than a large black scope of nothing. Tomorrow the operation would be underway and he would possibly be on the road to recovery. If not… now wasn't the time to think of this option.
Upon further inspection of Spot's battered body, Christopher P. Ervin found that he had only three ribs that weren't broken, cracked, or bruised. The reason it hurt so much to talk was because he had dislocated his jaw, which was now set back in place, but still hurt like hell and worse. Miraculously, nothing else was broken.
Fading in and out of consciousness Spot's moments were laced with pain and drilled with remorse. The burning blackness that consumed him now was his reality, there was nothing else. Different scenes would play over his closed eyelids and even though he knew that his dead eyes couldn't really see them, they were as clear as the day itself. It was the only pass time he really had since he really couldn't talk and had no desire to do so.
One thing no one would know was late at night, when no one else was awake; Spot would lie awake, blinking back the tears. He wouldn't cry, it wouldn't help anything now anyway. Besides, Spot Conlon didn't cry.
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//There were times,
I ran to hide,
Afraid to show,
The other side…//
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A twinge of something towards the area of his head woke Outsider. The twinge slowly grew more intense until it was throbbed with pain and he squint his eyes against the pale, but still offending, light that invaded them. He hurt and he moved to raise his hand to his head, but found that his arm was firmly bound. Frowning, he opened his eyes and saw that his arms weren't the only things that were bound. Why was he tied up?
The last thing he remembered was Brooklyn, but why wouldn't he remember Brooklyn? He was still there, wasn't he? Blinking, he raised his head and looked around the dank, dirty interior of what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse. Slowly he began to pick up details that suggested it wasn't quite so abandoned. A hat lying on the ground, a deck of cards or two lying aimlessly in the circle where he was tied, or the several crates that seemed to be makeshift beds were his clues. Groaning audibly against the pain that was crashing around him now, he lowered his head and the blackness came once more.
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//I hurt myself today,
To see if I still feel,
I focus on the pain,
The only thing that's real…//
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No one brought up the fact that Lice looked a little worse for wear with some nasty bruises and swelling showing from Spitfire's merciless attack. If he ever caught her… the list of things he imagined is too long to record here. One thing he enjoyed was the feeling of holding the cane of Brooklyn in his hands. Slowly, a twisted smiled played on his sore lips. So his mission was complete.
Brooklyn was his, Queens was his, and he had killed Spot Conlon. Yes, life was good for Lice, life was very good. The plan had basically gone off without a hitch, if that girl and Shadow hadn't gotten away it would have been flawless. Even this flaw though had its benefits. One hostage was enough for blackmail considering that he seemed to be fairly good friend with some of the more influential Brooklyn newsies.
The hostage, how could he have forgotten to check on the hostage? Reprimanding himself mentally, Lice got up from his perch atop some of the several wooden boxes in the Queens lodging house and headed towards the circle. The boy didn't seem to be awake yet, pity, he wanted to have a conversation with him. The words he had to exchange with him would be most sweet and choice.
Lifting Spot's former cane, he delivered a solid blow over the back of the boy's head. A rewarding thwack came of his efforts and he smiled. Once more he smashed the cane over his hostage's head he smiled. Revenge for the damages he had sustained. Yes, that little girl and boy would be sorry that they ever cross him.
Again the wicked smile came to his lips as he fingered the cane in his hand, running the middle of his palm over the gold tip. Strange how things had turned towards his direction so quickly. Oh yes, it was certainly good to be Lice.
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"Get outta heah goil," A large rough looking newsies said to Flower as she stood on the street corner.
"Dis heah is my spot, I'se can sells heah if I'se want!" She said boldly, knowing the rules of the streets.
"Dis heah wos youah spot, but it's mine now," He sneered and stepped forward menacingly. It took all of Flower's courage not to back down.
"Yous can't jus' take dis it!" She protested and the boy looked her up and down suggestively.
"Yeah I'se can," he scanned her again, this time a little slower. "But maybe we'se can make a deal," he hinted and her face blanched.
"In youah dreams," she snorted, grossly offended.
"I likes 'em wit' a lil' spahk," he laughed and stepped closer to her, grabbing her roughly around the waist.
None of the passerby's paid any attention to the street rabble on the corner as they passed by at hurried paces. This was much to Flower's chagrin. As the oaf lowered his face towards hers, she struggled violently, spitting in his face and he shoved her away suddenly, sending her crashing to the ground. Wiping his hand down his violated face, the anger was evident in his eyes and Flower struggled to collect the papers she had dropped on the fall.
"Wrong move goil," he growled and yanked her to her feet, causing her to yelp in surprise. "You gets outta my spot an' if I'se evah see yous tryin' ta sell heah again, Is'll kill ya wit' my own hands," he threatened, the released her roughly.
Stumbling back, Flower gave the large Queens boy a venomous glare before quickly gathering her papers and walking away. If this was any foresight of the future, Flower didn't like the way it looked. Nope, she didn't like it one bit.
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//I can't believe you'd let this happen to me,
And I can't believe you put those daggers though me,
And I can't believe you didn't try to save me,
From my pain…//
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More clouds moved in over the city, promising more of the life giving rain. How perfect for the weather to suit the moods of so many people at one time. Thought, they hadn't really had a chance to know the full ramifications of the alteration in leadership, they had a good idea at how different it would be. Regrets were clearly running rampant over the whole group as they all sat in the bunkroom, no one talking.
There was little that anyone could say to offer comfort to their companions, and little they could do but pray for no more rain. When it rained, there was little good in even trying to sell papers. For papers are highly absorbent, and if not kept out of the path of such water, would quickly become nothing more than a soggy pile of shreds.
Though not selling papers jeopardized their lively-hood, what could they do?
It seemed that the only thing they could do was pray that the weather would favor them. Pray for the world to be a little kinder to them. Pray that this change in leadership would do nothing more than slight changes. It seemed that the Brooklyn newsies were going to have to pray more than they had in their entire life.
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//You've dreamed a thousand dreams,
None seem to stick,
In your mind,
Two points for honesty…//
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So the fated day arrived with rain and clouds and Spot was moved gently down the stairs to Kloppman's room. The man had agreed that they could use it for the surgery since it would be better for privacy. Thankfully, Spot wasn't conscious when they moved his broken body carefully down the stairs and into the small room that Kloppman called his own. Setting him down gently on the bed, the boys all looked strangely down at the Brooklyn leader. For one who had been known for such power and sophistication, he looked so defeated.
Silently, they shuffled from the room and waited for the doctor to arrive. There was nothing else they could really do, was there? The solemn mood of the boys was prone to bring quick agitation to the slightest and simplest of things. The cramped quarters of the downstairs area didn't help their disposition. Innocently, Mush started drumming his fingers on the floor where he sat, the noise echoed in the semi-silence, and irritated many.
"Will ya stop dat?" Jack finally exclaimed.
"Stop whot?" Mush, who normally had a fairly sweet disposition, snapped.
"Drummin' ya dumb fingahs!" Race threw in his own comment.
"I don' havta stop nuttin'!" Mush went defensive.
"Stop oah Is'll make yous!" Kid Blink growled.
"I'd like ta see yous try," Mush stood and challenged the disgruntled Blink.
"A'ight yous, I'se goin' ta show yous whot it's like ta hoyt," Blink also stood and moved closer to Mush, no one tried to stop the two.
"Go on an' try," Mush scowled, shifting into a fighting pose.
With that Blink threw a punch and Mush dodged it, and pretty quick, the whole room was an all out brawl. Punches were thrown blindly and no fighting etiquette was used, not even basic rules for your own safety. It was a brutal free-for-all in which there were no sides, and no goal besides trying to hit as many people as many times as you could. The fight ended as quickly as it started when the door opened and in stepped the Dr. Ervin.
Some of the boys were on the floor, others were holding each other by the hair, and some still had their hands pulled back waiting to throw the punch. It was as through time had stopped when Dr. Ervin stepped through the door. Smiling courteously, he stepped to the side as an older gentleman with gray hair spectacles came in after him.
"Hello boys," Dr. Ervin greeted them and they all mumbled their hellos, ashamed at the way they had been caught. "This is my friend Doctor Cunningham, he will be assisting me with the operation," Dr. Ervin explained. "Is the boy upstairs?"
"Uh, no," Jack spoke up, pushing through the crowd of boys. "He's ovah heah so yous can have moah privacy," Jack showed him to the small room where Spot lay still unconscious.
"Excellent," Dr. Ervin turned to the boys. "Are the sheets clean?" He asked and all of the scruffy looking boys turned and looked at their neighbors.
"Well, suah," Jack scratched the back of his head. "We ain't nevah had much use foah clean blankets," he explained. "Dey always gets doity again anyways."
"I see," Dr. Ervin frowned. "Then we will just have to work with what we have, won't we?" He forced a smile and stepped into the room. Jack knew that he wasn't happy.
"If dere's anyt'ing we'se can do, wes'll do it," he offered and the group nodded.
"No, I don't think there is anything right now," Dr. Ervin muttered, still looking around the room. "Could you boil some water?" He requested finally.
"Shuah," Jack answered, more than ready to help.
"Wonderful," Dr. Ervin smiled and Jack moved quickly to fetch some water and bring it to a boil.
This proved to be a much harder task than he would have imagined and it took several minutes to bring the pot of water to a boil. Even then, it took several minutes to find some sort of pot that would hold the water and to stoke up the fire in the stove. Being summer, they hadn't had any fires going for months, so there were no sparks left to start it. Nearly forty-five minutes later, Jack came into the room with a pot of boiled water and set it on the ground.
"Perfect," Dr. Ervin said and Jack looked at his friend as he lay on the bed.
The doctors had stripped him to the waist, but that wasn't the shocking thing. All of Spot's brown hair was gone. The boy's head was shaved as smooth as his face and the sight was rather horrifying. Even on his scalp there were large bruises, one that had been covered by the hair, now revealed in their terrible splendor.
"We had to shave his head so we would have better access to it," Dr. Cunningham explained, wiping a blade in his hand with some yellow solution.
"I see," Jack wrinkled his nose against the foul smelling liquid. "Ya need anyt'ing else?" Jack offered.
"Keep some water on the boil in case we need more," Dr. Ervin instructed, and seemed to want to say more, but hesitated.
"Whot?" Jack asked, uncomfortable with the awkward silence.
"And pray for him," Dr. Ervin said. "It might be the only thing that will get him through," he smiled wearily. Already he looked tired.
With a mission in his mind and a prayer in his heart, Jack left the room, closing the door behind him. Whatever took place behind that closed door was now up to the doctors, and Jack could only pray that it would turn out according to plan. The solemn group that was still gathered in the front hall looked at him expectantly and he smiled bleakly.
"Gotta boil s'moah watah," he told them and they all looked disappointed by the news. "An' Spot's bald," Jack's smile changed into a slightly mischievous one and the tension seemed to break at the thought of the mighty Brooklyn having no hair. "No body go in dat dere room now, ya heah?" Jack returned to a more serious tone and every single one of the newsie nodded in understanding. "An' one moah t'ing," Jack waited until he had all of the room's complete attention. "Da doc says dat we'se gotta pray foah Spot," he informed. "So ya bettah do it!" He added, trying to make the order sound tougher.
With that, he turned and went in search of something else in which he could boil water. As he rummaged through the various buckets and other metal contraptions Kloppman had offered, something told him that this was going to be a long day.
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A/N: Well there you go. Completely lame set-up chapter, but I promise you will know what happens to Spot and have some answers in the next chapter. Just like everything you have to set it up and now I am setting up a whole different side of the story than before. New characters, new relationships and new twists and turns that would even make the maze-master envious! My muses are still acting-up so I apologize for the delays. Now, a few words from our sponsors….
Ireland O'Reily: I am having a big ol' pity party for myself because I am so discouraged with these stories. Maybe I am just going through the normal writing slump that causes so many authors to call it quit and never finish the story. AGH! I have so many sub-plots running underneath the whole Spot-is-blind part that I am having trouble keeping it all in order. (not to mention the fact that I have to remember which story I am writing. I mean Blind Spot or Frostbitten) Anyway, I always thought that Jack was kind of vain, so that I how I decided to portray him. Writing a parody eh? Well, um, I don't think I have that much humor in me! Ha, ha! Oh goody, no more midterms! How did you do? Do you know yet? AGH I don't think the muses like the idea of shock therapy…. I don't think I like the idea of shock therapy! I don't need a cyber stalker! AGH! Talk about scary! And if I ever finish these two pieces of poop, I have about 4 other complete plot lines figure out, I just can't write them yet because I told myself I have to finish these first. Dang it! Well, um, thanks for threatening me that was fun. ^_^ Well, I don't think there were many answers in this chapter either, man I am mean. Hopefully we will get some resolve in the next few. I promise we will at least know if Spot makes it through the surgery.
Priscilla: Hey, I'm glad that you have been enjoying this story, I'm not sure why you do, but I sure am glad that you do! I am going to try and stick it out to the bitter end and get this sucker done, but I don't know how soon that will be. You think that I stick to Spot's character? Well thank you so much, I have a hard time doing that and I really enjoy knowing that someone thinks I am doing it right! Take care.
Red Cinnamon: Well, well, well, welcome to the review board for Blind Spot! I have so much to say to you with your reviews, this could take awhile! Ha, ha, I don't think I have ever had anyone quote my story in their reviews before. That made me laugh. Yeah, Spot doesn't really know how to be kind, he is kind of like, 'I want it so I am going to get it!' No one has really been able to teach him differently. My poor baby, maybe if I take him home, I can take care of him and teach him…. Whoops, went into a Spot fantasy right there, dang it! Why can't he be real? Why can't he be mine!? I'm sorry I made you all sad, but that was my aim in those chapters, so in reality I should be really happy that I got my work done. ^_^ You like my original characters? Well thank you, I like them too. In Brooklyn there were really any established characters but Spot, which makes Brooklyn fictions so much fun! Well Lice still is reigning supreme, but who knows? Maybe I will resolve this with a happy ending? Don't jump off the Brooklyn Bridge! I need you to review my story and give me the encouragement I need to finish this sucker! Well I can't tell you what happened to Frost, but I can tell you she isn't around in this story. So she disappeared somehow. Aren't I just a mean person to make you wonder? You like Blind Spot better than Frostbitten? Well Frostbitten was started as an afterthought about four chapters into this one, so I had to go back and rewrite all of the chapters and make references to Frost and such... but it was worth it! Who knows, maybe this one will have a sequel? Hmm… What a thought. You liked my little dialogue, eh? I liked the uneven eyebrow gag, and the Race making bets on everything, personally. I cracked up writing it, but my humor and style is different than most, so I didn't know if anyone else would like it. Well now that I have written this freaking huge response, I better go and acknowledge all of the other wonderful people. Take care. ^_^
Peppermint: Well, thank you for your compliment on the story. I am not sure what Wild Arms 3 is, but I am sure it is a valid excuse for not reviewing. Practically anything is a valid excuse because I am such a nice person. School is another fabulous reason not to review. I hate school, grrr, oh well. Moving along, Spot is a loser, but I think I would be too. Darn Depressed!Spot!Muse…. Anyway, Shadow and Spitfire is what I like to call U/P which means, unusual pairing. I never thought that I would stick them together, but it seemed like a nice little twist to the story. Thanks for the review! Take care!
Silent Breeze: You read my whole story and only gave me ONE review!? How dare you! Go back and review each chapter right now! Ha, ha, no I am just kidding, but you can if you want to. Well, just because I am such a nice person, and you are such a nice reviewer, I will let you join the Review Board, even though you got in on it a little late. Well if not reading this story is one of the bigger regrets in your life, you must not have very big regrets. -_^ So which story is your favorite so far, Blind Spot, or, Frostbitten? Well you will just have to make sure you write out all of the reasons why you like this story and put them in your next review and maybe that would motivate me to finish it! Ha, ha, I don't think praying to my muses will help anything right now, they are pretty much psychotic….
Kaylee: Yep, I got your Race in there, maybe I should try writing a Race fiction after all of this is done…. Maybe, who knows? Race seems to be a pretty popular newsie among the ladies. -_^
Crystal Rain: Well, I am continuing for now, but I am glad that you have been enjoying this story! Take care. ^_^
Problems: Ooh, Midterms, it seems that a lot of people have been having those lately. Well hopefully they all went well? I might make Spot better, but I am not sure, the muses won't tell me if I get to make him better or not, yet. . : * Big sigh * : . Yes, Emily has an arrangement, but you just never know what is going to happen, do you?
Rae Kelly: And so my life as a newsie fan fiction writer is complete! I have been reviewed by Miss. Newsie fan-fiction herself! Miss. Rae Kelly! Maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but I was surprised to see your name tagged onto a review for one of MY stories. . : * Calms her fast beating heart * : . anyway, since you've been reading it since the beginning, I like to make myself think that it means that you like this story?
So let me see, I think at last count, my reader count was at . : * 4 * : . Well I have some good news for all of you, we now have… are you ready for this? . : * 9 * : . Readers that actually review! I think I am going to cry I am so happy! Wow, I am so surprised I think I shall die! Now that would ruin this story now wouldn't it? Ha, ha, well, anyway, take care, and I hope you enjoyed this 'real' chapter.