AN: Okay, time for the scariness to start! And remember, every time I write a story, I promise no permanent damage to our boys, and this one isn't any different. I always keep my promises. So all you people out there worried about your favorite newsie…I always fix things! Don't fall over in a dead faint!

Read and review for chapter 2! (Hey, that rhymes!)

                                                                                                                                                           

Mush

            "Hey, Jack. You almost finished sellin'?"

            "Yeah. The headlines stink. I don't think I'm gonna sell no more. How'd ya sell all yours so fast?"

            "It's just actin'. I got da skills and you don't."

            "Yeah, whatever. You wish. Let's get to Tibby's."

            I walked alongside him silently as he sulked about the bad selling. The truth was, I had gotten frustrated and dumped the rest of mine in a dumpster. I wasn't about to tell him that, though. He was already egotistical enough as it was, and he didn't need a boost from me.

            We were taking the shortcut when it happened. We were jumped out of nowhere, and before I knew it I was fighting for my life. These guys were huge- had to be at least twice my size- and they were carrying all sorts of weapons.

            Then I noticed something that made my stomach flip. They weren't attacking Jack. They were ignoring him, rather.

            They were here for me.

            Jack tried to get them away from me, but soon one of them had me by the arms and the other by the legs.

            "Jack! Go get help!" I screamed, trying to kick my way out of the man's grip but not having any luck. "Ya can't fight 'em alone!"

            He started to object, but quickly saw that I was right. He took off around the corner, since Tibby's was only just a block or so away. I struggled as hard as I could, but before I knew it they were tying me up. My wrists were soon bound behind my back and my ankles were tied together, and I had no chance of escape. I tried screaming for help, but that only resulted in me getting gagged.

            They carried me into a nearby building, then up about eleven flights of stairs, and out onto the roof. They dragged me to the edge, overlooking an empty alley.

            "Ever thought you could fly, kid?" One of them asked, his hoarse voice sending chills down my spine. He unsheathed a knife, dragging it down my cheek but not hard enough to break the skin. I tried to pull away from the cool metal, and he grabbed me by the hair, painfully dragging his nails across my head as he did so. "You's as pretty as a dove. I bet you could fly. Why don't we let you try?"

            The other bum grabbed my ankles as the first thug went for my arms, and suddenly I realized that they were actually going to do it. They were actually going to throw me off from eleven stories high. This couldn't be happening!

            They began swinging me back and forth, and then began a countdown.

            "3…2…1…"

            By this time I was sobbing, as much as possible with a gag in my mouth. And they did let go, but…on the back swing. I landed and rolled on the rough concrete, my cry of pain muffled. The two men burst out laughing, and I was pulled to my feet again.

            "Did you really think we was gonna throw ya off? No…we's gonna have some fun first."

            Suddenly he punched me in the face- hard. I would've been on the ground, had it not been for his partner, who was holding me up. I could taste the blood in my mouth, and I could still feel the panic rising in me. Were they gonna kill me?

            I don't remember how long he beat me. By the third punch I could barely feel the pain. It was as if my mind had disconnected from my body, disconnected from the sharp pains and the dull, throbbing headache that had formed. I could see blood splattered all over the ground around me. Was it mine? Had to be. I wasn't exactly fighting back.

            You know how I said my mind was disconnected? Well, that changed in an instant when he let me fall back onto the ground, then kneeled beside me and began using his knife to pop the buttons off my shirt, one by one as he laughed. A whole new wave of resistance rose in me, and with what little strength I had, I began fighting back again.

            "Oh, so you ain't dead? Still got some fight in ya?" he said, opening my shirt and running a coarse, bloody hand down my bruised chest. Then, he took his knife and put it at my right shoulder, dragging it across my chest and leaving a thin, bloody trail all the way to my left side. Then he started at my left shoulder, doing the same until he had formed a huge 'X' across my chest in blood. I whimpered at the pain, and closed my eyes, hoping this was nothing but a nightmare. But his voice brought me back to reality as he tucked the blade into the top of my pants and stood up.

            "That's my claim on you. That 'X' is always gonna be there, so you don't forget either. I'll see ya later…or I'll see one of your friends later…"

            He motioned to his fellow thug, and they left. Just like that. They left me sobbing, bruised, beaten, and bloodied on the rooftop of a building. At least it's July and you won't freeze to death, I thought, the optimism in me coming out once more.

            I struggled with the ropes at first, but not for long. It was futile. I would starve up here, or worse, the heat of the sun would kill me. It was already burning my arms, which were pressed onto the sun-heated concrete. Maybe freezing wouldn't have been so bad.

            I gave up. I couldn't think of anything else to do. I stopped struggling and just lay there, still whimpering at the pain, trying to ignore the pool of blood forming around me, and ready for death to come and take me. Or at least waiting to pass out, neither of which happened. Figures.

            "MUSH!"

            Blink? It couldn't be! I forced my eyes open just as I felt fingers struggling with the gag. It was Kid Blink alright, his face filled with concern and fury. As he took the gag out of my mouth, I got a good look at it.

            It was soaked with blood. I'd been coughing up blood this whole time and hadn't even realized it.

            "I'm sorry, Mush…Oh, God, I'm sorry…" he said as he worked at untying my ankles.

            "It..ain't your fault, Kid…" I whispered, scared at how my own voice sounded.

            "I shoulda been there for you. I nevah woulda let them near you." He insisted, carefully sliding the knife out of my pants, afraid of hurting me further.

            "I…just…"

            "I'm gonna untie your hands. Can ya sit up?"

            "I don't know."

            "I'll help ya."

            He gently reached my shoulders, supporting me as I tried- and failed- to move into a sitting up position. I was screaming with pain as he pulled up a barrel to prop me against, and he was mumbling apologies the whole time. I heard him gasp and then curse when he pulled the rope off my wrists- I could already feel the blood dripping down my fingers and onto the cement. He ripped two strips of fabric off his shirt and tied them around my wrists to try and stop the bleeding.

            "I'm gonna carry you back to da lodging house. You ain't in no shape ta be walkin'." He insisted, and though I protested at first, I knew he was right. He picked me up, trying to avoid spots that were especially sensitive, and began working his way down the stairs, cringing every time I took in a sharp breath or moaned at the pain. Once we were back on the street we found Itey and Specs, and we sent Itey to tell the others that Mush had been found and sent Specs running ahead to warn Kloppman. I wasn't exactly an easy burden for Blink to bear that far even though I was very underweight, and I reached up and locked my arms around his neck, holding on no matter how bad the pain got. There were a few times I thought I would black out, and only Blink's makeshift conversation kept me from doing so.

            I borrowed Racetrack's bunk for now since Blink couldn't lift me onto my own bunk, which was up higher. And though I'd always complained about how uncomfortable the beds were, it now seemed like a blessing.

            But the pain? That was like torture. I felt like someone had lit a fire in every limb of my body and kept throwing wood on it to keep it burning. I couldn't even keep down bread and soup. Blink sat by my bed and gave me a sip of water whenever I wanted it, but I couldn't handle anything more. Not to mention he had to change the bandages on my wrist and chest every hour or so. Kloppman was worried about 'internal bleeding', but there wasn't anything we could do about that without calling a doctor. And none of us had the money for that.

            That night, when everyone got back, Jack called a 'bunkroom meeting'. He was worried that those guys would go after another newsie, like they'd threatened me. So he made ground rules; no newsie sells alone (including Racetrack, who sulked about that point, but felt better when Skittery offered to go sell at Sheepshead with him) and alley shortcuts were off limits. They were to stay on the main streets no matter what. It would be harder to jump a newsie when we were in the middle of a busy street.

            The question was briefly brought up as to why they had gone after me specifically and not Jack. But nobody had the answer, and when us newsies don't have the answer to something, we get frustrated and tend to want to ignore it. I had the feeling that would end up being a big mistake, but I let it drop.

            And all the newsies chipped in what they could for Blink and me. Me, because of the obvious reasons that I couldn't be selling, and Blink because he insisted on staying in with me until I was in better condition to take care of myself. The stupid bum, I thought. He'll probably lose ten pounds watchin' me like dis and not sellin'.

            But that's what friends are for, I guess.

                                                                                                                                                           

AN: Poor Mush! * Hugs her imaginary Mush * Blink will take care of him. I promise. Time to move on to our next newsie victim…sniff…and more clues!