AN: Just r+r people- I need the encouragement!
Also, I'm going to an acting+theater camp for two weeks as of 6-15, so I won't be adding again until 6-29. However, I'll finish the story while I'm there, so expect a HUGE update when I get back!
It only took a few minutes to get back to my home, and Joseph's eyes got as big as saucers when I walked up to the gates. He dropped his snow shovel and opened the gate for me, stuttering incredulously before finally forming a full sentence.
"Who is this, sir? Is he dead?"
I shook my head. "He's a newsboy. No, he's not dead, but he will be if you don't fetch a doctor right now."
"Me, sir?"
"Yes, you! Who did you think I was talking to, William Hearst? Go!"
He nodded furiously as he turned around and ran out the gate, practically tripping over his own feet. I carefully adjusted the boy's weight in my arms, trying not to hurt him as I opened the door and slipped inside. Luck would have it that Annie had chosen that one day to wake up early, but she was sitting on the couch facing away from the door.
"Back so early, Terrence?" she asked, sipping on her coffee as her eyes skimmed the pages of her newest novel. I took a deep breath, then headed straight for the couch.
"Get up, Annie. And get some blankets." I demanded, and when she looked up from her book, she just about dropped her mug.
"What in heaven's name is going on? Who is that?" She asked in a panic, standing up and putting her book and cup on the table.
"Just go get those blankets. Some bandages too, and hot water."
"Terrence Andrew Anderheim, if you don't-"
"Annie, please." I started, pleading with her as I set him down on the couch. He was quickly becoming feverish. "I'll explain everything later. Just help me out and go get what I asked for."
She looked at me carefully, a mixture of anger, confusion, and pity on her face. Then she growled and threw her hands up in the air in frustration, muttering about 'not knowing what to do with me' as she jogged up the stairs. I pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, laying it over him and fidgeting nervously as I waited for her to return.
A sudden realization hit me like a train; this was the very same room that Blake had died in those many years ago. If it was simply a curse that brought that upon us, there was no hope for this boy.
I felt his forehead once again as Annie walked down the stairs, a stack of blankets and a first aid kit in one hand and a bucket of hot water with a 2 washcloths draped over the side in the other. She'll understand. Why wouldn't she?
"Do I need to go find a doctor?" she asked, her voice lightening up a bit.
"No, Joseph just went to get one." I started to speak again, but Skittery moaned and we both
stopped, thinking he may wake up: but he didn't. He fell back into unconciousness, his body going limp once again. I took one of the washcloths and pressed it against his head, trying to stop the bleeding from the cut along the side of his face.
"How did this happen?" Annie asked, brushing the newsboys hair away from his face, almost tenderly.
"I don't know. I found him like this in an alley. Could've been anybody: thieves, thugs, other newsboys."
She fell silent again, just as Joseph opened the door for the doctor. He rushed over to Skittery, looking over his injuries before motioning for us to leave. I reluctantly stood up and led my wife into the adjoining kitchen.
"So are you going to start a habit of bringing deathly ill newboys into our house?" Annie asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
"He was going to die. What did you want me to do, leave him lying there?"
"That's what anyone else would have done! But no, you have to be different. You have to be the good Samaritan. Why couldn't you just leave it be? He'll end up dead from some other street accident or disease anyway!"
I felt a choking rage rising in my throat. "Well, if some good Samaritan had brought Blake to us an hour earlier, he wouldn't have died, now would he?"
"This boy has no family! He's an orphan, for God's sake!"
"There are still people who love him, Annie! If we hadn't been there, that wouldn't have changed the way Blake's friends felt about his death, would it?"
"Would you stop comparing this boy to Blake? Because he's not! As much as you wish it were true, he's never coming back, Terrence!"
Annie stormed out of the room, slamming the door in a bigger fit of rage than I'd ever seen her in. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and resisted the urge to just sit down and cry, instead turning and walking back into the sitting room where the doctor was still working on applying bandages to Skittery's wounds. Joseph was still standing dumbfounded in the kitchen, probably wondering who he could follow without getting killed.
"How is he?" I asked, startling the disheveled looking old man. We had probably woken him up with this fiasco.
The doctor snorted, tying off another bandage. "Not good, but he'll live, if that's what you're wondering. He'll need a lot of recovery time, so I hope you've got a more convincing argument for your wife. If you're really desperate to help him, he's going to be here for a couple of weeks, maybe more if he's fever gets worse."
I blushed at the thought that a complete stranger had overheard that argument, but the doctor didn't mention it again. Instead, he told me how often to change the bandages, what to give him to eat, and that he probably would wake up later that day and that I needed to stay home with him for a few days. Then he left, grumbling something about 'street kids always causing problems'.
I looked down at my new 'patient', if he could even be called that. He was still trembling, but not half as bad as when I'd brought him in.
"Well, Skittery…I hope you're ready for this, because I don't think I'll ever be." I said as I headed back to the bedroom, where Annie had stormed off to. This was certainly going to be interesting, to say the least.
AN: Just wait until Skittery wakes up- then the real fun starts!
