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.
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A/N: Some of you might have taken note that in my previous chapters, there have been various little snippets of things that are similar to poems or incomplete thoughts. The writing below the chapter title is a fine example, the little bit about the vision and burning and such. Every one of those bits is parts of a poem I wrote in grade school. So it is mine, DON'T TAKE IT YOU MEANY WEANY! Not that you would want to take it… so with that out, I shall continue this chapter without further ado.
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Warning: PG-13 (as always) for heavier language (How can language have a weight?) no real bad words, I just think I used a lot of them in this chapter and, stuff about suicide and all of that other good stuff. If you don't think you can handle this, go read something else. As for my more 'mature audiences' read on, by all means, read on, and don't forget to review!
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Chapter 4: Attained Confessional
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//I have a vision of you
It's burned upon my mind
You're dancing in the shadows
You're silhouettes defined…//
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If you walked down the streets of Brooklyn on this particularly cold February day, you would be seeing some of the following. A strange sight to your eyes no doubt, a girl dressed as though she were a boy. Her long hair tied back and covered with a cap, the coat she wares does little more than provide for her shabby appearance. Your own skirts are getting dirtied in the sludge and muck that is laying about the streets, terrible weather you've been having, but it is still late February. You are offended by the girl's outlandish attempts to fit into a man's world.
Shielding your own young daughter's eyes away from this disgrace, you hurry on to complete your errands. She isn't the only newsgirl you've seen before, but every one of them disgusts you. A woman's place is at her home with her family, not on the streets like a common whore. Hopefully your daughter will never have to come to this.
You dare not think what terrible twist of fate had been dealt this girl in the devil's game of cards. No, no, that would be too close to caring, that might actually have to bend you mind. The rules were set plain and clear a long time ago. Girl's didn't hold jobs as newsies, it wasn't supposed to be done, it shouldn't be done! If a girl was to work, she should work in the kitchen of a factory, sew clothing for the wealthy, take care of children, serve, or teach if you had enough education. Working on the streets was a degrading, filthy work. It was reserved for the streetwalkers, the woman who shamelessly sold their bodies for money. Your own mother had told you that, and your mother knows best. Shuddering, you push the girl out of your thoughts, judging her before you even give her a second glance, praying under your breath that God will spare your children her fate.
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Damn, Frost thought, as she watched a woman across the street. She had a little girl with her, with large innocent eyes staring straight at her. It wasn't her eyes that captured her attention though, it was the food the girl was eating. Bread, it looked like fresh bread too. Frost's mouth watered. Last night's poker game had cleaned her out and she already owed Ghost money for the papers she had bought today.
At least she had eaten that night with Spot before she promptly went back and lost what had remained of her money. The temptation to steal was strong, but she couldn't do it now, not while she was still selling. If she had been in a different circumstance with another place in New York to go, she wouldn't hesitate, but Brooklyn was her last hope. If she got lucky she might be able to earn enough money for a ticket out of this town. Until then, she was stuck playing by the rules.
Nevah know when one a Spot's lil' boidies will decide ta show up, she rolled her eyes at the mention of the spies.
Almost every self-respecting newsie had heard of Spot Conlon's spies, but a very select few knew who they were. There were the runners, who doubled as basic informants, but rumor had it that Spot had spies even outside of the newsie circle. Boys so highly above suspicion that they could move freely about New York, never detected by any of the boroughs. It would be just Frost's luck to get caught by one of those very spies. Grumbling under her breath, she tightened the rope belt around her waist to silence it's protests of hunger and began to yell out the headlines when a glint of gold caught her eye.
Shit, he is done an' I'se still got fifty papes left, she cursed him. Damn ya Spot Conlon, maybe someday she would have enough liberty to say it to his face. That thought alone made this meeting bearable.
"I'se woykin', go away," she used the same line she had used several times before to get him to leave. It never worked.
"I'se got business wit'choo," he stated frankly, planting his cane firmly in the sludge at his feet and resting both hands on it. Looking ever inch a gentleman as boy in rags could.
"Well I'se ain't got none wit'choo, will ya go away now? I'se gotta sell dese papes," She raised her voice to hawk the headline. A single man came over and bought a paper, Spot stood and waited for the transaction to finish.
"Yous got it all wrong," he told her smugly.
"Whot do ya mean?" She caught a man's eye and he came over and bought a paper, Spot waited.
"Youah style," Spot elaborated, but she still looked confused. "Da way ya sell youah papes, heah, lemme show yous," he walked to her and grabbed on of her papers before she could protest. "Extrie! Extrie! Read all 'bout it!" He called out, lifting the paper over his head and waving it methodically. "Tax increase causin' hundreds outta dere homes! Mayoah approves!" At that headline, four men and two women came over and purchased a paper. "An' dats 'ow ya sell a pape," Spot said confidently.
"Whot did yous do differ'nt dan me?" Frost asked agitated.
"I got a headline dat suit evahy one," He answered simply. "See, dese heah peoples ah poah, dey don' wanna lose dere jobs oah dere homes, dese woyie all day 'bout it. When ya tell dem dat dey might lose somet'ing dat means somet'ing to 'em, like dere house, dey wanna know 'bout it cause it's 'bout dem," He explained as clearly as possible.
"Den whot 'bout da paht wit' da mayoah?" Frost was still skeptic.
"Dat gives dem someone ta hate, people ah always lookin' foah someone ta blame foah dere problems," Spot spoke knowingly.
"An' wheah did yous get dat headline from?" Frost thumbed through the pages, I didn't see nuttin 'bout it no whereas," she complained.
"Page foah," Spot rocked on his feet from his toes to his heels, hands clasped behind his back, humming under his breath.
"City Officials propose budget increase?" Frost asked cynically, and Spot hummed a yes. "Whot does dat havta do wit' taxes?"
"If da people up dere in City Hall wanna budget increase, dats means dere goin' ta needs moah money, an' dey gets da money from taxes," Spot pointed out.
"Wit' dat kinda headline, yous gotta explain it to a lot o' people," She shifted the papers in her arms.
"Nope," Spot shook his head.
"Why not?"
"I'se don' havta tell yous nuttin," Spot turned to look at her, and was pleased to see the complete look of frustration.
"Yous don' havta, but yous bettah oah else I'se gunna soak yous!" She sounded mad.
"Nope," he continued humming.
"Fine then," She growled. "I'se just gunna havta teach you da hahd way," she pulled back her fist to strike him but he shook his finger at her.
"No," he spoke in an oddly patronizing tone that did nothing but annoy her.
"No?" She echoed.
"No," he reinstated. "I don' havta tell yous nuttin, but Is'll make yous a deal," he offered. "Yous ansah my question when I wants ya to, an' Is'll teach yous how ta sell all dese papes fastah," he bargained, and her eyes narrowed.
"I don' need yous," she scowled. "I'se sold dis many papes foah yeahs an' I ain't nevah had no teachah ta helps me!"
"Fine," Spot started walking away. "Is'll see ya in a few houahs," his laugh rang in her ears as he melted into the crowds.
Burning inside with rage, but not showing it on the outside, Frost began to sell her papers again, not having near the success of Spot. Damn ya Spot Conlon, She repeated the mantra over and over again in her head. Damn ya.
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//As memories escape me,
As if floating from a dream,
I learned that maybe some things
Are not always as they seem…//
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Bright and early the next day, Spot woke up in a warm bed and tried to remember where he was. Looking around at the dozen of other sleeping figures, he stood and looked around. It wasn't until he saw Pike on the bunk above him that he remembered the night before. He was a newsie now!
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the dark haired boy padded silently around the room, investigating each boy as he slept. So many different ages and features for such a place to hold. All of them relaxed in sleep, some of them were Spot's age, and others were older Like Pike. Immediately though, Spot took a liking to a small boy with shaggy blonde hair who looked like he was the youngest one in the group. The boy was sucking his thumb and fidgeting restlessly in his sleep. A single tear ran from the corner of the boy's eye and Spot felt a twinge of compassion. Reaching out a small hand, Spot gently shook the boys shoulder.
"Hey yous," he whispered, trying to wake the boy. "Yous cryin' in youah sleep," he told the now barely awakened boy.
For a moment, the strange new boy lay there groggily trying to make sense out of what was happening, then propped himself up on his elbows. Shaking his head as if to clear the fog, he brushed his blonde locks out of his eyes. Sitting up fully he looked at Spot with his deep gray eyes.
"Who's you?" He asked.
"I'se Spot, who's you?" The juvenile asked.
"I'se Outsidah," The blonde boy introduced himself. "Why'd ya wakes me up?"
"Yous weah cryin' in youah sleep," Spot explained with a child's simplicity. "I'se waked up an' see'd dat I'se done it too," Spot sympathized.
"Yous da new boy wit' Pike, aren'tcha?" Outsider scratched his head.
"Yeah, dats me," Spot said proudly and climbed into the bed with Outsider, sitting across the boy on the covers. Outsider said nothing to the intrusion of space, but curled his legs underneath himself, making room for his new friend.
"Yous the lucky one den," Outsider's narrowly set eyes widened.
"Why's dat?" Spot asked.
"Cause evahy one knows dat Pike Conlon's da best newsie evah!" Outsider exclaimed as loudly as he could without disturbing the other boys. "An' if yous goin' ta loin from 'im, yous goin' ta loin ta be da best!"
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For Frost, Spot's prediction had been terribly accurate. Nearly two hours after the time he had left her on the streets, she walked through the doors of the lodging house, soaked to the bone. It had started to sleet outside, not the soft gentle snowflakes, but the pelting ice storm that stung her skin through the material of her clothes. Underneath a small awning, she had been able to find some shelter and sell the remaining undamaged papers she had, but she had barely made enough to repay Ghost and pay for board.
Probably the worst thing about it had been the satisfied look on Spot's face. The cold she could bear, the sleet she could bear, any kind of weather that was thrown at her, she could bear. The rude people, the terrible hours, and the awful pay, she could bear. It was that insolent, all-knowing, cocky, stubborn, prideful, overly-confidant, and attractively repulsive smirk that pushed her over the ledge.
Stripping off her sopping outer layers, she lay them with the other ones on the floor by the stove. Maybe by the next day they would be some semblance of dry. Taking the only other pair of clothes she owned, she slipped into the bathroom. True these clothes were nowhere as warm as her other pair, but these would be warmer than the soaking things she was in now.
Slipping into the bathroom, she stepped behind the wall that blocked off the place for people to relieve themselves and stripped off her shirt and buttoned down the top part of her long under ware. Slipping the shirt over her head, she shivered. Peeling off the rest of her lower garments, she quickly pulled the only skirt she owned over her bare legs. Feeling terribly under clothed, she moved to take a quick look in the mirror.
Least ya can't see through da shoyt, she tried to think of something positive. Unbraiding her wet hair, she yanked a brush through it, tearing out the tangles instead of working them out. Her patience was too thin to spend such time on such a menial task. Once a surface brush had been accomplished, she took the pile of sopping clothes and began wringing out whatever water she could into a large wash basin.
After she was satisfied with what she had done, she went to the stove that kept the upper bunkroom warm, waded through the piles of wet coats, and began to dry her clothes. Standing very close to the source of heat, she held up her long under ware first, needing it more than any of her other clothes. Drying it was a slow and bothersome process, and she knew that none of the others were going to bother with it, but she needed these clothes and she needed them dry.
None of those other lazy bastards had stood out in the sleet selling their last papers. None of them even tried to sell over a hundred if they even bothered with that many. The lazy slobs, if they kept acting like that they wouldn't get anywhere in life. Of course they were all street rats, there weren't many places you could go after you got too old to sell papes.
"So ya get sick o' sellin' papes? Oah did ya sell dem all?" She didn't even need to turn around to know whom she was talking to.
"I'se sold dem all," She partially lied, yes she sold as she could have, but five papers were so damaged by the weather she couldn't have given them away.
"How long did it take ya?" Spot continued. "One houahs, two?" she heard him strike a match on the bottom of his shoe and imagined him to be lighting a cigarette.
"Long enough," She snapped.
"Ya coulda sold dem all in undah an houah if yous just let me help ya," Spot reminded. "But dats yous choice," his voice was full of teasing. "Sometimes peoples just nevah wanna give, de's too stubbahn ta see dat da oder way's bettah dan dere way," she knew exactly to what he was referring to. "But it's dere choice," she heard him start to turn and walk away.
"Wait," she stopped him. "I'se got somet'ing ta say ta yous," the anger inside of her was almost too much to control, if she turned around to see that smirk… well….
She turned, but it wasn't a smirk. It wasn't even a sarcastic or ironic, it was just a simple plain look of curiosity that caught her completely off guard. His large finely colored eyes robbed her of her senses for a few moments and it took a few seconds to remember her thought.
Damn ya Spot Conlon, She coached herself. Just say it, She tried to get the words to come out, but her anger had been doused and her flare of temper had cooled.
"Nevah mind," she muttered, turning back to her drying. The laughter across the room was enough to tell her that there was a poker match going on over there. A poker-match that she didn't have the money to take part in.
An' even if I did, I'se wouldn't, She told herself. Dis heah dryin' is lot moah impoahtant dan some dumb ol' game, She reasoned. When de's all cold tamarra, I'se goin' ta be dry, She gloated temporarily until she heard the laughter again. Above all the rest was Spot's voice, the rare and glorious sound of his unadulterated happiness was an odd by wonderful thing to hear. Blocking out the noise from the room, Frost tried to focus on her plans for the days ahead. Damn ya Spot Conlon.
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//The strangeness of this moment,
Is one the night will keep,
For surely this one instant,
Will come to me in sleep…//
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Shooting bolt upright in bed, Spot gripped the edge of his covers. His heavy panting the only sound in his ears as he fought through the panic and fear to realities temporary relief. The dreams had taken him back to the refuge, the time when he had been sick. An infected or two had caused his body to be wrought with fever, making him delirious and unaware of what was really going on. All that was clear from that time was the intense pain and heat that had swept over his body.
Bullets of sweat clung to his skin and he wiped them away as he pushed off his blankets. Silently as he could, he got dressed and pulled on his winter accessories. The knowledge of the hour unknown, Spot headed out the door. The urge was back and the bridge was waiting.
Strolling out into the late night air, the winter wind whipped at his back. The cold around him was a tangible thing as he stomped into the deserted streets. The sleet had stopped, but it had made an icy sheet over the streets and sideways of Brooklyn, making so that the Brooklyn leader had to take more care with his step that he liked.
Damn snow, he thought bitterly. Damn ice, he continued with his list. Damn wintah, damn cold, damn da weathah, damn fro-, he cut off in mid-thought. Damn Frost? The double meaning of the word made Spot think. Thinking about a girl was always a dangerous thing to do. Because the more he thought about them, the higher chance he had of actually caring about them, and caring for people was dangerous.
It was true that this girl was infuriating, agitating, annoying, sarcastic, and a master at trading sugar coated hostilities, but there was something about her that grasped Spot. Maybe it was that he could see himself reflected so much in her. The pain and the betrayal that obviously ran deep inside of her, the pain that she kept hidden behind the frosty exterior and the fake smiles. Spot had seen enough of people like these to know that they were all hiding something, all running from something, all scare of something, and they would do anything to keep that something a secret.
Too bad foah her, he mused. Goils always tell, He chuckled under his breath. It was too bad that he may never hear her confession, as he head got closer to the bridge, the urge increased as the dream returned. The dream didn't come alone this time, all of his memories assaulted him. Every single time he had ever lost someone, every time he had ever been hurt or had a promise made only to be broken. Every single one of these scenes played in his mind.
Digging into the pocket of his coat, he searched for a cigarette. Fumbling with the stick of nicotine, he struggled to light a match on the brick wall of an unknown building. The satisfaction of addiction did little to calm his shaking hands, or his stretched nerves. The tense muscles in his back only tightened further as he trudged onward till the bridge.
This time when he made it far enough onto the bridge, he didn't pause to wait and think about the situation. Tossing his cigarette into a snow bank, he hoisted himself up onto the edge. Standing, he looked down at the darkness below him. One little step, that was all it would take. Looking up, he saw that the sky wasn't completely covered by clouds like they had been. Patches of open sky let the tiny stars shine down on him.
The expanse of the sky was massive, the bridge he stood on was massive, everything around him was terribly huge, and he was so small. He was nothing more than a small little scared boy standing on the edge of something much too deep. Looking down at the possible future that awaited him he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
"Ya ain't got da guts ta jump," The sound of another voice almost startled Spot off the bridge.
"Nevah said I'se gunna," Spot repeated a very familiar conversation.
"Den why's ya up dere? Da view bettah oah somet'ing?" Frost asked sarcastically.
"Yeah," Spot went along with it. "I'se can see evahy t'ing from up heah," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Dat's why yous have yous eyes closed?" Frost taunted in a good nature.
"Yeah," Spot kept his eyes closed and his head facing straight ahead. "If I sees too much o' evahy t'ing, I gets dizzy, den Is'll fall offa dis heah bridge," he explained in a very patronizing tone.
"So yous goin' ta come down offa dat bridge now, or do I'se havta pull ya down?" For that snide comment, Frost got Spot to swivel his head around to glare down at her. "Bettah be cahahful," she instructed. "Yous don' wanna get too dizzy," the pure sarcasm of her tone was more annoying than amusing.
"I don' gotta do not'in yous tell me ta do, woman," Spot answered sharply.
"Yes ya do cause ya know I'se right," Frost countered.
"How do yous know dat yous right?" Spot continued to look down at her.
"Cause I'se a goil an' goils ah always right," she put her hands on her hips. "Now get youah ass down heah, yous gotta teach me how ta sell papes fastah tamarra," she enjoyed watching the temporary look of shock on his face.
"Did yous follow me out heah?" He asked once he had jumped down from the edge.
"Yeah, you makes 'bout as much noise as one o' doe's new-fangled automobiles," she leaned back against one of the pillars. "An' I was boahd," she shrugged, folding her arms over her chest.
"I'se quiet when I gots outta dere," Spot protested.
"No yous weah loud," Frost informed. "Don' know why yous wanna come out heah alone dough," She pried slightly. "Da only ones dat do dat ah da ones dat ah goin' ta jump."
"An' you knows all 'bout dis?" He sounded skeptical, his defensive anger rising at her claim.
"I knows a lil'," She turned and looked up at the sky, resting her hands on the edge of the bridge. "I knows dat I'd wanna be alone if I'se was goin' ta jump."
"Who said I'se goin' ta jump?" Spot already knew that was a dumb question.
"Da view ain't any bettah up dere dan it is down heah," she looked back at him, giving him a look that said you-already-know-this.
"So yous want me ta teach ya how ta sell papes, huh?" he changed subjects, moving to stand beside her.
"Yeah, I guess so," she shrugged. "I needs da money, so I needs ta sell moah papes," she didn't tell him about how great her loss at the poker game had been.
"I ain't goin' ta teach ya till ya ansah my question," Spot told her bluntly.
"I knows dat," she sounded sure of herself. "Who was it again?" She knew very well what it was, but she was hoping that he would have changed it.
"Will yous tell me 'bout youah entire time heah in New Yawk?" Spot repeated the question.
"Wheah da ya want me ta staht?" Frost stalled.
"Da foist paht," he instructed.
"A'ight," she gathered her thoughts. "I'se been in New Yawk foah 'bout t'ree yeahs," she thought back. "I'se lived in evahy borough an' sold in evah terrahtory," she informed. "Harlem, Queens, I'se even been on Stanton," she ticked off the places on her fingers. "An' dats my histahy," She summed up.
"Dat don' ansah my question," Spot frowned.
"Yeah it does," she replied.
"I wants moah dan dat," he ordered. "Tell me 'bout whot happened in all da places," he demanded.
"I don' havta do not'in dat you says," Frost stepped back and faced him.
"I'se Brooklyn," Spot faced off with her. "An' whot evah I says goes," he stepped very close to her, the anger in his voice almost tangible.
"Fine," she knew that she had shorted him on her side of the bargain. "Aftah you teach me ta sell papes," she looked up into his eyes; their noses were almost touching. "Is'll tell ya whot yous want," she licked her lips and Spot's eyes narrowed.
"Will ya tell me when I wants ta know?" He tested, remembering his past bargaining mistake.
"Yeah," she answered almost too flippantly for Spot, and a small alarm bell went off in the back on his head.
"Shake on it," he held out his gloved hand, not wanting to spit on the glove. Looking down briefly, Frost clamped his hand in a firm grip before stepping back.
"I'se good to my woyd," she vowed, letting go of his hand.
"Wes'll see," Spot answered skeptically. Without another word, the two walked back to the lodging house, both lost in their own thoughts.
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"Whot's da foist t'ing we'se do?" The excited Spot asked the amused Pike.
"Foist we'se get da papes from da Distahbution Office," Explained Pike. "Den we'se sell dem."
"How do we'se do dat?" Spot pumped out the questions.
"Is'll show yous when we gets da papes," Pike answered. "When we gets the papes," he repeated, as was his custom.
Spot watched as the group of boys and girls parted the way for his tall friend, apparently some of Outsider's words were true. They all let Pike go first, and Spot shadowed his every move. Already the small boy idolized this tall mysterious boy.
"One-fifty," Spot heard his idol speak and a stack of papers was shoved out from under the iron bars. The counter was taller than he was and he couldn't see who pushed them out, but whoever it was didn't seem very friendly. "Let's go," Pike hoisted all of the papers onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm firmly around them.
"Ah we'se goin' ta sell da papes now?" Spot asked eagerly.
"We'se goin' ta carry da bannah!" Pike exclaimed.
"Carryin' da bannah!" Spot cried out in his childlike excitement and Pike laughed.
"Dat's right boy," he chuckled. "We'se goin' ta make shuah dat all dese people gets dere pape," he motioned to the street where the early morning pedestrians already bustled around. "An' ya know how we'se do dat?" he posed the question to his young pupil.
"How?" Spot was ready to soak up any information that his teacher could impart upon his young mind.
"We'se tell 'em whot we'se got!" Pike exclaimed with his unusually merry manner, and then began to call the headlines. Spot watched all of this with awe.
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//For words can be a hallow thing,
With no meaning in their sound
And lies can weave a tangled web
That we'll never get around…//
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"I knows dat a'eady!" Frost complained, exasperated with the rudimentary education that Spot was giving her.
"You t'ink yous knows it, but I'se goin' ta make it so dat yous'll nevah forget it," he promised, and continued. "Yous not lookin' foah headlines, yous lookin' foah whot a headline can be," Spot explained, and Frost rolled her eyes. "Take dis one foah example, some rich family's kid ran away," he pointed to one of the features inside the paper. "Nobody wants ta read 'bout some rich poyson's kid runnin' off when de's lookin' foah dere own," Spot was very expressive, and it was the only thing that kept Frost from yelling at him to shut up. "So ya take it an' make it look like da kid ran off cause da parents were bad."
"Somet'ing like, Edwahd's family heir missin', muhdah suspected!" She pretended to be calling the headline.
"Good, but not good enough," Spot told her. "But we'se wanna know who's suspected," he scanned the article. "Ah ha! Says heah dat dis brat's got an oldah sistah, but since he's da only boy, he gets da cash," Frost could see Spot's mind at work.
"So we'se say dat 'is sistah killed him?" Frost prompted.
"Right," Spot smiled. "You'se a fast loinah," he cracked a wry grin.
"Not hahd ta loin somet'ing ya a'eady knows," she grumbled, but Spot ignored the comment.
"A'ight, lets look at anoddah one," Spot picked out story after story until Frost was ready to pull out her hair, and then kill him.
"Spot, it's almost noon," she complained. "If we'se don' staht sellin' dese papes, we'se gunna have a helluva lotta fuel foah da lodging house stoves," she referred to the two hundred papes they had bought together.
"I guess we'se done enough o' dis," he looked at the paper in his hand and then folded it back up carefully. "Let's go doll."
Out on the street, they started to sell. Spot on one corner, Frost on the other, each with one hundred papers. One thing Spot hadn't told her was that this was a test, and that he hadn't given her all of the answers. When Spot was done with his papers, it was nearing three, and Frost still had twenty to thirty left.
"Ya ever thought o' trying to sell youah papes poyson ta poyson?" Spot proposed, and Frost looked at him.
"Ya mean go up an' jus' talk ta dem?" Frost gave him a looked that told him that she thought she was crazy.
"Yeah, like dis," he grabbed on of Frost's papers and didn't give her a chance to complain. Walking over to a middle-aged man, he struck up a conversation with him and soon walked away with a broad smile on his face. "Jus' like dat, if ya pick da right poyson, it's poity easy ta sell it," he informed.
"An' I suppose yous an expoyt in pickin' da right poyson?" Frost let out a deep sigh and put her free hand on her hip.
"Yes miss," He answered with a wide grin. "Jus' so happens dat I'se an expoyt."
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//The world will turn as days go by
It leaves us with a single choice
To go along or stay behind
No matter what complaint we voice…//
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The first day of selling papes was long, but enjoyable for the young Spot. He had to curb his habit from reaching into people's pockets as Pike told him sternly that no newsie picked on the job. The solemnity of the boy who was normally so merry captured Spot's attention. Burning the warning soundly in his mind.
"I needs ta get my stuff," Spot told Pike as they headed back towards the lodging house.
"Whot stuff?" Pike asked, curious.
"My stuff," Spot headed off in the direction of where his crate was located. The clothes, his treasure, and the things he felt that were of value from his house all laid in the wooden box.
"Wait," Pike tried to follow the boy who was dodging through the crowds with great ease. With much effort, he managed to keep up with the spry small boy who could cut between people much easier than his lanky companion could.
"It's in heah," Spot pointed into an alley where the medium sized crate lay. Pike spied it and say also that one of the corners backed against the wall had a gaping hole in it. It was through that hole that the little urchin crawled into his past living space. Before the dark head was seen again, a little bundle popped out of the hole, then the downy dark brown hair, then the tiny body.
"I gots it," he sounded triumphant.
"Good job," Pike enthused. "But it's gettin' dahk, we'se should held back," he picked up the boys pack of things and they headed back to their home together.
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It was dark by the time Spot and Frost returned to the lodging house. They had sold all of their papers and Frost had never been so agitated. The way he had treated her all day rivaled the way someone would talk to a little puppy dog. It was like he didn't think she could understand anything. The clear winter day had been cold and miserable for Frost and she griped mentally about the great injustices that had been serviced that day.
Though her bruises from the assault from the Pullvines had faded and disappeared, she was still sore in certain places. Her back ached more than anything else on her body did. The terrible memory of how she was slammed against the walls, the alley's cold ground, the kicks and the punches, just the thoughts made her pain real again. In reality it was the cold that inflicted her misery.
Every muscle in her body ached from the constant cold. Lying down on her lower bunk, she closed her eyes, oblivious to everything else in the room. She hurt everywhere, and not just on the physical senses. Maybe coming to Brooklyn was a mistake, it was opening too many old wounds not quite healed.
Get youah hands offa me! Her own request sounded feeble in her memory. Not dis time Spectah, yous wheah I wants ya an' I'se getting' whot I'se came foah, The sinister reminders crept into her conscious. So lost in her thoughts of disturbing thoughts, she had forgotten her whereabouts completely. When a hand touched her shoulder, she jerked upward, her fist automatically launching out into the air before her eyes opened, trying to fend off an imagined attacker.
The first came in contact with flesh, and she snapped her eyes open to see that she was in the lodging house bunkroom, not the alleyways of New York. The hand on her shoulder had been one to catch her attention, not to catch her. Her fist had not come in contact with the body of an attacker, but with the nose of a boy. A very specific boy had met her fist, a boy that she knew as Spot Conlon.
"Shit," she muttered, moving towards him as he clutched her nose.
"I t'ink yous broke my nose," he growled under his breath as he clutched his bleeding nose in hand.
"Shit," Frost said louder. "I'se so sorry," She apologized, for as good as it felt to know she had hurt him, it felt terrible an equal amount. The blow hadn't been a fair one and she knew it. "Ghost, go gets him a cold, wet rag," she ordered.
It was as though the whole bunkroom had come to a terrible halt. Games of jacks, marbles, and poker had stopped in mid-play as their leader stood hunched over with the new girl trying to look at the injury. No one was really sure what had happened except the select few that had been watching.
"Sit down Spot," Frost directed him to her bunk and had him sit on the edge, tilting his head back.
"Damn," she heard him mutter under his breath. "You broke my damn nose, woman," he complained.
"I didn' break no ones nose," she took the rag from Ghost when he arrived back from the wash room. "Hold still," she ordered. "An' take youah hands down," he did as he was told and she firmly pressed the rag to his bloodied face.
"Ow!" he exclaimed and pulled back, drops of blood dripping onto his clothes and her bed sheets.
"Hold still ya baby," she grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, putting the rag back in place.
"Damn ya," he muttered and she smiled, letting go of his hair.
"Yous need ta lie down, maybe dat will stop da bleedin," she suggested and they carefully maneuvered him so that his head was on her lap, her forceful hand still applying pressure to the bleeding nose.
Everyone in the bunkroom pretended that they were interested in their games and conversations again, but they had a hard time with the strange new girl talking to their leader. They also had a hard time believing that Spot hadn't retaliated. It was true that the boy didn't like to hit girls without a good reason, but getting his nose broken by some random ingrate seemed unfathomable.
"Yous doin' a'ight?" Frost asked gently.
"Yea," Spot scowled. "I'se fine," his voice sounded stuff since he couldn't breath through his nose.
"I'se t'ink dat it's stopped bleedin'," Frost informed. "I'se goin' ta see," she pulled the rag off of his nose and sure enough, the blood had finally stopped flowing. Gently, she wiped the drying reddish brown substance off of his face. "Theah," she seemed satisfied. "Does it hoyt much?"
"Yeah," Spot answered honestly. "Damn yous gotta be cahahful who yous punch," he gingerly touched his afflicted face as she laughed softly.
"I'se sorry," she said genuinely.
"I ain't mad, yous didn' mean not'in by it," he dismissed, knowing the truth behind his words. Besides, what could he do, hit her back after she had taken care of him? He might have not been the smartest, well-mannered boy around, but he knew better than that.
"Why'd ya come ovah heah anyway?" Frost reverted to the possible situation before the accident.
"Oh yeah," he thought for a moment. "I'se goin' ta ask yous ta ansah my question," he remembered.
"Ya want me ta tell ya heah?" She raised her eyebrows, not enjoying the possibility of so many hearing her undisclosed past.
"Nah, I was goin' ta take ya some wheah else," he told her.
"Wheah?" She asked, curious.
"Da goil's room," his tone dropped so no one would hear their secret place.
"But dey keep dat place locked cause it ain't done yet," Frost hissed.
"Dey keep da hatch ta da roof lock too," Spot pointed out. "I'se picked plenty in me life," he told her matter-of-factly. "An dat door ain't goin' ta be no problem.
"Whot's da catch?" Frost sounded skeptical.
"Dere ain't no catch, unless we get caught," Frost rolled her eyes at the bad pun.
"Fine, let's go," she stood and started towards the door, but Spot caught her arm.
"Not now, ya want all dese peoples ta see us?" He growled and she saw his point. "Aftah dey goes ta sleep," he told her. "Den we'se can go."
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The bunkroom was silent except for the heavy breathing of the several people inside the room. Then there was the padding of a pair of feet and the slight metallic cling of an oil lamp being taken off of its hook. Then the padding noises again, as if someone was trying to be as quiet as possible, then the sound of a mattress squeaking in protest. The final noise in the bunkroom was the sound of more padding feet, the door clicking open, then shut.
If you followed the noise out into the hall, you would have heard the soft whispers of two voices, and then the striking of a match. The soft clink of glass being set down on the wooden floor was magnified in the silence of the night and a soft glow radiated from the tiny match end. Transferring the glow from the match to the lamp wick was a boy with dark hair, strange eyes, and a painfully swollen nose. His companion was a girl in her long under ware and what looked like her normal shirt thrown carelessly over it. In her hands there was a small pack that looked like a few small objects were stored inside.
She was the one that held the glass chimney and replaces it when the flame was lit and blazing steadily. Beckoning with his head, the boy started down the hall till they came to a door that wasn't too terribly far from the main bunkroom. Dropping to her knees silently, the girl took something that looked strangely like a large hairpin and began working in the lock.
A satisfactory click echoed in the hall and the duo entered the room, closing the door behind them. The room was unfinished with lumber, tools, and nails lying around in scattered piles. Resting the lamp on the ground, they took seat a seat on a spare sheet that was lying on the ground.
"I gets my ansah now?" Spot asked.
"Yes," Frost nodded. "I keeps my woyd," she frowned and searched for where to begin. Untying the knot that held together the small bundle on her lap, she unfolded the square of material to reveal the contents. A red bandana, a pair of unusual brass knuckles, a knife with a carved handle, necklace with a strange coin like pendant, and an embroidered handkerchief completed the collection.
"Whot is all dis?" Spot asked confused, fingering the different items with flickers of recognition.
"Da Cowgoil o' Manhattan, da Spectah o' Queens, da Ice o' Harlem, da Actress of da Bronx, an' da Duchess o' Stanton," she listed. "Ya evah hoyd o' dem?"
The edge in her voice brought complete disbelief to Spot's mind as he looked at the girl in the lamplight, then back at the things on her lap. "Shit," he muttered, and looked at her again. "Dis is goin' ta be one helluva story, ain't it?" He asked, and she only nodded.
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//And may the stars hold witness,
To all the things they've seen,
And the things they'll see tonight
As in the sky they gleam…//
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A/N: Good chapter, good chapter, sort of short, but I got to really keep you hanging on this one. -laughs maniacally- I bet you all really hates me now. -hides from all of the rotten fruit and knifes that are to be thrown at her- Be kind! I promise more! Umm… Sometime! But as all of you authors know, more reviews lead to more writing, faster. I make no promises to when the next installment will be, but I will try to keep them fairly regular. Here are a few notes to the lovely people who actually read AND reviewed my story. Golden Muse awards to all of them.
Kaylee: You want more huh? You want more? Well there is more, ha! And that is all you are getting for now. Don't you just hate me? Don't worry, more will come eventually…. Maybe… if I feel like finishing the story… -evil laugh-
Ireland O'Reily: See, I told ya that it is a good idea to read this one. Even though I am writing these stories so they can be read separately, it is best to read them together, or this one first. It all makes so much more sense. So you think that his name is Patrick, too? I dunno, I always thought he looked like a Patrick in the movie, so that is what his name is going to be! So there! Humph. I hope that this story is clearing things up for you in Blind Spot.
Skittles: Hey girl, I like to do shout outs! They are fun! And if you keep reviewing, you will keep being on the list. -hint-hint-wink-wink-nudge-nudge- Ha, ha I think you get the idea. Yeah I am mean author like that, I always like to leave them hanging, always wanting a little more, and always wanting to strangle me so I will write more faster. ^_^ Oh the joys of being me. He, he and now I have an adoring fan that will love me forever! Thank you for being so nice. ^_^
Spot!Muse: Whot 'bout me? I'se da star o' da story, I t'ink dat I'se should get some notice.
Raven: You're the head character of the stupid story! Your mentioned a million times in each chapter!
Spot!Muse: Shuah, I'se mentioned in da story, but I'se not mention no where else. Why not? Ain't I special enough?
Raven: You're very special, Spot.
Spot!Muse: Den why don't I gets some kinda sign dat I'se loved?
Raven: Fine! -grumble-grumble-
Spot!Muse: For being such a loveable, demanding bastard. Thanks for making my head run over with stories so that I can't sleep well at night and so that I fail all of my tests at school. You are such a kind little jerk.
Raven: There, ya happy?
Spot!Muse: Yeah I'se - wait a second, whose a bastard?
Raven: Oh wow, look at the time! I really need to be going now.
Spot!Muse: Not now, I gots some woyds ta mince wit'choo!
Raven: We'll talk about it later Spot. -Vanishes Spot!Muse to the land of the muses-
Anyway, Just thought I would share that all with you. I am going to go and workout now, I'm all flabby from sitting here so long and writing. Ha, ha, I'll blame it on you all if I lose this hockey tournament this weekend. Sorry coach! Honest! It was the people on Fanfiction.net! They are the reason I couldn't block any goals! Nah, I would never do that. I like you all. ^_^