AN: Sorry I haven't updated in a few days- I've been outta town on a last minute trip. I'll make up for it, I promise! Just read, review, and PLEASE input! I want this fic to go with the reader's ideas!

                                                                                                                                                           

            I couldn't believe what I was reading. I absolutely couldn't. It wasn't possible.

            But there it was in black and white, right in front of me. I read the headline and first paragraph over again, hoping to find some clue that would tell me it hadn't been true.

Boy Disappears After Double Homocide

7 year old Michael O'Konnor is still missing after the abrupt deaths of his parents. Sources at the station say that the youth's mother, Evelyn O'Konnor, was brutally stabbed to death by his father, Thomas O'Konnor. The police say that Michael then used the knife against Thomas in self defense, resulting in Thomas's death at the local hospital three hours later. The boy reportedly was seen running from the scene immediately following the murders, yesterday around 4p.m.. The boy has light brown hair and hazel eyes, height and weight are unknown. If anyone has information on the boy's whereabouts, please contact local authorities.

            Skittery…no wonder he was known for being moody. He'd been running all this time, not only from the police, but from his own past. His mother murdered, and then his father coming after him with the same intent…that was too much for anyone of his age to bear.

            I tore the article out of the paper and stuffed it back in the drawer, no longer caring that the paper didn't belong to me in the first place. The boys would be out selling right now, and all the Manhattan boys knew where each of the others sold. If I found one, I could get to Skittery from there. I had to talk to him about this.

            I made it to Manhattan in what had to be record time, and the first newsie I saw was Dutchy. I walked up to him and bought a paper out of common courtesy as I spoke.

            "Hey Dutchy, do you know where Skittery was selling today?"

            He gave me a strange look, obviously confused as to why I wanted to know where Skittery was selling, but he obliged after a moment of thought. "I think he said he was gonna sell in Central Park today."

            "Which side?"

            "Um…probably north. That's where da most people are…by da business district."

            I fished a quarter out of my pocket, seeing his face light up as I handed it to him. "For the information. Thank you!"

            "No problem, Denton. Anytime."

            It's too hot to be doing this, I thought as I walked the shorter distance to Central Park. I knew I would have to make this quick- storm clouds were gathering in the sky, and though the temperature drop would be welcome by me, the rain certainly wouldn't.

            I could hear him before I saw him, yelling out some headline about a stock market dip and completely exaggerating it, calling it the biggest drop in years. I knew it wasn't, and so did everyone else. That's how I knew the headlines were awful today.

            It ended up that he didn't see me approach- I came up behind him as he sold a few papers to some ladies passing by on their afternoon strolls. I just watched him for a moment, seeing this courageous boy in a whole new light after reading the article.

            "Good morning, Skittery."

            He visibly stiffened, scowling and not even attempting to be good natured as he tucked his papers under his arm and began to walk away. I grabbed him by his sleeve, and he spun around, ripping my hand free of the fabric.

            "What do ya want? I ain't got time ta play games right now. I got papes ta sell."

            "I just want to talk."

            "No way. I gotta go."

            He turned once more to walk away, but I wasn't about to let him go that easy. "I know about what happened to you. I know about the murders."

            He stopped, but he didn't turn around. It was as if he couldn't face me now that I knew.

            "Dat's nice. Congratulations on your research abilities. I gots ta go."

            "You're just going to walk away from this?"

            "I've walked away from everythin'. Dis ain't no different."

            I couldn't believe it. He was actually walking away from me, after all that! By the time I gathered my wits, he had disappeared in the crowd. But then I saw something that truly scared me.

            The ten or so papers he had yet to sell were lying on the ground not five feet away from me. He had just dropped them there, as if…as if he had decided they weren't worth selling. I felt the realization go through me like a jolt. Jack had said that I was going to hurt a lot of people, dredging up the memories like that. If he was right…

            "Skittery! Skittery, come back!" I screamed, not caring about the dirty looks I was getting from the businessmen around me.

            I searched all day, but to no avail. I went to Tibby's at both lunch and dinner, but he didn't show up either time. And after dinner, back at the lodging house, somebody finally noticed something was up.

            "Denton, what are you doin' here? First lunch, and then dinner, and now comin' back to da lodging house wit us? Somethin' ain't right here." Blink said, eyeing me suspiciously as I walked through the door.

            "I'm just…waiting for Skittery." I explained, seeing no point in lying to them. They'd eventually find out anyway.

            "Why? What's goin' on with him?"

            "Nothin', I just…well…it's hard to explain."

            Jack caught on to that quicker than anyone, and Mush followed a close second in putting two and two together.

            "What did you say to him?" Jack asked, walking up to me.

            "I didn't say anything. He didn't give me the chance."

            "Well, you obviously said somethin', cause it's past curfew and he ain't here."

            "I told you, I didn't-"

            He slammed me back against the wall, and I was suddenly praying that Kloppman would intervene. But he didn't…I was sure he could hear all this from his room, but the doorway remained empty.

            "What did you say to him?!"

            "Put me down, let me explain!"

            He dropped me to the floor, but kept me from getting around him. The room was as quiet as a tomb, with every newsboy afraid to speak.

            "I found some old articles from the Sun. I was going to ask him about them, that's all."

            Jack's face went from anger to a mix of fury and concern. He spun around and yelled for Kloppman, and Kloppman walked out of his room, totally calm.

            "I've gotta leave. I just know Skittery's gonna try and pull somethin', ya know? Ya gotta let me leave." He said, quietly enough that the other boys couldn't hear but I could.

            "I don't think that's your responsibility, Jack. Not this time." Kloppman said, his gaze falling on me.

            "What do you mean, he's going to 'pull something'?"             I asked. Jack dragged me aside so that not even Kloppman could hear us talking.

            "When Skittery came here, he was so bent on killing himself that we had to tie him to his bunk and have two newsies there to watch him his first few days. It took us a long time ta convince him not ta take a flyin' leap off da Brooklyn bridge. And now dat you've gone and brought it all back…I can't guarantee he'll use common sense."

            I felt the guilt building up in me by the second. It was my fault…Jack had warned me, and I hadn't listened. "The…Brooklyn bridge?"

            "Yeah."

            "I'm on it."

            "I wouldn't be surprised if you's too late already."

            "I've got to try."

            I pushed past him and ran out the door. By now the rain had escalated into a full scale downpour, and lightening made the night into day for seconds at a time. I managed to convince a passing carriage driver to take a detour past the Brooklyn bridge, as soon as I told him it was a matter of life and death. And he certainly believed me when we got there- a fourth of the way across the bridge, we could see the silhouette of a young man, on the outside of the rail and leaning as far forward over the chasm as his arms, hands locked on the railing, would allow. I saw the driver's eyes widen as he pulled to a stop and I jumped out.

            "Skittery!" I yelled, but he showed no signs of having heard me. He only stared downward, and my biggest fear at that moment was that he would lose his grip on the slick railing. I didn't even want to think about him purposely letting go. I took a few steps closer, but stopped dead when he began to speak. I could barely hear his words over the thunder and the pounding rain.

            "She wasn't dead, ya know."

            "What?"          

            He was silent another moment, and I considered just grabbing him right now and getting him back over the railing. But his voice kept me from doing anything. It was entrancing, the way he was speaking. "She was layin' there, on da floor…da blood was all over…I didn't think there was dat much blood in one person. She…she couldn't barely breathe. He had stabbed her twice in da throat, as I'm sure you read in da articles."

            All this sounded like it was coming from a machine. It didn't sound like Skittery saying it. It sounded almost ghostly, breathy words that came from the heart and not the throat. A spoken flashback.

            "And she saw me. I could see dat she wasn't scared anymore, only hurtin'. God…was she hurtin'. But she couldn't cry. And she looked up at me…her eyes looked dead, like she wasn't even there anymore. And she told me…she told me ta finish her off."

            I couldn't speak. Even the driver was now standing outside the carriage, listening to the desperate boy spill his memories to us as if he never had. Maybe he hadn't.

            "I didn't want to. I didn't want them ta think I had killed her. Dat's funny, ya know? She's lyin' there…dying…and all I can think about is my God damned innocence. But…she asked again, and I wanted ta be loyal. I wanted ta end her sufferin'. I didn't want ta watch her struggle anymore. So…I took da knife out of her arm…and I stabbed her. In da heart. Da only place he had avoided. It wasn't long after dat when she died."

            He took a long, shaky breathe, his gaze not moving from the river below. "And when he came back…I knew he was gonna come after me too. So I killed him. I killed 'em both. In cold blood. I didn't cry. I didn't…feel…anything." A sob finally broke the stagnant mentality he had created, and he struggled to continue. "I'm no bettah then him, and I thought he deserved ta die! So why not me? Why not me? Why couldn't…why couldn't da bastard…take me first…"

            I saw his grip giving way, and I lunged forward and grabbed his shirt, pulling him back. I was quickly joined by the driver in pulling his limp form back over the railing and onto solid ground. I didn't even take time to wonder if the close call had been accidental…or on purpose.

            The driver backed off as I cradled Skittery, whose sobs were shaking his whole body as he curled up against me. I was at a loss as for what to do, but then I had an idea. I pulled the article out of my pocket, and reaching around Skittery to use both hands, I ripped it into as many pieces as it could be ripped into. I couldn't write an article about this. No one in their right mind could write this article.

            Eventually exhaustion, lack of food, and sheer anguish took its toll on him, and he fell asleep right there in the rain. The driver gently offered me a ride to my apartment, and I thanked the Lord that this man was this kind as I accepted the offer.

            I laid Skittery down on the sofa in my apartment, putting extra wood on the fire and covering him up with all the blankets I could scrape up. Then I proceeded to burn all the notes I had taken about him.

            I wasn't surprised that he was gone when I woke up in the morning- I had been so sure that he would take off that I had left a note laying on his hat (which I had put on the table) which explained that I wasn't going to write anything about his story, let alone publishing it. I also explained in the note how sorry I was, hoping it would suffice for him as an acceptable apology. I had the feeling that he would be alright now, having told his story and hopefully having gotten it off his chest. Confessions are worth their weight in gold when it comes to guilt; I found that out the hard way.  

            And just to prove how much his confession meant, I put an extra sentence at the end of the letter.

            It wasn't your fault.

            That same day I went to my boss and begged him to let me drop these stories. I told him that I had caused a lot of problems, but I didn't tell him exactly what happened. He would say that I was losing the 'reporter objectiveness' in me by taking these boys to heart.

            And of course, he wouldn't let me drop the assignment. He told me to find a way around the problems and continue on.

            And a whole new dilemma was born. Could I do the same thing to another newsie that I had done to Skittery?

                                                                                                                                                           

AN: Wow, that was a long, hard chapter to write. Really long. Really hard. Wow. Well…all I can say right now…is read, review, and input!