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: I'm starting to get the hang of typing with one hand, but it is slow going. I got this headset thing that I can use to say the story and it will type the words for me, but sometimes it types the wrong word or doesn't know the word I am saying. Growl. So I don' t like to use that, it is slower than typing with my one hand. Ha, Ha, so I apologize for such slow updates, it is just that I can't type that quickly, so please bear with me. I hope that these chapters are worth the wait.
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Warning: This chapter is rated PG - 13 for swearing and angst.
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Chapter 14: April Fool
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//Back in school they never taught us,
What we needed to know,
Like how to deal with despair,
Or someone breaking your heart…//
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Hints of spring were popping up everywhere over New York as the days seemed to get slightly warmer everyday and the piles of snow and sludge began to shrink. After the one night on the roof, Frost was highly evasive of any kind of contact with anyone, especially Spot. If people had thought her anti-social on the first day she arrived, they were mistaken, for now she didn't even grant answers to most questions. Sometimes she would disappear for hours at a time and Spot knew that she was up on the roof, though he didn't go and seek her. He had already tried to that and he knew that it would only cause more trouble.
Everyday as the weather got warmer, Frost got quieter, and quieter. The quick-witted, sarcastic, mysterious girl had disappeared and it was as if someone completely different had taken her place. Instead of waking earlier than Spot himself, she was now the last one out of bed. Instead of always picking fights, she would simply shrug and move on, seeming to not even care about the fact she had been insulted.
No longer did she approach him about his wounds, or pester him about wrapping his ribs. The normal fuss about his injured hand had stopped all together and the makeshift split was in sore need of repair. The boys had tried to help Spot as well as they could, but he found it more of a painful vexation than help. So Spot had shooed them away and sulked in misery as he tried to mend his own split, wrapping it tighter than it had been before. Frost didn't even seem interested in correcting him, as he knew that somehow he must have been doing it 'wrong.'
As much as this disturbed Spot, he felt unable to do anything about it. It was already clear that the rest of the borough was waiting for him to do something about the girl, it was as if it was a test. Gritting his teeth, he was determined not to act upon the feelings that were pulling him towards her. Frost, in the same, avoided him with direct purpose instead of seeking him out. It was hard but it had to be done. If she gave into all of the emotions she was feeling she would be nothing more than another notch in his bedpost. That was something she wasn't willing to be, for anyone, ever; not even Spot.
It hurts to want someone, and know they don't want you.
It hurts even more to not let yourself want someone when it is the only thing your desire.
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//Nothing's absolutely definite,
Till it's absolutely,
Completely,
Definitely gone…//
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Maybe she wasn't in Brooklyn, now that she knew he was there, it would be smart of her to skip town. The chance meeting on the street had brought him to an endless search of the Brooklyn area as he scoured every corner and every form of lodging house around. With an intimidating height and towering stature, the boy with an eye-patch was frightening to say the least. His one eye, as black as night, seemed to pierce through everything that it took in.
That damn sister of his had stolen the cross from him and he was going to get it back. There were plenty of places that she could hide in Brooklyn, let alone New York. The idea of him actually finding her was as chancy as him actually finding her after all of these years. Who would have thought a simple southern girl would have managed to get up here to New York, and survive? Not he, that was for sure. After she had disappeared with the necklace he had figured that she dead.
Lois had never been that tough. Now she had proved him wrong because he knew it had been her that day on the street. No matter what those little street urchins said about not knowing her, he knew. No one else had hair that color and no one else would have run when they had seen him. That boy with steely eyes knew more than he was telling, he in fact, might be the key to finding Lois.
A sick smile pulled at his thin lips as thought after thought piled in his brain. There were so many options and so many opportunities. If that little newsboy did know something about the girl, he would find it out. Since that night on the street, he hadn't seen the boy again either. This boy however, didn't have reason to run and hide from him like his sister did, so it was likely that he would be able to catch him.
Touching the side of his head, he remembered the knot that had been there for a week or so after his encounter with the little rat. He had a good swing and having a cane hadn't hurt as he had smashed it against is skull. A feisty one that urchin was, but he knew that was always a way to beat someone at their own game. If Lois wasn't in Brooklyn anymore, maybe he would know where she was, and if she was in Brooklyn, maybe he could 'help' him find her.
Getting others involved wasn't exactly his style, but it wasn't time to get caught up on things like that. Now was time to find his sister, whether she wanted to be found or not. Something told him, she didn't want to be found.
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//Who thought that I,
Could laugh so loud,
Then turn around,
And cry so many tears…//
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As the days grew warmer and longer, selling was getting easier and easier. More people were out on the streets and more people meant better chances of getting all of your papers sold. Selling all of your papers meant that you might be able to buy food and rent for the day. The idea was more than appealing, to all of the newsies, older or younger, boy or girl. Food and board were dreams come true to some, to others it would just become more regular.
Some of those others happened to be Spot Conlon. He ate a fair meal normally once a day, which was much more than the normal fair. For most of the newsies it was whatever they could steal and then if they were lucky, they might be able to buy a decent meal every other day. Though it was true that Spot was an exceptional seller, there were other ways of making money that he had learned. A pickpocket he was, he had been one before he had even known what a newsie was. So it was almost as natural to him as breathing was to others.
He could see a pickpocket clearly among the crowd and would watch them with interest. Their style and technique was what he was really interested in. If they were any good, there were always different angles he could learn from watching. Some were fairly good, and others were not. The ones that weren't so gifted were often caught, some got away, and some didn't. The ones that didn't either got their ears boxed or sent off with the bulls. From the bulls it was a fairly safe bet to guess that they were going to the refuge. A sad fate for any boy.
Though Spot had gotten out of his fair share of scrapes, one time he hadn't been so lucky. It was right after the strike when he had still been in Manhattan. Somehow he had gotten in the wrong place and the wrong time. It had been quiet until someone screamed. Oh how they had screamed. Loud, long, and piercing screams that could only be wrought from extreme pain. Instinctively curious, but against his better judgement, he had run towards the sound.
The utterance of defilement had been coming from a shop, the door had been busted down and inside there was someone releasing a string of blue curses. Others were coming now and Spot knew that he should have left, but he went inside and saw a man being held down by a large teenage boy. Then it because suddenly clear what was going on. The boy had been intending on robbing this shop and then this man had gotten in his way. The young man looked up and saw Spot as he entered, storming in, his faithful cane absent from his side. It was at the Manhattan lodging house along with his slingshot.
So much for just going out for a smoke.
Knowing that it was time to flee, the young man had released the smaller man and darted to the door, shoving Spot over in the process. All of this happened within a matter of seconds and Spot sat dazed on the ground for a few instant before the sound of more charging footsteps brought him forth to reality. Knowing that he had nothing to run from, but feeling the urge to, Spot did so. Perhaps it was the guilt from past encounters with injustice, perhaps it was the instinct that came most natural to him, but whatever it was, Spot dashed away from the scene of the crime. Escape wouldn't come that easily though, for the others that had heard the man's cries saw Spot running from the scene.
"Get him!" they had yelled and the pursuit had begun.
Every turn and twist of the Brooklyn streets and byways were known to Spot, no one could catch him there, but he was in Manhattan and this was a different story entirely. Though he was competent to his surroundings, the ones that chased him were more so. In a way, the chase had ended even before it had begun. Strong arms grabbed him from behind and the next thing he knew he was in the refuge. No trial had even been held as he was shipped off quickly to the prison. There he had been left almost to rot, alone in the tiny cell that seemed to grow smaller every day. Obviously reform for The Refuge was still in the planning stages. It was worse than when Snyder had been in control. Dozens of rats scurried around him….
Those rats, the same kind that lived on the docks and around the wharf, crawling over the city, infecting it. Some boys were paid to destroy the foul creatures, the rat killers were a few and exclusive group. The job was hard and dirty, sometimes fatal. One bite from an infected rat and death was almost ensured. A terrible life, probably about as bad as being a newsie. Plus, no rat killer could be trusted.
Then again, could anyone be trusted? No, he couldn't even trust his own instincts. They had gotten him in the refuge, a living hell, for six months of solitude, starvation, and sores. Oh how he had sores then. The way his skin would peel and crack from lack of water and from the abuses rendered to him. Unsanitary conditions and filth formed open puss ridden sores on his body, the infection spreading sometimes into his emaciated body, causing fevers. They had left their mark on his body, the most of them on his torso and arms, but they were still there. Painful and constant reminders of his life in the place every working class boy and runaway feared, but he was luckier than most. He had gotten out, gotten away.
Everything was a blur when it came to his time in that place. The sands of the hourglass spilled over themselves, forming on endless river forking in different directions, causing time to lose all sense of definition. If it hadn't been for the small window in his cell, he wouldn't have known night from day after a week in that place. If it hadn't been for that small window, he wouldn't have had fresh air. If it hadn't been for that one small window, he would have lost what little sanity he had managed to maintain in the cage he was held. If it hadn't been for that window, he wouldn't have gotten away.
Cliché as it seems, the window was the only reason he was able to get out. Hour after mindless hour, he would chip away what he could of the bars that held him in. Working until his hands were coated in his own blood, not even able to tell if he had made any progress. The rats could be heard as they scurried along the floor, scampering to find some tiny crumb that he might have dropped. The food that they fed him, when they remembered to feed him, had been terrible, barely edible, but he had torn it apart like a mad animal. Sometimes he had seriously contemplated catching and eating one of the rats. Raw. That could be a death sentence though, and he had somehow managed to keep enough sanity not to do so.
No one else was in the wing where they had kept him, probably solitary for the most dangerous of criminals, so no one heard the constant chipping noises that would come from his cell. Again and again, he would grind at the area around the bars, at the bars themselves, sometimes with nothing more than his bare hands. His fingernails being ripped and torn from their beds, blood spilling over the windowsill, staining it a luscious red to fade into an ugly brown.
The stench had been almost unbearable some days, as his own waste would rot. Some days it was like a sweatbox in there, other days it had been like an icebox. The scent changing with the temperatures, but there was always that sickening smell of mortality. There was always the smell of death. Death was all over that place, maybe not physically, but mentally. The boys would be beaten for disobeying, breaking not only their bodies, but their spirit. They had taken it from the toughest of boys, and they had taken it from Spot.
When Spot would remember this, he couldn't help but long for release. For the passion and fire that he had lost, he couldn't help but wonder where they had gone. Though he wasn't quite sure when he lost them, he knew that they were gone. It was times like these that he needed to get away. It was time like these that he just needed to think. It was times like these that he went to the bridge.
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//It's the perfect,
Time of year,
Somewhere far away,
From here…//
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Queens was a fairly logical guess as to where he should go next. After grabbing some poor, forlorn newsboy from the street and threatening him in an alley, he told him that the girl for whom he searched might be there. Also, he gave him a very interesting piece of information, a name. Frost, more specifically. A high possibility was held in the chance that this girl was the same as his sister, but he couldn't be sure. Queens however was more of a lead than he had gotten in a long time, so he headed in that direction.
The day was cold though it was late March. April was almost upon them, but the ice of winter still held the city in its firm grip. Though the snow no longer fell and the piles of sludge and snow were melting away slowly, it was clear that true warm weather wasn't to be with them for awhile. The short days had grown longer, but were still shorter than most would have liked. Every moment of daylight was to be used to the best of the ability of the workers. Since electric lights were still incredibly rare, even in the bustling metropolis, lanterns were the primary form of lighting.
The sun was beginning to fade in the distance when Luke made his way to the place that he had been told held the residence of the Queens newsies. It was unlike the Brooklyn boarding house that he had found himself in on one occasion. This seemed to be an old abandoned warehouse that they had taken over for a form of shelter. Most likely it was run by the leader of the group and there was no strictly set rules. If there was a chance that they didn't like him, it could be a bad story for him, but with life come chances. This was one that Luke was willing to take.
Mustering to his full height, Luke opened the door into the Queens 'lodging house.' Laughter and loud voices were heard from behind boxes and crates that formed a narrow corridor of sorts. Passing down its passage silently, he heard merriment and uproarious laughter carrying through the large open building. Whatever their pass-times held, it obviously was one that could amuse. The lights got slightly brighter as he progressed down the hall made of stacked boxes and crates until he was close to where he thought the main action to be held.
For a few moments he stood in the shadows, not even venturing any further into his exploration. Though he was thoroughly confidant in his fighting skills, he also knew that there was little he could do to fend of a whole army of boys, even with his knife. Running a hand through his brown hair, he squeezing his single eye shut firmly, steeling his courage to enter the ring of boys. His courage would have to be completely prepared because before he could make his own entrance a pair of strong hands grabbed him and pulled him sharply into the area that he had heard the noise coming from.
His single dark eye flew open in shock, too startled to react automatically. As soon as the boy had swung him into the circle and leg go of his arm, making him lose his balance and fall to his knees. Before he stood, he waited for his equilibrium to balance, taking in the sights around him. In fact it was a circle, crates and boxes forming it much as they had the walls of the halls. Different levels were established, bedding thrown carelessly over the tops of them, creating makeshift beds. Ragged looking boys, young and old were looking at him silently. The festivities of earlier were forgotten at his sudden appearance.
One of the groups, a larger boy, tall and broad of shoulder, stepped beside Luke and gripped his shoulder firmly, forcing him to stand. A wave of dizziness passed through him and he swayed slightly, but he wasn't allowed to slump in the slightest for which he was glad. Already he had made a fool of himself in front of this group. They probably had already labeled him as a weak intruder that would bring them nothing but trouble. A position that Luke most definitely didn't want to be in.
"Bruisah, whot da hell is dis?" Another boy stepped forward, not as large as Luke's captor, but more intimidating. Automatically, Luke registered this boy as the leader.
"I'se found him out in da hall," The large boy, Bruiser, explained. "I dunno whot he wos doin' out dere, but I ain't nevah seen him afore, has yous?"
"Nah," the leader stepped forward and looked at him even closer. "I ain't nevah seen nobody like dis one afore," frowning, he taking in the eye-patch very studiously. "Ya got dat on foah show oah do yous really need it?" he inquired gruffly and Luke bristled.
"I need it," he growled, narrowing his one good eye.
"You ain't from 'round heah," the leader raised his eyebrows, hearing Luke's strange accent. "Whot ah yous doin' heah?" he questioned, taking a step closer and Luke straightened, easily taller than his challenger, and captor.
"I'm looking for someone," he said, trying to stay calm. "A girl," he clarified and a few boys along the edges chuckled.
"We don' have goils heah," the leader snipped quickly.
"This girl was short, with chestnut hair," Luke plowed ahead, not heading their words. "Eyes the same color as my eye, and her nose has a big bump on it," he described her basic features and a flash of recognition darted across the leader's face.
"No, dere ain't no -" he started.
"But Brink, dat dame sounds like -" Bruiser started only to be cut off as well.
"Dere ain't no one 'round heah like dat now," the leader, now labeled Brink, ground out. Sending a message of underlined warning in his breath as he stared at the one who had interrupted him.
"I might have some information on her if you are interested in helping me find her," Luke bargained knowing that he had hit a vein.
"Whot kinda infoahmation?" Brink's eyes narrowed with distrust.
"The kind that benefits both sides," Luke answered cryptically and Brink looked annoyed.
"I ain't got time ta deal wit' dis," he grumbled under his breath. "Get 'im outta heah," he ordered.
"But Brink-" Bruiser began.
"Now!" Was Brink's final hissed exclamation and Bruiser knew better than to challenge him again.
With that, Luke was part of the rather painful process of being dragged out the same way he came. So much for diplomacy, there hadn't even been a chance at any real bargaining. His ox-like captor wasn't gentle in the slightest as he dragged more than led Luke to the exit. Even though he would have been perfectly capable of walking out himself, apparently this was Queens' idea of 'getting off easy.' For this he was grateful, but for the finger shaped bruised that he knew would be on his shoulder tomorrow, he was not. The door was open in a flash and with one hard, final shove, Bruiser sent Luke reeling out into the night streets.
Muttered curses and foul things escaped from Luke's mouth as he crashed to the ground for the second time that night. A mental note was made that Queens was an unreasonable, surly group with little intelligence. Perhaps that was the way it was with all of the newsie groups. At least Brooklyn had let him have the decency to actually walk on his own out the door and onto the street. Though he had been escorted, he had been treated with at least a little humanity. Picking himself up and brushing off his soiled clothes, Luke absently adjusted his eye patch.
Just as he turned to leave he heard the door open behind him. Twirling around, he half expected to find the same brute sent as an assailant, this however was not the case. A lean boy with medium stature and a mass of shaggy brown hair emerged. Though he didn't look like he presented a threat, Luke was wary of these Queens' boys. Who knew what kind of tricks they had up their sleeves? Perhaps in the few instants he had been a witness to their conversation, he had heard too much, and they had sent this older boy to finish the job.
"What do you want?" Luke asked harshly and the boy looked at him, his face shadowed.
"Who said dat I'se wont ta yous?" Luke could hear the ironic mirth in his tone.
"Logical guess," Luke covered smoothly, stiffening as the boy stepped from the shadows, closer to him.
"Whot if I'se told yous dat logic ain't nuttin' moah dan a load o' shit?" the boy ducked his head to light a cigarette as he spoke.
"Then I'd have to disagree," at this statement, the boy chuckled under breath, taking a long drag from his cigarette before looking up at Luke.
Immediately Luke was struck by the boy's unusual eyes. One was a blue as light as the sky on a summer's day, and the other was nearly as dark as Luke's. Both held an evil glint that he looked at Luke, his thin mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. Though he wasn't the largest or brawniest of boys, Luke could sense the power that he held and knew that this boy was probably a little smarter than the average street rat.
"Why would yous disagree?" The strange boy with two-toned eyes inquired.
"Because most anything can be solved by logic," Luke explained.
"Evahy t'ing 'cept wheah yous lil' sistah be," the boy took a long drag from his cigarette as he started knowingly into Luke's one eye.
"I never said anything about looking for my sister," Luke bristled, this boy was keen.
"Didn't ya now?" the boy pretended to be shocked. "Yous look like her," the boy studied him. "An' whot oder reason would yous have ta be lookin' foah her?" an ironic smile pulled at his lips. "I do t'ink dat wos logic," he pointed out, his strange eyes glittering with self-amusement.
"You know her?" Luke gaped.
"I might," the boy nodded slowly. "Depends on a couple t'ings."
"Things like what?" Luke pried.
"Why ah yous lookin' foah her?" he inquired.
"I have some personal business to work out with her," Luke said professionally. "And I happen to know she is in New York, a certain place in New York. Since I'm new here, some help from someone more familiar to the territory would be appreciated," he sounded more like a machine spouting off programmed phrases than anything did. Knowing that he was still possibly in mortal danger kept Luke from spewing out the random harsh words and profanity that he would have normally used.
"Poysonal business, eh?" the strange boy dug deeper. "Whot kinda poysonal business?"
"She has something that is mine, and I want it back," Luke answered simply, giving some information, but keeping most.
"Whot ya goin' ta do wit' da goil aftah yous got whot yous wont?" the boy continued to smoke his cigarette, the cheap smoke swirling up into cool night air with every exhale.
"Probably nothing," Luke told the truth. If he knew his sister, he would probably have to beat her within an inch of her life before she would give any information that he wanted. "Why?" he arched on eyebrow, curious as to where these questions were going.
"Well," the boy sucked another breath of toxic smoke into his lungs before continuing. "It seems dat yous an' me ah lookin' foah da same goil," he informed. "An' I'se got some - issues ta - discuss wit' her," he chose his words carefully. "An' I might be willin' ta help ya find da dame if aftah yous done wit' her, I'se get her," he bargained, his voice held a lethal tone.
"What kind of issues?" Luke questioned, having his turn as the inquisitor.
"Poysonal ones," the boy returned sarcastically.
A long moment passed before Luke agreed. "Fine," he sighed deeply. "After I'm done with her, you can do what you want to her," he consented, extending a hand and the strange boy spat in his hand and reached to clasp his with Luke's. Instantly, Luke recoiled, bring his hand back to his torso. The strange boy looked at him curiously.
"Whot?" he asked, looking down at his hand irritably.
"You just spat in your hand," Luke pointed out and the boy rolled his eyes. Wiping his hand on his shirt he extended it again, and Luke clasped it.
"Da name's Lice," the boy with two-toned eyes explained, bringing his hand back to his side. "Now tell me whot yous knows 'bout da goil?"
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//I'm choking,
Heart broken,
But unrequited,
But I will be there…//
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The bridge was quiet as it always was late at night. Today was April first, and the winter weather was slowly being beaten back into a mere memory. Though no matter what the weather happened to be, the night always held a certain chill that made Spot shiver. Smoke from the cigarette he held turned and swirled in the night air. Its clouds forming eerie patterns across the night sky, serving as a mild distraction from the thoughts that pressed in his mind.
The encounter with the Pullvines was now nothing more than a memory that was spurred by the pain he could still feel in his ribs. The bruises and swelling had all disappeared; the cuts had all but vanished. His hand was the only thing that caused him any continuous pain. The broken bones seemed determined to stay broken and not to show any signs of healing. Perhaps they had, and he hadn't noticed, but still they ached terribly. Almost everything he had been able to do before he had broken his hand, he was able to do. Such as use his slingshot, but still, it was a sign of weakness that he didn't like to have.
Though physical pain was a welcome distraction from the emotional distress he was suffering. He was all but going insane with inner-turmoil. Whoever had written the rules about being a leader, should be shot, burned, and then whatever remains were left, shot and burned again. It wasn't capable of caring, he just wasn't allowed to. Just because he was the infamous Spot Conlon didn't mean that he couldn't feel pain like the rest. Every day he knew what it felt like to give up something that he wanted. Thus was the sacrifice of power, the sacrifice of leadership.
There was so much that he had never been able to do, able to show. Somehow he felt robbed of the experiences that so many others were allowed to have. Actually being able to show that you truly care for someone, or actually letting yourself care for someone. Caring meant that you had emotions and emotions meant that you most likely had weakness. Weakness wasn't permitted, so leaders weren't allowed to care. The only emotions they were permitted to express were anger and hate. Everything else was masked behind the self-confidence and intimidation for which he was renowned.
Tonight, as he stood on the bridge like he had so many other nights, he wanted, more than anything, to break the rules. To shatter that pre-made legislation that had been formulated by some unknown person and builds his own guidelines. Ones that would allow him to be what he wanted to be, to have what he desired. This, however, he knew would be nothing more than a sure way to be exiled by the group. Brooklyn didn't want someone to be kind to them, they wanted someone to dominate them. The enigma that was Spot Conlon was someone who was cool and hard as granite, a stronghold, not someone that fell in love.
How many times had he bragged over his conquests or his escapades with different girls? How many times had he paraded about with the finest looking girls of his social class? Girls that flaunted their sexuality and invited stolen kisses fawned over him and he enjoyed it. How many times had he relished their company? It made him feel cheep, degraded, used in some strange way. Before it had always been an escape, but now it was just humiliating. Somehow it seemed that the momentary pleasure he had searched out only led to extended pain.
Flinging his cigarette over the edge of the bridge he stared into the darkness for awhile longer, feeling the call of the plunge more strongly than he had in a long time. Pushing away from the edge, Spot moved to the middle of the bridge, and began walking back to the land. As if somehow being away from the ledge he would be able to fend off the pull. Tonight wasn't the night, that he would seek solace in death.
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//Is that what you call a get away?
Tell me what you got away with?
Cause I've seen more spine in jelly fish,
I've seen more guts in eleven-year-old kids…//
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Depression would be one way to describe the feelings that were prominent in Frost's world. She hurt and she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe she was all too sure, and that was why her melancholy mood had flowed into her waking and sleeping hours. The money she had earned was only a few dollars short from the fare she needed to get to Chicago. A few dollars that she was dreading having to earn. Every time she stepped out on the streets she was putting herself in mortal danger.
Luke was here.
She had seen him a few more times since their first little run-in. Fortunately she had seen him before he had seen her and had managed to hide. It was only a matter of time before he saw her first, she knew. Luck was a funny thing, and it only stayed with one person for a fleeting span, then hurried to the next. Though it was true she had enough money to get to other destinations, Frost wanted to go west. That was one place her brother would never think to look for her.
Boston, the city she had been in before New York was out of the question, as was her hometown of Richmond. Trenton was always an option, but that was still too close. A drastic change was in order for permanent and complete escape. Maybe after Chicago she would be able to go somewhere else, somewhere farther, maybe even go to Jack's Santa Fe. There was no way that Luke would find her out there. Of course she had thought that there had been no chance of him finding her here in New York. In a way, he really hadn't yet. Yet.
It was all a matter of time, a matter of luck, a matter of fate. If the variables all added up in Luke's favor, there could be problems. Problems that would most likely end in her death. So she was going to run, make a get away, a quick exit. She had done it before, she could do it again, but this time things were different.
Every other time she had left an area, she had simply left behind a person she had created, a persona that died a long with the feelings she had felt there. Then she had come to Brooklyn, cold as ice and just wanting to escape it all. She had come on the pretence that everything would be the same as it had always been, but it wasn't. There was a boy here that she had heard of, but never met. The mighty Spot Conlon, and in him she found a challenge. This boy wasn't as dumb as the others had been, and he seemed to take pleasure in bargaining and manipulating people to serve his own purposes. A master of thieves and runaways was all he was, but she was one of those runaway thieves.
Her intention had never been to tell him as much as she had. Though she knew that she had been caught fair and square in her own game of manipulation and mistrust. Being able to hold him off long enough had been the real trouble. Before their amorous rendezvous, Spot's pursuit of information had been heated. Now though, his interest had seemed to wane to its entirety. Avoidance of conversation was now a regular part of their schedules as the days passed and time seemed to crawl.
Could it be that Spot had simply wanted to add her to his list of conquests? He himself had said that he had just wanted to see if he could get her to kiss him again. Why had she kissed him? That mistake had been altering to more than one plane of her life. Why did she have to care so much? She made a mistake, she had made them before, why was this one so different? The answer was clear even though she didn't want to admit it.
She was in love.
Nothing would ever come from it she knew. With this knowledge she waited one night for everyone to go to sleep. The soft breathing throughout the room signaled her to the time that she could escape. Trains always ran late at night, she could hear their whistles blowing into the early morning hours. She had enough money to buy food for her journey, but money didn't matter right now. On the breaks between trains she would be able to 'borrow' a few dollars from various patrons that happened to share the same train as she.
In reality those few dollars were unnecessary precautions that were more of a delay for her leaving than for any practical purpose. She had more than enough for the ticket fare, food, and a little emergency money. The extra that she had been wanting was more of a little nest egg. The few dollars she wanted wouldn't have been hard to earn either. A few quick pickpocket jobs and she would have plenty. Granted that she wasn't caught in the act.
Though that night of April first, she made a decision. Now was the time to leave, she didn't have the ability to take chances anymore. It was late at night and she was lying in her bed, her clothing still on from that day. Everything she owned was neatly stored in her small bag, ready to be taken with her. A note she had written clutched tightly in her hand as she heard him leave.
Where he was going, she didn't know, but she didn't want to see him again. If she did, she might stay. It was all for the best, she knew, it had to be this way. This was the only way that she would be able to live. Life was certainly more important than love, right? Again and again she told herself that it was so, knowing that it was all a lie, but knowing that she still had to leave. So after several minutes had passed since Spot's exit, she too climbed from her bed, taking her things with her. Going to his now vacant bunk, she set the note along with a few items tied up in a worn handkerchief. A beautiful goodbye as she set out of the lodging house for what she knew would be her last time.
So on that first April night, with all of her earthly possessions, Frost ran.
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//Something they can't,
Teach in school,
I guess that I'm,
Just an April fool…//
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A few days passed from their first meeting and Luke and Lice had seen each other again a few times. Luke had given Lice the little information that he had known about his sister. That she was probably in Brooklyn and under the alias of Frost. For Lice, that was enough. If he were lucky, he would probably be able to find her without ever seeing that other sap.
So Specter had been stupid enough to stay in New York. She had always been a smart girl, a fire-pistol at that too, but she didn't always make the best choices. Staying in New York was definitely stupid. Grinding his teeth, he reflected on the words they had exchanged. I ain't nevah goin' ta be youah goil! She had exclaimed, refusing him. I'se Brink's goil. She reminded.
Brink. At the though of his 'fearless' leader, he spat vehemently. The only reason he had stayed in power so long was because of that girl. Specter had been the brains of the operation, and that was clearer than ever now that she was gone. For being such a smart powerful girl, she sure was an idiot. Together, they could have easily overthrown Brink and taken Queens without much of a struggle at all. As a team they would have been able to rule supreme, unchallenged.
I could be a bettah leadah dan yous! She had yelled and he knew that it was true. The small girl had held all of the right personality traits and charisma to control the boys, even if she was terribly small. If she ever came back to Queens, she could ruin his whole plan. Brink would instantly take her back, Lice knew. The fool, couldn't he see her for what she really was? The girl was more trouble than she was worth.
Though if she did come back to Queens, everything he had been scheming and planning for so long would be ruined. That couldn't happen, he wouldn't let it happen! Right now he was so close to his goal that he could almost taste it. Though he had put her in her place that night, he knew that she would be a constant threat unless she was removed. So his thoughts progressed as he wandered the streets of Brooklyn the first night in April. A chill still holding in the air as winter faded into spring.
No one else was out except for the random streetwalker or the occasional drunkard. The homeless had all found some sort of shelter to fend off the night and were sleeping. So far, his search for Specter had been fruitless, not only had he not seen her, he hadn't even had a clue to where she might be. Maybe Luke had simply been lying to him. No, there had been a real desire to find this girl in him, Lice had been able to see it in his lone eye and his words. Whatever Specter had that was his, he wanted it and he wanted it badly. Perhaps there could be a bargaining tool in this. Smiling to himself he wandered the streets of Brooklyn, unsure of really where to go.
The call of a train whistle was heard loudly as it approached the station. The red-eye train seeming to want to alert the area to its arrival. Train stations were often interesting places to sell papers, but they were also interesting places to pickpocket. A few extra cents would be nice, he reasoned as he headed slowly in the direction of the station. Surely the stationmaster would think it unusual that he was out so late, so he needed to make his appearance in good timing with the exit of the other passengers.
Sure enough, the train had just pulled in the station when he arrived, still lurking in the shadows. One by one the passengers all got off looking worn and in need of sleep. The poor saps would be easy picking. As he scanned the small crowd for potential 'customers' he saw something that made his heart stop for an instant. A small girl sitting discretely on a bench, half-hidden in the shadows. Her long chestnut colored hair pulled back in a single braid, her defined profile highlighting the bump on her nose. So she was leaving New York.
That however wasn't the only motivation Lice had for finding her. If she really had ties with this Luke, perhaps he would be willing to pay a handsome price for his 'prize.' Whatever she had was definitely of extreme worth to Luke, so it was most likely that he would pay. Always interested in money, Lice secretively pulled a single blade from his belt. Hiding it as well as he could, he picked his way through the crowd and reached Frost just as she stood.
"'Scuse me, miss," he said taking her arm and pressing the blade into her back. "I t'ink dat we'se got some t'ings ta talk 'bout," he smiled wickedly as she looked up at him in complete fear and submission.
Obviously she hadn't forgotten that night and it was clear that he still held power over her that way. Her violent trembling showed that. A pleasurable wave of control swept over Lice as he looked at her and he sneered. "Now be a good goil an' come wit' me," he instructed. "An' don' woahy," he comforted. "One night wit'choo wos enough."
Frost's luck had run out.
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//Would you look at her,
She looks at me,
She's got me thinking,
About her constantly…//
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Weary and downhearted, Spot returned to the lodging house. As he had so many other nights, he stole silently up the stairs, too exhausted to care about aches and pains running through his body. Softly he opened the door to the bunkroom and stole silently towards his bed. Stripping off the outer-layer of clothing he wore, he climbed into his bunk and lay down.
An unusual crinkling startling him and he sat back up. Reaching behind him, he found the offending noisemaker next to a makeshift sack of some sort. It was too dark to see what they were, but it was clear that they weren't his. Frowning, he wondered how they had gotten there and he slipped out of bed once more. Taking the candle that was near his bunk he lit it to find a small sack made from a handkerchief and a note.
The dim light from the candle wasn't enough to disturb any of his roommates as it flickered across the cheap wrinkled paper. What was this? Unfolding it, he found more writing inside. Holding the paper close to the light, he squinted against the darkness, trying to make out the words. Finally he was able to.
Dear Spot,
I left tonight and I'm not coming back. My train will be half way to Chicago by the time you get this letter -
That was all he read of the proper grammar. All of the sudden it was too terribly clear what this was. Instantly his eyes shot from the paper to the bunk where Frost should have been, she wasn't there. A string of soft profanity flowed from him as he put the letter and things back up on his bed and began to hastily redress.
He didn't have time for silence as he blew out the candle and dashed out the door. All of his exhaustion forgotten and his aches were gone as he ran towards the train station. The fateful whistle was blowing as he plowed ahead, moving faster than he had in his entire life. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Spot was honestly afraid. The rules that he had been contemplating only a few instants earlier had been forgotten and he hurried onward to the place he knew he needed to be.
Why hadn't he told her when he had the chance? Why hadn't he let her know when he could have? Why had he been so stubborn? Now she was probably gone, he would never find her. Even if he followed her to Chicago there was absolutely no way he could find her in that place. She might as well have gone to China! It would have been easier to find her there. Why had he been such a fool, to just let her go the way he had?
Gawd, he prayed silently as he ran. Please jus' lemme find her!
Such an April fool….
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A/N: This is my ode to broken thumbs, sung to the tune of "Yankee Doodle." [ I hate broken thumbs I do, they are the biggest pains, it makes it awful hard to type, even this refrain! Broken thumbs are no fun, they are nothing but hell, broken thumbs are stupid, I don't like them very well! ] Okay, so with a little imagination, that almost works with the song. Come on, I am so far from being a songwriter it isn't even funny! Anyway, enough of my pointless rambling and onto the thank yous.
Ice: Hey, I am sorry that you haven't really been happy with your story, and I am also sorry that it took me so long to read and re-review your revised edition! Life has been major crazy, but I don't want to bore you with the details. ^_^ So I'm not even getting into it. You love my chapters? Aw, you sweet dear. [ giggles ] Thank you so very much and may the muses be kind to you. ^_^
Skittles: First and foremost: Happy very belated birthday wishes! [ sings: happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear skittles, happy birthday toooo you ] Moving along…Well it sounds like you have had a busy, busy, time! Wow, I hope that your sister is all right, that is no fun. Have you ever looked into Chiropratics to find out what's the matter with her. I have muscle spasms in my neck where my muscles lock and I can't move my neck at all! (talk about pain!) But my chiropractor makes me all better. ^_^ At least everything is better now, right? Yeah, well, Internet is fickle, but be glad that you have it back now! Yeah, they kissed, but I am afraid that this relationship is pure angst. They are both so stubborn all of the time! Neither one of them knows how to give at all. [ sigh ] I promise that sometime I am going to write a romance. I will, a real one, where they aren't all angst ridden all the time! Well, I have to go now, but take care of yourself and thanks for the reviews!
Ali: Well that was the most non-to-the-point-to-the-point review I have ever gotten! Yeah, it would really help if they weren't so dense, but they are and I have to keep them in character. Already I let them slip out way too much and it makes the story suck. [ growl ] Yeah, Luke is really stupid. I hate him a lot, but I created him, rather sad isn't it? I hate the Pullvine's too. [ growls again ] Well, I promise that I am going to write a romance sometime, so it won't just be a completely angst ridden relationship all of the time. How does that sound? Then you can have all the little romantic daydreams that you want. Hmm… maybe it would help if I had a love life for inspiration… but I don't. Boys are dumb. Anyway, enough laments over my non-existent love life. I updated this story with a broken thumb and a whole bunch of other problems, so you can update "Oblivious," all right? ^_^ Yeah! Take care and I look forward to your next review…. You promised a doozey. -_^
Ireland O'Reily: Yep, Frost and Spot are stubborn, but you've gotta love them. If I made them non-stubborn I would have to change the genre from angst to something else! Everyone knows that all of my fictions have to have angst as at least one of the primary categories. ^_^ Thanks for the compliments to my music taste. A lot of my inserts are fairly random in style. I've had anything from emo to country to metal to Broadway, but I feel that is the way it should be. Whatever lyrics fit the time, right? Anastasia is possibly one of my top ten favorite movies! (at least animated ones) Yeah, so it is basically as fake as it could possible be... but it is still a great movie IMHO. Fabulous! Oh and I love country music, well the older stuff than the newer stuff, but I still love it. I don't care what everyone else says about it, I like it, so there! There is no hurry to get your license, I just want mine because then I can get a job and have money! I need money for drama! AGH! Thanks on the 100,000-word count, and I am glad that you have enjoyed them. Take care of yourself!
Rae Kelly: hey there stranger! [ laughs: I've always wanted to say that ] There was an update for you, I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry I haven't gotten around to reading any of your other fictions, but I just haven't had time as of late. I think when I get to it I will probably read "To the Four Corners" because I had been thinking about reading it before you even reviewed any of my stories! Ha, ha! So when I have time (maybe over spring break) I will definitely check it out! God bless.