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: This is the third time I have written this thanks to the loss of the document on completion both of the other times, so I am sorry if it is rough. I don't know, I am just eager to get it up and I'm not proof reading it. So sorry for the delay, it would have been up in June – but that just didn't happen. So as you read this just remember: It is all for the plot.
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Warning: This chapter is rated R for language, violence, angst, and death.
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Chapter 16: Gravedigger
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Brief Recap: Spot Conlon, recently escaped from The Refuge, is confronted by an unusual spirited girl who calls herself Frost. Though constantly contemplating suicide on his insomnic walks, Spot finds a challenge in this girl and slowly begins to fall for her. After several fights, and a cutthroat bargain, Frost reveals her past ties all over the New York area. Things are still tense in the relationship between Spot and Frost when a strange man with an eye-patch arrives in search of Frost. Spot confronts Frost about this, and they finally kiss. Later Frost tells that it is her brother, Luke, and that he would stop at nothing to get his hands on her cross necklace, which happens to be 'the key.' Meanwhile, Luke enlists the help of a Queen's newsie, named Lice. Feeling trapped and threatened by her growing feelings for Brooklyn's leader and her brother's heightening pursuit, Frost sets off to the train station with the intention of going to Chicago. Spot, distraught at finding her gone, goes to the Brooklyn Bridge with the intent to kill himself. As Outsider goes on a fact finding mission, a chain of events were set off leading to conflicts that we are yet to see….
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//Gravedigger,
When you dig my grave,
Can you make it shallow,
So that I can feel the rain,
Gravedigger…//
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An overhang of fog cast its gloomy hold over the bridge so thickly that you couldn't see ten feet ahead of you, making the passageway between Manhattan and Brooklyn almost mystical. The water vapors creating a mist that seemed impenetrable in the early morning hours that were now creeping upon the city. It was cold, the chill seeping into the marrow of the young small boy who looked very much the part of the lost child at that moment.
His shaggy unkempt brown locks falling down into the cobalt orbs as he kept his head focused on the scuffed brown boots on his feet. Both hands were held behind his back in tight restriction, though they needn't have been. The boy didn't plan on running. Why run when you don't have a reason to? It was a sobering reality and he simply moved along, not bothering to notice where they were as they moved off of the bridge.
Where was Luke taking him?
Then there was a pounding of feet on the cobblestones that weren't their own, at first it was distant, but it grew closer rapidly. This caused Spot to raise his bobbing head and stare into the thick vapors. Luke had heard it too and froze; it was impossible to see five feet in front of you with any clarity, so it was as though they were blind in far-sight.
His stormy blue eyes penetrated as far as they could as the footsteps moved towards them with a startling rapidity. A petite silhouette began to form and then took the appearance of someone spot knew it couldn't be. Her long braid of chestnut hair swinging behind her as her black eyes darted around rapidly before freezing on the obstruction ahead of her. She was on a dead collision course with the frozen duo.
But no – it couldn't be – Frost was gone.
Blinking rapidly, he shook his head, thinking that surely it was just a trick his weary mind was playing on him. It was soon proven reality as the sprinting girl smashed into the dumbfounded Brooklynite. For an instant, time froze as Spot worked his jaw, almost unwilling to speak and shatter the magical moment.
"Frost," he breathed, barely loud enough for himself to hear as she stared up in his eyes. When she didn't say anything, he was afraid that she wasn't really there, that his mind full of weariness and woes had tricked him yet again. It felt like she was pressed up against him there, and he wished that his hands were free to trace the features of her face. He wished that -
"Spot look out!" She yelled suddenly and he was confused. Then a sharp pain shot from the crown of his head down to his toes and back up again, radiating through his entirety. Darkness seeped into the corners of his eyes as he stared into hers before rolling in the back of his head.
Then it was black.
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//From the cradle to the grave,
It cannot rain all the time,
It cannot always be the day,
But it can always be the night…//
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Sometimes things happen that can't be explained just by chance, but only by divine encounter. Such was the event unfolding as Frost and Lice stood before the ruthless trio of brothers. The pounding of footsteps could be heard in the ever-thickening fog, and the heavy breathing of her pursuer seemed to tickle the back of her neck. A single chestnut braid whipped out behind her, her cap long forgotten on the bloodshot streets, as she didn't bother to pace herself.
The thick mist was disorienting as she darted along the border between Brooklyn and Queens. She didn't know this territory extremely well, but she knew it well enough to stay ahead. If she could only make it across the Brooklyn Bridge, she would be able to hide from Lice no question. He didn't know Manhattan at all – but crossing the bridge would be a large risk. If she got too tired to continue, there was no place to even consider hiding on the long expanse, but she didn't have a choice. Lice knew Brooklyn as well as she did and knew Queens even better, making it to the bridge was the only hope she would have to get away from him.
The pounding feet behind her matched those of her own as she forced herself to accelerate against all of the protesting of her body. The fog gave way to the foot of the bridge and she pressed herself harder, knowing that if she didn't there was no hope she would make it across the bride without him catching here. There was nowhere to hide in the impossibly thick cloud covering around her; all she could do was run – hoping that she could out last and out wit her pursuer.
Fate and destiny were in a humorous mood apparently, using whomever the pleased in their sick game of amusement. Tonight's players were that of several different paths and motives all converging in a singular place in a climatic confrontation. The fog in front of Frost dissipated as she tore her way through the cloud, but it wasn't enough to warn her against the coming obstacle.
A silhouette of two figures appeared in front of her as if they had simply materialized from nothing, and her feet failed to slow their rapid pace as she felt the startling recognition of the characters. A painful jolt was delivered as she sent her small body hurtling into the temporarily stunned barrier. Draw back she looked up into the eyes that she had come to love and hate.
"Frost," he murmured and the familiar chill shot down her spine at the disarmed shock in his voice and face. Her body remained pressed against his as she watched his blue diamonds roam over her features, taking in the different planes and angles that she presented. The second party all but forgotten until a sudden movement drew Frost's coal orbs to witness her brother raising a mighty fist above Spot's head.
"Spot look out!" she yelled as her brother brought down his doubled fists across the crown of Spot's matted dark hair. A moment of confusion passed over the smaller boy's face then before the realization of pain could set in. As the later did, his crystalline eyes rolled back into his cranium as his body sagged to the ground of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Chest still heaving from her exhausting run, Frost sunk down next to the fallen Brooklyn leader with a small cry, ignoring the confused look from her brother and the approach of the Queen's newsie. The oblivious girl gathered the limp boy in her arms as she stroked back a dark lock from his forehead, tenderness besetting her gaze and touches that could be detected from a mile away.
The scene played before a very confused Luke and Lice as they looked at each other before looking back down at the sweet exchange between the girl and unconscious boy. What this girl was doing was unthinkable! It forwent any basal instinct or street survival that she had learned at any time as she not only placed herself in a dangerous situation, but also showed a weakness. Lice seemed to realize this before Luke because a twisted smile came to his thin lips as he chuckled menacingly.
"Looks like we'se got us an' intrahstin' situahshun," he smirked and Frost's dark eyes shot up toward Lice's unusual two-toned orbs.
At the sound of Lice's voice, Luke instantly sprung into action, grabbing Frost by the braid and yanking her upward. The shock and pain flittered across her face before the customary look of
Defiance took hold and her brother's patched visage glared down upon hers. With his free hand, Luke searched around her neck; Frost knew for what he was searching and knew that he wouldn't find it.
"Where's the cross, you bitch?" he growled as Luke hoisted Spot up over her shoulder like a bag of potatoes. Though Spot had grown and now towered over Frost's five foot frame, he couldn't have been more than five foot six and rather emaciated in appearance as the lean winter months had done nothing but spread his skin like paper over his bones. Strong and wiry he could put up a good fight, but he was obviously not too large of a burden as Lice carried him easily.
"Not heah Luke," Lice said, shifting the unconscious Spot on his shoulder. "I'se got a place we'se can go," he started walking before Luke could protest as he moved swiftly through the swirling dark to a place that was bitterly familiar to Frost. Unable to struggle against her brother's vicious grip upon her hair and arm, she watched in horror as they came to a storage warehouse that was all too familiar. Lice's eyes met hers in a victorious smirk as he realized that power of fear he still held over her. Pressing open the door, the blackness welcomed them in a sinister misery that seemed to seep inside of Frost.
Luke pressed her forward into the blackness behind the Lice and she heard the sickening thud of the limp boy being dropped to the hard ground. Her mind cringed at the sound, but she was kept from moving by her brother as her brother maintained his steely grip. The door was shut behind them with a resounding bang and the sound of a striking match could be heard along with the glass clink of a lamp chimney. The faint illumination cast from behind them was enough to show Spot sprawled in an unnatural position across the hard, cold, dirty floor.
"Will yous get tha boy?" Lice asked Luke as he came around with the lamp. "Is'll get tha goil and hold tha lamp," he bargained as he brandished a knife and Frost watched as Luke and Lice switched their holds and Lice wrapped his arm around her throat, pressing the metal against it. "Remembah Spectah?" he whispered into her ear, his hot breath filling it as she felt the spinal creeps strike her strongly. "I took ya once, I could take ya again," he spoke as Luke shouldered the unconscious Spot, referring the to the time he had raped her in this very building. "Yous don' wanna admit it, but yous scahahd, you knows yous made a mistake when yous ran from Queens," he didn't have time to continue as Luke turned to him impatiently and asked where they were going. "Follow me," Lice lead them back through the piles of crates and old machines that were obviously being stored here for later use by various owners.
The second story windows ran all around the high ceiling, some broken letting the thick fog seep inside, others boarded over or covered with ripped oiled cloth. They did little to illuminate the building in the darkness of the early New York morning. The deepest foreboding settled in the pit of Frost's stomach as the sickness from Lice's off colored comments faded with the finality of the fate that was seeming to present itself.
They were taken back to a corner that looked like it had been used for an office of some sort as its door looming in the shadows with an ominous presence. Going ahead, Luke opened it as Lice's hands were occupied beyond opening it himself as they went inside. Quickly, Frost's eyes scanned the area; it was a room around twenty by thirty feet with large boxes and random pieces of furniture and machines. A desk with a candle resting in a pewter holder is what caught her eye, but she didn't draw attention to it as Lice pushed her down on the ground and Luke dropped Spot on the ground beside her.
"Where is that cross, Lois?" Luke's low voice pierced the thick silence as she stood and slunk away from the looming presence before her.
"I don' have it," she insisted as her brother's arm shot out and grabbed her, drawing her back. "Gawd Luke, I don' have it!" She tried to pull back as she saw his fist raising to hit her when a different voice came in.
"She ain't goin' ta tell you if ya it her," Lice mocked and both brother and sister looked in his direction as he brought his knife towards the fallen Brooklynite. "But if ya hoyt her lil' fancy…" he drifted off, leaving the possibilities to the imagination as the coal black eyes widened at the evil glint of his metallic instrument.
"I don't have it!" She spoke quickly and frantically, her New York accent falling away like all of the other masks that she had placed in front of herself. "I swear it Luke, I don't have it with me!" She pulled against his hold, his eyes playing back and forth between Spot, Lice, and her brother. "You have to believe me! I don't have it!" her breathing became rapid and hurried as she felt the tears rise up to her eyes as the blade hovered so close to Spot's flesh. "I sold it back in Boston for a ticket to New York and a few good meals," she added the extra lie and the tension hung so thickly in the air that it was nearly tangible as her pleas fell upon their ears with a sickening realism.
"Leave them," Luke released his sister's arm and she stumbled backwards.
"But Luke –" Lice started by was cut off by Luke raising his hand.
"She isn't going to tell us anything now, we'll try again later," he held a tone in his voice that told Lice that arguing was not only futile, it could be dangerous. So he stood and went to the door, taking his lamp and his knife with him as Frost watched from her vantagepoint in the shadows. With one final look back, Luke glared at her with a sickening power and then shut the door.
Then it was black.
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//What are you keeping,
Keeper of the cemetery?
And the gravedigger,
Who will be buried by…?//
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The twins, fate and destiny, ran amuck that night as the spry co-leader of Brooklyn looked fearfully up at the large brothers. Their faces set for blood and their minds locked into violence, they stared down at the lithe creature that had collided into their masses. The smallest of the three, but still towering over Outsider stepped forward slightly, eyeing him up and down as the boy stepped back slightly, unsure of what to do. Looking behind him, Chester say that the duo had disappeared into the thick fog and turned back to the cowering lad in front of them before uttering a single phase.
"Get 'em," he instructed his brothers who had already set their minds to wreaking pain and misery and set about the task as quickly as they could.
That was the instant that Outsider decided to run, fast. The pounding of footsteps reverberated along the brick edifices as the fog pressed around them with a tangible entity. His heart matched and doubled the pace of his feet as he pressed his hand in a tight fist around the golden cross he bore. Glancing behind him, he was pleased to see that he had put enough distance between himself and the Pullvines that they were no longer visible, but definitely audible as they swore loudly, following his own noises.
A realization struck Outsider, if they were simply following his sounds, if he made no sound, they would not be able to find him. Though this was a risk, he was willing to take it, so swerving to the side he ran along until he found an alley in which he could duck. Darting behind a crate, he ducked down and tried his best to regulate his heavy breathing and pounding heart. All he wanted to do was get that bar, The Red, and talk to this Cecile about Frost. His heart raced as he heard their passing footsteps grow nearer and then pass him as their swearing and profanity lingered in his ears.
Leaning his head back against the crate, he exhaled heavily and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he was very tired as his heart rated decelerated and the exhaustion of his late night outing took its toll. Before he even had the chance to fight it, Outsider felt his legs stretch out and his body go lax as he entered the world of dreams.
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//I went to the graveyard,
Fell down on my knees,
I went to the graveyard,
Fell down on my knees…//
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The darkness crowded around her as if the walls were closing in against her, the claustrophobic experience wasn't pleasing as Frost hurried over to where she had thought she had seen a candle. Tripping over many things in the process of arrive at her destination, she sighed happily as she felt the waxy cylindrical column in her grip. Digging into her threadbare pocket she found the last match in her possession and struck it carefully against the rough wood of the desk and brought it to the wick. The flame took hold of the wick and began to burn, casting a dim glow around the room, the eerie shadows playing tricks upon the mind and the figures around her.
First she searched the desk, hoping to find a fresh candle in case the one she now employed extinguished before she was through with the light. Much to her delight, destiny and fate smiled upon her as a single fresh candle waited in the bottom drawer along with old scraps of paper and several dust bunnies. Pocketing the long wax pillar, she moved to the wall where she began the perimeter inspection. No doors or windows could be found and she fretted as she looked for a possible escape. Running her free hand over the mortar between the bricks, she looked for loose pebbles or perhaps a way to lose one brick which could become another and then lead to a crawl space large enough through which they could escape. However, by the seventh time she had circled the room, she finally gave up and started looking for other ways of escape. There were none, besides the door that was undoubtedly locked and guarded by her brother or that wretched Lice. Simply at the thought of the boy newsie, she shuddered.
Vile memories of the night she had spent with him in this building washed against her like the surf against the shore, pounding against her sanity and control, wearing it away as she tried to distract herself by going and checking on Spot. He was still lying in a heap on the floor, his body slightly twisted and curled in strange ways, the dark locks of hair laying haphazardly over his handsome face and a familiar ache welled up inside of her. He was so beautiful, and from the stories she had heard the other girls tell she wasn't the only one that had noticed this. Some of the girls that she had heard talking were some of the most beautiful girls she had seen at their status level, the ones that were pretty enough to marry a richer man simply because of the fantastic bloom of their hips and their tiny waists. Those girls didn't have overly large eyes, crooked noses, or boyish figures; they were almost like goddesses walking the plains of the earth. With this knowledge she looked at Spot, brushing at the stray locks of hair, touching him in a way that she knew she would only be able to touch him in his sleep.
Too bad youah ugly, she thought bitterly before an even more sobering thought struck her. Too bad you got you an' Spot killed, Bile rose in her throat at the solemn thought of mortality.
As if touching him had burned her, she snapped back her hand and looked down at the sleeping boy once more, the painful ache reentering her breast with now the bitter twist of death and guilt. She was a murderer. It was her fault that this ethereal being would now be removed from this earth before his time. The melancholy was quickly overtaken with a painful sorrow that brought hot tears to her eyes as she recoiled from the boy on the floor, unwilling to look upon him for another instant. Why did she have to care so much? She had always been able to pick up and leave at the drop of a hat without regret or lasting ties, no one had gotten to her the way that this creature had and she hated him for it. That is, she would hate him if she didn't already love him. The conflict of emotions was too much for her too handle with the lack of sleep and physical exhaustion doubled over as she stood and moved over to a wall where she reclined and let the tears fall.
The crooked position caused the candle to fall from her pocket and roll out beside as the current burning wick sputtered and flicked towards to the night as the silent sobs wracked her body.
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//No, Mr. Gravedigger,
You won't tell,
And just to make sure,
That you keep it to yourself…//
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As it so happens, dreams and reality blur together for a moment before consciousness settles in and takes total hold over a mortal mind. The fog from the outside had seemed to seep inside his mind as his eyelids cracked open, a haze gripping his train of thought as he tried to find reality. With a silent groan, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, trying to sort through the patterns of logic that would allow him to be in such a foreign place.
The only light came from a dim candle that was beginning to sputter as it neared the end of its life, but in the flickering flame, he could see a silhouette of another. Furrowing his brow, he squinted past the darkness, his hand going to the floor, touching a waxy cylindrical object. Another candle? It was, and with it in hand, he crawled over to the rapidly extinguishing one. Lighting it off of what was left of the former flame, Spot held up the newly lit candle to his cellmate.
The candle reflected off of the mass of tangled chestnut hair and shone upon the tattered old jacket. Tiny shoulders heaved with emotion, as he heard her take a shuddering breath and his own caught in his throat. What was Frost doing here, wasn't she supposed to be going to Chicago? It was at that moment that the memories of what had happened came flooding back to him in full force. Even though he was still in the dark about the details, all he knew was that she was here now.
Reaching out his splinted hand, he touched her gently on the shoulder and she jerked away violently before drawing up her head to see who had dared to touch her. A very loud, unladylike sniffle came from the curled girl as she quickly wiped under her eyes, trying to save what little dignity she had left.
"Frost…" he drifted off, reaching out a single hand to tuck a piece of hair between her ear, letting his hand linger, cupping her cheek. The midnight eyes closed for a moment and she seemed to be fighting herself, but Spot imagined she leaned into his touch even if it was only a fraction, before she pulled away. "Whot ah yous doin' heah?" he inquired, eyes stormy with worry.
"Tha same t'ing youah doin'," she quipped, angry with herself for letting his touch effect her the way it did. Didn't she know that it meant nothing to him?
"Wheah ah we'se?" he questioned, letting out a painful hiss as an unexpected bit of hot wax singed his skin.
"Heah," she reached forward and blew out what was left of the sputtering candle stub. Prying it out of the pewter holder, she offered it to him before continuing. "Weah in an old weahhouse in Queens," she explained. "An' wes'll stay heah, until – wes'll stay heah," she frowned, looking away from him.
"Youah bruddah?" he didn't have to elaborate and she took a deep shuddering breath as she stared at her hands.
"He's outside tha doah, sleepin' pro'lly," she shrugged. "It's tha only way out," she told Spot as she turned back to look at him. His eyes were watching her intently, like two of the purest blue diamonds as the candle light shone upon them. Their watery depths pulling her in deeper, startling her at the power they held. Staring into his eyes was like trying to see past the light, you could do it only for a moment before your were simply blinded by the intensity. "Spot…" she breathed unable to say anything else as she fought for the control he had robbed from her so simply. It was aggravating.
"Yeah Frost?" he prompted and she swallowed hard. In those eyes the purest cerulean there was a trace of something she hadn't really seen before, what was it? Could it be hope – longing – expectancy? Her mouth was suddenly very dry and she cleared her throat, trying to force the words out.
"I'se soahy," she finally choked. "Foah gettin' yous inta this mess wit' me. It wosn't supposed ta happen like dis," she forced out the words before she felt her pride rising again.
"How was it supposed ta happen?" he asked, he was getting at something, but she wasn't sure what.
"Gawd, yous expect me ta know?" she felt her defensive anger rising, she had let her masks down too long and now she was scared.
"Well ya seemed ta!" he hissed back, retaliating against her outburst. "Dat's why yous left foah Chicago," he added and she froze. So he had read her letter, but had he read it all? Did he know what she felt, had he read far enough?
"Well I ain't dere now," she tore her eyes away from his, not wanting him to see the truth. "I mighta gotten away if yous hadn't gotten in tha way," she accused under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
"An' I wouldn'ta been out deah if yous hadn't run off!" he retorted.
"Yous followed me?" her voice full of disbelief as she looked back at him, eyes wide.
"Yeah," he swallowed, more showed in the short confession than he wanted, and he squirmed uncomfortably.
"Why?" she whispered, almost inperceivably leaning closer to him, waiting for his answer.
"Cause," he dropped his voice to a softer tone, matching hers and he leaned in as well, there faces only a few inches apart. "I wonted ta," he edged closer, carefully, slowly.
"Why?" her eyes fell to his lips then darted back to his eyes as she tried to reign in control of the emotions that he was sending reeling.
""I nevah got ta heah tha rest o' ya stoahy," he answered just as their lips were about to touch, she turned her face.
"So yous just wonted youah infoahmation?" she spoke dully, and he bristled at the rejection.
"Yeah," he sniffed. "Whot else would I'se wont wit'cha?" he growled and she stood.
"I dunno, yous tell me?" she put her arms akimbo and he set down the candle and stood along with her.
"Well yous could tell me whot tha hell is goin' on right now," he suggested. "Oah why da hell youah bruddah wonts ya damn necklace," he proposed. "Oah why in da hell youah such a bitch," he spat out the last words as though they pained him.
"Fine," she shot back angrily, then sighed, leaning back against the wall as if all of the fight had gone out of her. "Ya know my necklace, it's a key," she explained, her shoulders slumping. "Its tha only way ta open tha box ta my faddah's will," she continued. "An' dat is whot Luke wonts," she bowed her head.
"So why can't he jus' take tha key and leave ya alone?" Spot moved next to her, leaning on the bricks.
"I'se tha heir, tha only way dat Luke's goin' ta get tha money is if I ain't theah ta stop 'im," she ground the toe of her shoe into the ground.
"Why haven't ya gone back ta get tha money?" Spot scratched his head.
"Goin' back ta Virginia would be like tellin' him ta kill me," she scoffed and Spot noticed that she mentioned her home state. Something she hadn't done before. "Dat bastahd killed 'is own muddah in 'er bed, whot makes ya t'ink he wont do tha same ta me?" she looked at him with a mirthless laugh and then leaned her head back against the wall. "It wosn't supposed ta happen like dis," she said with a heavy sigh.
"Why doesn't Luke just bust open tha box?" Spot proposed.
"It's in tha bank," she explained. "Tha bank's got one key, an' I'se got tha oder. Ya can't open tha box wit'out both of them," she put a hand at her throat, where the golden cross used to hang. "If Luke's anyt'ing he's smaht. He ain't goin' ta rob a bank ta get the evidence they'd need ta shoot 'im," she pointed out.
"Then why am I heah?" Spot frowned, not following the logic of it all.
"If I'se don' talk, they'll use you ta make me," she pressed her eyes shut once again, the anger of only a few moments before completely forgotten. "Gawd, I'se so soahy 'bout gettin' ya inta this," she pushed off of the wall and paced restlessly, the candle casting eerie shadows over her small body.
"Ah ya shuah dat theah ain't no way outta heah?" Spot stayed reclined on the wall, watching her with his ever-shifting eyes.
"Pretty damn," she swore, pressing her palms against the cool bricks before doing a pushup so her head rested against the surface as well. "We'se goin' ta die tanight," she sounded defeated and Spot went and stood behind her. That realization was startling, and seeing her so hopeless was even more so. Though, perhaps that was why she was confiding all of this information in him, it didn't matter if neither of them were around to tell.
"We ain't beat yet," he whispered and her head came off the wall, looking at his shadowed face.
"We'se weah beat befoah we'se evah got heah," she lamented and Spot ran his fingers through his dirty hair.
"Frost," he started and then there was a pause as she waited for him to continue. "Why'd ya run?" his voice held a husky quality that struck hard with the girl and she bit her bottom lip. So he hadn't read all of her letter and she frantically searched her mind to remember exactly how she had worded it in her script.
"It's none a ya damn business!" She spat out in an almost automatic reaction before she quickly bit her tongue. The last thing she needed to do right now was lash out against this boy who was going to be killed on her account. The truth was the least she could give. "I needed out," she choice her words carefully. "It weren't safe foah me ta stay heah no moah, but I stayed too long," she felt herself being hypnotized by his eyes. "I shoulda left weeks ago," she couldn't see the expression his face held, she could barely make out his features, but she saw an alteration. To what direction it was, she wasn't sure.
"Why didn't ya then?" he watched as she turned to face him completely. "I'se seen you pickpocket, yous had 'nough money ta go ta California wit' all the cash you had," his tone was serious and she felt her heart come up to her throat.
"I guess – I didn' wanna leave - - New Yawk," she cursed herself to backing away from a golden opportunity, but she knew that it would be better if she didn't tell him.
"What's heah in New Yawk but a dime a day and heahtbreak?" his voice was so cynical that she ached for him. "Nuttin' but memories heah," he pointed out and she knew he didn't buy her excuse. "You don't strike me as much of a sentimental type," she heard his feet shuffle as he came a few inches closer, the darkness crowding around them.
"You don' know me at all, I'se left places afore, just thought I might stay in New Yawk till da weaddah gets bettah. I'se hoyd its even woyse in Chicaga," he regarded her in the faint glow of the candle and she stumbled over her words.
"Ya didn't even take time ta say goodbye," he tried to hide the feeling behind his statement, but the pain shone through. "I'se sure dat some o' tha boys would be heaht broken," he covered his own emotional misstep with the feelings of others.
"But yous be glad," she took a sharp breath as he moved closer still. "Yous t'ink I ain't nuttin' moah dan a bitch, a pain in tha ass," she quoted two of the profanity laced titles he had dubbed her.
"Yeah," he nodded, not really listening to her as he made it so that their bodies were less than a few inches apart, Frost's back pinned against the wall.
"How's youah ribs?" She quickly changed the subject, nervousness creeping into her system. No matter how much she wanted to give into him, she knew that she shouldn't. "An' youah hand," she reached out and took the poorly splinted hand in her own. "It should be healed by now," she ducked her head to inspect it in the dim light. "Gawd, whose been wrappin' dis foah yous?" she frowned at the poor handy work.
"Me," he bristled at the unintended insult.
"You shoulda had someone help yous," she reprimanded as she drew him closer to the light, where she began unwrapping it.
"Ya don't need ta do dat," Spot insisted and she shook her head.
"It need ta be done cause yous obviously ain't got no idea on how ta do t'ings like dis right," she removed the final dirty bandage and observed the hand in question. "Now I'se goin' ta try a couple t'ings an' yous tell me if dey hoyt," she instructed and began pressing on various points upon his palm and the back of his hand. When she got no reaction from him, she let go of his hand and recoiled her hand quickly to her abdomen. "Now try an' bend it," she ordered and he complied.
Slowly he bent his hand, gritting his teeth against the unexpected pain that shot up his appendage and down his torso. Through this agony though, his managed to slowly curl his fingers completely before extending them once again. Though he hadn't made any vocal or expressional mark of his pain, Frost knew that it had hurt him.
"It'll hoyt foah a whilse, dat's whot happens when ya don' use it foah awhile," she informed and he looked at her sourly.
"I'se jus' t'ink yous like ta hoyt me," he grumbled and a small smile tugged at her thin lips as she realized that he didn't really mean it. "So me hand is fixed?" he reverted back to safer ground and she nodded in the dim candlelight. "Whot 'bout my ribs?" he tried bending his hand again and felt that it didn't put him through such agony as it did the first time.
"I t'ink dey's fine," she started to stand and he moved with her, still bending and stretching his hand.
"Dey's been kinda hoytin'," he insisted reaching out with his good hand and grasping on of hers, bringing it against his side. "Right heah," he told her with a husky quality in his voice as she moved as far back as she could from him as he firmly held her hand in place.
"If youah hands fine, youah ribs ah fine," she generalized, feeling very uncomfortable at his obvious perusal, but why would he pursue her? It didn't make sense….
"How do ya know dat?" his tone was more curious than attempting to woo her.
"My faddah was a noyse," she jerked her hand away finally and he looked slightly irritated.
"He wos book learned?" Spot quirked a curious eyebrow and she nodded, looking distracted and he took that opening to grasp her shoulders and pressed her back against the wall. Instinctively she moved to fight him, but when her glassy eyes caught his in the dim light, she froze.
"I'm goin' ta kiss ya," he stated.
"Like hell ya ah," she protested weakly but already knew that she wouldn't be able to fight him off. Her body reacted to his presence and though she tried to back away, she felt herself being drawn to him. Keeping their eyes locked until his forehead rested against her own, she could feel his hot breath mingling with her own. "Spot – don't," she could almost taste him like the forbidden fruit and she could feel her own resolve melting away quickly as a hot flash of lust coursed through her.
"Why not?" he actually brushed his lips against hers as they spoke and she felt a tremor go down her spine as her knees went weak at the butterfly kiss. It had barely been enough to feel, but it felt like a bolt of lightning had struck her. Why did she have to want him so much? Before she could being forth a response she felt him shift his face to an angle and press his mouth gently over hers.
The contact absolutely shocked her as she inhaled sharply through her nose, unsure if she should respond or not as her coal black eyes stayed open wide as she fought against herself and all of the selfish pride that she had worked so hard to keep. Reason after logical reason absolutely fell away under the rushing tide of passion and lust that passed through her upon the feel of his body pressed so close to hers. It simply felt amazing. The frozen stance that she was trying so valiantly to control and maintain was increasingly difficult with ever sensation and thrill that coursed through her – but she didn't want to give into him. She didn't want to just be another one of Spot's girls.
Through all of her reasoning though and good intentions, she felt her eyes flutter closed and her arms move around his lean torso as she responded to his kiss. Against all reason, all personal promises or standards, she allowed him to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue in past her lips as she pressed herself flush against him. The want and desire that had burned within them flamed to an extreme as they released their hurt and frustration upon each other, the kiss going from gentle to brutal and passionate all in an instant as they struggled to come nearer to each other. Wrapping a single leg around him, Frost gripped his face between her hands, meeting his kiss with one of her own.
The passionate embrace was wreaking quick and deadly havoc upon Spot's control and senses and he knew that if he didn't stop soon, he might very well take her right there. The idea was all together too tempted to allow the kiss to go on any further and with a very hard deliberate jerk, he pulled away from her, losing her grips on his body and stumbling back a bit. Thoroughly drunk on the kiss, the both stood panting for a few moments before Spot spoke.
"We'se gettin' outta heah," he informed, walking over and taking the candle.
"Weahn't yous listenin' ta me?" Frost antagonized. "Ya can't get outta heah unless we'se bustin' out tha doah," She sneered and Spot looked at her curiously for a moment, the wheels in his head obviously turning.
"Yous can pick locks, right?" he remembered her work on the hatch to the roof and seeing her deft moves on the girls bunk room that was still under construction.
"Yeah," she looked at him skeptically before the realization dawned upon her. "No, theah's no way we'se goin' ta pick that lock an' try an' get past them," she shook her head and Spot walked up to her hopefully.
"We'se can do dis Frost, you's pick tha lock, we'se sneak out an' we'se back ta Brooklyn, we'se free!" he spoke in a hushed excitement that was very uncharacteristic for the Brooklyn leader, but held an electric passion that spread into Frost. "We at least have a chance dis way," he pleaded. "Let's try."
There was a long moment that passed between them and Frost didn't know what to do. How could Spot switch gears so quickly when she was still recovering from their passionate embrace? Was this all just another trick to get her to do something for him as it seemed to have been before? Yet there was a spark in his eyes that wasn't simply the reflection of candlelight, no it was the obvious glimmer of hope and pleading as he longed for a second chance just as much as she did.
"All right," she quietly complied reaching within her coat and pulling out a strange bent metal piece no thicker than a pencil and squiggly as a snake.
Moving to the door, he held the candle for her much as he had that fateful night she had confessed so much of her life spent in New York. Her work was done deftly and as quietly as possible, every time a supposed noise came from the outside she froze. Breathing stopped as well as they listened to the silence that enveloped them until she was quite sure that it was safe to continue. What could have only been a few moments dragged on for eternity and she felt beads of perspiration dot her cold forehead as the pressure mounted. Sticking her tongue out of the side of her mouth, she gave it one last try, moving the tool in a most curious fashion until she heard a satisfying click.
Smiling broadly, she froze, waiting to see if she roused anyone on the other side. When there was no sound, she withdrew her tool and stood, nodding to Spot who reached out with one hand and opened it. Another light met them as the lamp that Lice had lit stood at the feet of a boy who was snoring quietly. His eye patch was in place as he reclined in a rather uncomfortable looking position on the wall. Spot looked at Frost warily and they silently stole in the direction of the door, Frost leading. Once outside, the snuffed the candle, dropped it and the holder, and began to run for Brooklyn.
. : ^_^ : .
//Mr. Gravedigger,
Won't you help me,
And hide me for a night?
I'm running from the bounty man…//
. : ^_^ : .
"It's about time you got here," Luke growled, as Lice appeared, he had just woken and was impatient. "It's going to be dawn before long," he muttered and Lice gave him a cold look.
"I hadda do sumt'ing," he replied, not elaborating. "Wheah'd ya move tha two?" he motioned to the door that was slightly ajar, but hardly noticeable.
"What? I didn't move them!" Luke insisted and Lice looked at him and then the door.
"Then why is tha damn doah open?" he accused.
"Shit, you mean they escaped!" Luke swore, on his feet immediately.
"Yeah, looks like it," he watched Luke head frantically for the door, but made no moves to follow him.
"Are you going to help me find them?" Luke implored and Lice shook his head.
"I'se done wit' dis," he held up his hands. "I ain't goin' inta tha Brooklyn an' takin' theah leadah," he scoffed at the sheer stupidity of the notion and Luke looked like he might strangle Lice as he stood there.
"Fine," Luke growled. "I don't need you," he turned then on his heel and stalked off, leaving Lice behind with a wicked smile on his face.
"I'se goin' ta do this me own way," Lice spoke to himself once Luke was gone. "I'se goin' ta find Spectah and then t'ings ah goin' ta change," he went to the door where Luke had previously exited and moved into the misty darkness with the motions of a seasoned professional.
. : ^_^ : .
//From the cradle to the grave,
It cannot rain all the time,
It cannot always be the day,
But it can always be the night…//
. : ^_^ : .
Frost and Spot had stopped from the running just on the Brooklyn side of the border. Catching their breaths for a moment and Frost knew what she had to do. It wasn't safe for her to go back to the lodging house, but she knew Spot wouldn't leave her if she told him the truth and she quickly formulated a plan.
"Go back ta tha lodgin' house," She told him suddenly and continued before he could speak. "I left me stuff back at tha train station, I needs ta get it. Is'll meet ya back theah," she promised and saw the confusion enter his expression.
"Is'll go wit' ya, whot if ya buddah finds ya?" he disagreed.
"He won't," she quickly said and then continued. "Ya need ta get back ta tha burrah, dawn'll be heah soon an' tha group'll expect ya ta be theah," she pointed out and Spot looked torn. "Don' woahy 'bout me, Is'll be fine," she reached up and pulled his head down suddenly, smashing his lips to hers in what turned out to be a ten second block of heaven. Initially as a distraction to keep him from formulating any other thoughts, the kiss had a second meaning, it was her way of saying goodbye. During the kiss she imagined that it meant something to him, she imagined that it could possible be more than another forgettable rendezvous. When she pulled back she was even more short of breath then she had been when she had stopped running. "Go," she shoved him and then headed in the direction of the train station.
Already her heart was breaking, she hadn't wanted to lie to him but she had known that there was nothing else that could be done for it. It wasn't safe in New York anymore, it just wasn't. She had stolen enough money that she should be able to get out of New York and somewhere that she could develop a new identity that would get her where ever she wanted to go. Even if it wasn't to Chicago, she simply knew that New York was no longer an option, even if she would be leaving her heart behind. Turning blindly down an alley, the fog that had been so thick before slightly waning in the early morning hours still not thin enough to see the on coming danger.
"Hello lil' goil," she heard the sinister voice cut through the night and felt the hackles on the back of her neck raise. "Did ya miss me?" She stifled a scream at the sight of Lice emerging from the shadows.
. : ^_^ : .
//The gravedigger,
Look me in the eye,
The gravedigger,
Look me in the eye…//
. : ^_^ : .
An abrupt jolt is what woke the boy sleeping in the alleyway. His gray eyes flying open at the sudden intrusion upon his dreamland and he shivered as he entered the cold reality of New York once more. A tall boy with an eye-patch covering one eye glared down at him with his single piercing orb before it darted to the glittering in Outsider's palm.
"Let me see that!" The tall youth demanded of Outsider and he frowned, still dazed from sleep as he stood, fist closing over the prize.
"No," he denied, starting to walk away when he felt himself being pulled back roughly.
"I said let me see it," the boy punched him across the jaw and as the warm blood trickled from the corner of his busted lip, Outsider realized that he might have gotten more than he bargained for in taking this necklace.
. : ^_^ : .
//It's what you crave,
Dig your own grave,
Bury yourself alive,
Gravedigger…//
. : ^_^ : .
Where was she? He knew they had split up with the intention of heading back to the Brooklyn Lodging house, but something wasn't right. A nagging feeling was pulling him back to Queens as the eerie fog pressed around him, smothering his sight. He had already lost her once, and he didn't intend to do it again. That is why Spot turned around to search for Frost.
Meanwhile Frost was very much in need of help.
. : ^_^ : .
//Gravedigger,
When you dig my grave,
Could you make it shallow?
So I can feel the rain,
Gravedigger…//
. : ^_^ : .
"Wheah's youah lil' friend sweat heaht?" Lice taunted, his multi-colored eyes glittering with an evil mischief.
"Leave him outta dis, dis is 'tween yous an me," she growled and Lice laughed.
"I took yous afore, whot makes you t'ink I can't do it again?" he taunted and her jaw tightened at the memory.
"'Cause I ain't from Queens no more," she informed. "I'se from Brooklyn," with that she lunged forward, pummeling him with her fists as she had dreamed of doing ever since that fateful night so long ago. The fear she felt washed away in the anger that he rose in her. She was so close to almost being happy, she wouldn't let Lice stand in the way of that.
Fairly quickly, Lice was able to control the direct onslaught from the gusty girl. Trading her blows with those of his own, Frost soon realized that she couldn't win on the offense and soon reverted to darting and dodging. The pain from all of the shame she had felt burned though her and she longed for revenge, but she also knew that she had to get back to Brooklyn. Spot was waiting for her. However, this was something that needed to be finished once and for all, she wouldn't life a life of fear anymore.
Ducking under his punches, she managed to launch herself into his torso, knocking him to the ground as she stood quickly, kicking him fiercely. There were no rules of etiquette in this battle, as Lice didn't hesitate to draw out his silver blade. Frost's face blanched at the sight.
"Lice," her voice took a condescending tone. "Whot ah yous doin'?" she stumbled back as she dodged the swift swipe of his blade.
"Don' tell me ya scahahd, Spectah," he sneered as he lunged again. "It's just a lil' fun," he taunted as she shrank away from the metallic instrument, but didn't run. She knew he was a knife thrower, she knew that he could pin her to the wall with that blade as easy as a fly if she turned and ran. "An' I'm goin' ta tell ta something," he watched her reactions carefully, practically daring her to run. "Ya might be an ugly bitch, but gawd it felt good," he saw the shame and fear flash across her features, but was soon replaced by raw fury. "I took ya once, and I'se could take ya again," he threatened and a muscle in her cheek jerked.
A red haze had settled in Frost's vision and now flamed with a passionate hate that blurred all sense of reason or dimension. Springing out at the shocked Lice, she ignored the deadly blade as she lashed out violently. It was all a blur of blows, punches, and kicks being blindly exchanged until the cold bite of steel scraped down her side. With a hissing gasp, she stumbled back from him, her hand pressing against the now searing pain. The sticky red stained the callused porcelain of her hand and Lice sneered. True he had no desire to kill her, but a little scrape might do well to show her his authority.
"Scahahd yet?" he mocked, and she gritted her teeth against the pain.
"Not of yous," she staggered back a few more steps, looking down to see that the knife had made a jagged cut all the way down the left side of her torso.
"Then Is'll have ta fix dat," he growled, coming towards her with his blood tipped knife.
"Frost!" The call came from the dissipating fog.
"Spot!" she returned with a voice as loud as she could muster.
Lice froze at the called name of the Brooklyn leader. Though he was confident he could oust him in a battle, especially with his knife, he didn't know if he was alone or unarmed. Finding a Queens boy with a knife and his bloody Brooklynite could spell trouble that was unwanted to say the least. So quickly he disappeared into the dark mist, but didn't stray too far.
"Spot!" Frost cried out again, stumbling towards the opening of the alley, barely noting Lice's departure. "Spot!"
"Frost!" Spot returned, tracing her voice through the boarder streets.
"Ovah heah!" She called, bracing herself against the brick wall, the wound on her side seeping steadily. Perhaps the cut was deeper than she first imagined. The loss of blood was making her slightly dizzy as the crimson stained her side.
"Frost!" Spot called to her as he saw her leaning against the wall, the scarlet stain on her side already painfully apparent. "Shit Frost," he muttered as he reached her. "Whot happened?" he extended a hand to press over the one she already had covering part of the seeping wound.
"Its just scratch," she brushed off his concern and forced a smile. He didn't look convinced. "Just help me walk a lil," she ordered, wrapping her free arm on her uninjured side around his shoulders. By the tenth step however, Frost had to stop, dizziness overwhelming as her knees started to buckle beneath her. Easing her to the ground, Spot watched her with a scowl as she pressed one bloodied hand to her temple.
"Frost, I'se goin' ta get help," Spot stooped next to the girl as he made moves to stand and walk away, but she reached out and grasped his sleeve.
"No," she gasped against the pain that seared through her with the sharp motion. "No," she repeated as he knelt with her and she turned back into a more comfortable pose. "I'se fine, just a lil' tailed, dat's all," the wobbly smile was far from enough to convince the skeptic scowling Spot.
"Lemma see youah side," Spot had a sickening sinking feeling even before she allowed him to look. The blade had sliced through the thin clothes and deeply into the side of her torso from her lower ribcage all the way to her hip. The jagged cut tore and angry strawberry gash that spilled out over her and his skin and clothes. Watching his face, Frost knew that he had realized that extent of her injury and unwanted tears began to well up in her eyes.
"Frost…" his voice drifted off, as he looked at her in the murky hours just before dawn.
"Kiss me," she ordered, as she didn't want him to see the tears that were going to fall. Willingly, he complied with her wishes as he lowered his mouth to hers gently. It was as if he was afraid he would break her If he pressed too hard as the fragile kiss continued. The tears she had hoped to withhold started to slide down her cheeks and at the salty sweetness, Spot pulled back and she was ashamed of her weakness.
"I'se soahy, Spot," she apologized, closing her eyes and sending two more teardrops sliding down her cheeks.
"You's going ta be a'ight, Frost," Spot gathered her into his arms and held her closely against his chest as she cried and he knew his words were false nothings. "Wes'll get ya ta a doctah," he promised. "An' it'll all woyk out, yous'll see," it was as if he were simply trying to fill the silence of her sobs with the comforts that applied to both of them.
"Gawd," Frost gasped against the fabric of his coat. "I'se soahy Spot," she coughed this time, a spasm shook her frail body at the sudden jarring. Her pale complexion turning whiter and grayer at the same time as the life she had was steadily flowing from her. No, death wouldn't be merciful in a quick burst of pain like a bullet or knife to the heart. Fate and destiny allowed to life force to slowly drain from her in a cruel and bitter end. Time passed as she clung to Spot, his words washing over her and she wasn't even listening anymore, they were the same nonsensical phrases again and again. The tears had stopped and she wasn't sure when, but she knew that she didn't have the energy to keep up with the falling drops of crystalline misery.
She tried to shift so she could see Spot's face; she found it quite difficult to have her body cooperate. Gently, Spot adjusted her in his hold and looked her in the eyes and was suddenly struck by the cold, hard truth. She was dying right there in his arms and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He wondered if she knew it, but by the look in her glassy eyes, she did. There was something about those eyes, how they should have been red-rimmed from crying but they were as all of her blood was escaping. An overwhelming surge of bitterness lodged itself in his throat as a million questions raced through his mind, a million more things he wanted to tell her, and a million more things he wanted to do with her. It was a sobering and maddening revelation that he wasn't going to be able to any of them.
"Spot?" her voice snapped him from his revere. "What's your real name?" she asked, the New York accent she had developed for her climate disappeared in the moments that she didn't have the energy to hold up any masks anymore. The question was so simple that Spot was struck with the reality that he knew virtually nothing about her and she less about him. They would never have the time to really get to know one another.
"Patrick," Spot responded, and she coughed again, her whole body shaking with it.
"Patrick," she said after the spasms had completed. "Patrick," she repeated, feeling it roll off the tip of her tongue, tasting it. "I like that name" she smiled slightly before coughing violently again. This time, a small trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth, contrasting violently with the chalky complexion of her skin, a sign of internal bleeding. Perhaps the gas was deeper than they first expected. "I'm sorry, Patrick," she gave a sad little smile as she tasted the coppery blood in her mouth and knew that the end was nearing. Spot felt a haze of red creep into his vision as the injustice of it all stuck into him like sharp claws.
He was mad at the person who was the reason behind the gash. He was mad for all the times that he would never have with her. He was mad for all the moments he had with Frost and not taken to their full advantage. He was mad at himself that he couldn't say the simplest words aloud. Blinking back the rageful tears, he listened as the breathing in her chest became labored, it was all happening too fast.
"Don't do dis, Frost," he pleaded and she coughed again, this time even more violently than before.
"I'm sorry," she rasped, saddened by a sense of failure she couldn't quell. Everything in her life had been one painful mistake after another she thought as she struggled to draw in her next breath, a strange gurgle accompanying the inhalation.
"Who did dis to ya Frost?" Spot's anger began to translate into a burning want for revenge for this life that was coming to an end far too soon. Even if it was just a common thief or newsie like himself, he would kill him for all the pain he was bringing. "Lose," his voice held urgency that made Frost's mind race, it was so hard to focus. "Who did dis to ya?" Spot asked again and she coughed again, this time much harder with that strange bubbling noise as more blood came from her mouth.
"Patrick," she rasped, unsure of what else to say. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't. Her mind raced as she tried to formulate a coherent thought, what should she tell him? "L – Li – L –" she stuttered the word, frustrated with herself that she couldn't make the simplest of words come out straight. Her breathing was becoming even harder as she was having to concentrate and fight for every breath she took, a rigid grasp overcame her body as it felt like a weight was clamping down on her ability to inhale. Her eyes shot open wide as a frantic feeling came over her, and she fought off the darkness that was seeping in around the corners of her eyes. Looking up at Spot for one last time, their eyes connecting and a wave of peace suddenly flooded her along with a bitter failure. She had failed him; she had gotten hurt, and now was going to die. Opening her mouth, she wanted to tell him that she loved him, but somehow couldn't bring herself to say it, so as she took one last rattling breath she felt the grip she had on his shirt loosen and her hand fall limply to her side. "Sorry," she rasped and then her eyes closed, all of the previous tenseness that had crept inside her body in the few last desperate moments disappeared.
Then she wasn't in the dark foggy New York street; she was back in Virginia as a small girl. She was running carelessly in a bright meadow with a crooked flower garland on her long chestnut hair, tangled in the wind. She was happy, she was at peace, she was laughing, then it was light and there was nothing.
"Frost," Spot said as her body went lax, but she was beyond hearing. "Frost," he said a little more urgently as he shook her slightly. "Lois!" he called, panic rising as he noted the wound has all but stopped bleeding and her chest was no longer moving to draw in air. "No," he whispered to himself, not wanting to believe it. Then he crushed her lifeless body to his chest, rocking back and forth; muttering nonsensical nothings over and over as he stroked her blood matted hair. The liquid staining him a damning red, crusting over his clothes in the murky dark.
The tears never came however, instead of an aching sorrow, the burning anger took over. Its powerful tide washed away all reason as the red thickly clouded his vision and thoughts. Anything and everything could be subjected to this rage, but only one was on his mind. Luke. Frost's final stuttering had left no doubt in his mind that her brother was responsible for her death since he had no knowledge of Lice's part of all of this. For his intolerance and infidelity to his sister, Luke would meet with death much like his sister had before him. Knowing that he was most likely still in the area, Spot released his violent grip on the lifeless girl.
As much as he was torn over what to do with her body, Spot knew that he couldn't carry her and that it would be foolish to try. Even if he could carry her back to the Brooklyn lodging house, there was no way they would be able to afford the price of a cemetery plot or a proper burial. The city would find her and bury he with all of the other orphans and runaway that they found dead on these streets, the unclaimed bodies of the voiceless group of the suffering would be given a nameless grave on a plot of assigned ground. It was sickening, but true. So with a torn heart, he lay her gently on the ground and arranged her with as much dignity as he could. Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before he looked her over one last time, then with his heart burning with purpose and his head held high, he straightened and turned without looking back.
Out of the shadows came a dubious character that had watched the scene unfold from a safe distance. His two-toned eyes probing the surrounding area for observers before walking to the fallen girl. Shamelessly, he dug within her pockets and took whatever of value he could find before straightening and casting a smirk down at her. If she had died from such a simple cut, maybe she wasn't the girl that he thought her to be. She wasn't the key to Queens, no, she never had been. She had merely been a stepping stone, but things change. So with his mind already turning with a new plan, Lice returned to the Queens warehouse with hopes of a few hours of sleep before selling the morning edition
. : ^_^ : .
//Build your own demise,
Buried alive,
No use to revive,
Gravedigger…//
. : ^_^ : .
Outsider ducked under a right hook, kicking out against his attacker. Whoever this boy was, he wanted that cross pretty badly. The eye-patched boy fist launched forth once again, and then again, Outsider was getting tired of dodging. Blood trickled from the corner of the newsie's mouth, the same color as the jewel in the middle of the cross, from a direct blow he had taken.
"You're slowing down, boy," the one with the eye patch teased, as he swung out one final time. His fist coming in firm contact with Outsider's jaw, sending his head reeling back and slamming against the brick edifice behind him. There was a sickening crack as the boy slumped, his eyes rolling back into his head.
A victorious smile twisted Luke's thin lips as he knelt beside the unconscious boy, prying open the fist he knew to hold the prize. Sure enough, the gold cross lay there in all of its glory. With reverence he picked up the tiny prize that would cost him more than he ever knew. Finally, it was his. A sick smile pressed upon his face as he revered the jeweled lovely, standing he gave the fallen boy a mock salute as he walked out into the fog-covered street.
Darkness was still upon the streets of New York as the fog made it impossible for any kind of carriage to navigate on the streets without high chance of collision. Even the street lamps did little to penetrate the cloud like covering, but Luke didn't care, he had the key. As he strolled along the road, he felt an unusual lightness and he no longer cared about the fate of his sister. If she reappeared in his life, he could simply remove her, and he highly doubted she would be stupid enough to try anything.
Turning a corner, he was shocked to feel himself running into something, or rather, someone. Stumbling back a few steps, an apology was on his lips until he recognized whom he had stumbled upon. There was a dangerous glint in his blue diamond eyes as his clothes were stained a brilliant red fading to a sickening brown. His chest was heaving, the key around his neck rising and falling with each deep inhalation. His non-splinted hand gripped a gold-tipped cane possessively, and even in the dim light and fog, Luke could see the pulse throbbing madly in the boy's tensed neck.
"You bastahd," Spot spat at Luke's feet and the eye-patched boy's eyebrow raised comically.
"I beg your pardon sir," Luke mocked the enraged lad and made moves to walk away when Spot took a menacing step forward.
"I knows whot you did," Spot's teeth were gritted in fierce intimidation. A dark chill ran down Luke's spine, but he pushed it away with the reckoning that this was simply a boy, but there was something very lethal in his presence. Automatically, he assumed that he meant that he knew about the boy in alley, and he scoffed.
"That was nothing," a wicked smiled crept onto his face. "I can show you how I did it, if you like," he tempted and Spot's nostrils flared.
"Ladies foist," he growled through clenched teeth and Lice lunged at him, a mistake.
Dodging to the side, Spot easily brought his cane across the older boy's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Whirling around to face off again, Lice smiled through the pain and Spot continued to glare. Obviously Luke had underestimated his young opponent, one thing that you should never do with a small Brooklyn boy. The smaller your were, the better fight you had to be, especially if you were a newsie.
They circled for a moment, Spot carefully mirroring every move of his assailant. He wasn't going to attack him though the anger surging through him needled him to, no, he would wait. So wait he did until Luke came forward with a series of punches. The majority, Spot was able to dodge with ease. Kicking out, he managed to off-balance his opponent shoving him to the ground. Unfortunately, Luke caught a hold of Spot's cane and yanked him down along with him.
Unable to react for a moment, Spot lay stupefied a terrible mistake. For in an instant, pinned situation Luke had ushered him into and rose quickly to his feet, the weariness in his body forgotten as the strength of pain and anger surged through him.
Spot turned just in time to see a flash of metal coming towards him and he lunged to the side, crashing to the cobblestones, his cane dropping from his grip. Pain jolted through his body as his upper back skidded across the rough ground, and stars flashed before his eyes. Blood leaked as red as fire from his mouth and from a cut above his eye. Darkness was seeping in from the corners of his eyes and he fought against it. He couldn't lose consciousness, not now. The memory of Frost bleeding in his arms pressed the darkness away just in time for him to see Luke coming near with a dangerous knife. Even in the fog, the metallic instrument glinted menacingly.
Rolling, Spot moved swiftly to the place that his cane had fallen, knowing that he would need it. Gripping it he felt the cool agony of the blade slicing into the flesh of his arm and he rolled away yet again. Growling against the pain, he glared at Luke who was coming at him again with the intent to do more than injure his arm. Leaping to his feet, Spot swung his cane as hard as he could, fueled by the wrath of his wound. His walking stick made direct connection with the back of Luke's skull with a resonating crack that shook Spot as he saw the youth's face blanch, then go blank. In that moment, time froze.
For an instant, Luke's single black orb shot to Spot's blue diamonds, staring at him in shock as he staggered forward a few steps, obviously dizzy from the blow. There was a lump in one of the stones unforeseen by the stumbling assailant and the toe of his boot caught on it. With a look of unadulterated terror, he crashed forward, his own knife driving deeply into his chest.
There was silence until a shuddering exhalation from the dying youth's mouth stirred the thick vapors, then all was still. Dropping to his knees beside the lad, Spot flipped him over roughly. Already the single dark eye was glazed and staring into oblivion that no living mortal had ever seen. One hand was still firmly coiled around the handle of deadly weapon; the other clenched in a loose fist at his side. A trail of warm sticky blood stained the corner of his slack jaw, and whatever river had been flowing from his chest had stopped as his heart had failed to pump any to the severed veins.
A golden glint caught the cerulean blue eyes as they darted to the closed fist. Instantly, he was prying it open, not allowing it to harden closed in the cold grip of death. Sure enough, just as his suspicion had held, a long chain looking to be as thread spun from gold with a cross matching in color was held there. What Luke had been searching for long and hard had been his only briefly before the atonement for his sins and greed ended ultimately in his own death.
With a trembling hand, he picked up the bloodthirsty object, the object that had caused all of this death, all of this hate, and clenched it in his own hand. Standing, he looked around in the darkness, the vapors clinging to him, as he stared at the object in his palm once more. The blood on his clothes was drying, forming a crust upon him, and his victory over Luke seemed very hallow somehow. Though avenged for Frost's untimely death, there was still something terribly unfair and wickedly cruel about it all. The anger he felt was no longer justified as he had destroyed the one that had destroyed his love. So as he stood there, the terrible anger he had felt began to simmer into something else.
Something much more painful.
. : ^_^ : .
//Gravedigger,
When you dig my grave,
Could you make it shallow?
So I can feel the rain,
Gravedigger…//
. : ^_^ : .
The dawn was upon them, soon the rest of the boys and girls would be waking and going about their lives, readying to sell papers, and Spot knew he would have to join them. As he stood on the docks, he felt comforted by the normality of it all, but it was far from enough to console the sullen boy. It truly was a dismal sunrise as the icy wind whipped around him; combing invisible fingers through his blood matted hair and stinging his exposed skin.
The sun wasn't bright, as the fog had risen to a low overhang of heavy angry looking clouds. His face set as granite as he surveyed all he could from his vantagepoint. The water lapped against the wooden supports, but was unnoticed as the city slept for their few more precious moments. There was no expression of the leader's visage as he looked down at his clenched fist. A slight falter could be detected as he opened his bruised and bloody hand, a golden cross glinting in the faint light, the red center as crimson as the lifeblood that was now fading to brown on his clothes and flesh.
The wind picked up its force as the zephyrs pulled at his threadbare coat and clothes. His no longer splinted hand ached, but he ignored the pain as he clutched the chain in his fingers and lifted and watched as it twisted and turned in the gusts. The pale sunlight dimmed to an extreme by the dark overhang as the Brooklyn leader's eyes matched the skies above. Their painful gray reflecting the knowledge that Frost was gone, but it was still too soon to realize it. So as he drew the necklace back and unhooked the tiny clasp.
With fumbling fingers he brought it around his neck and tried to refasten it. Between the numbness, the ache, and the exhaustion, it was near impossible to fasten the miniature clasp behind his neck, but after much trouble, he did. The small golden cross with the delicate chain looked out of place along with the large brass key with the rough cording, but he didn't care. With his good hand, he clutched it fiercely, his stormy eyes scanning out over the murky waters and up to the dark sky as a bolt of lightning cut across the sky.
It was as though the bolt had sliced open the sky for it began to poor out the freezing rain. Biting the skin of his face as he stared into oblivion, blinking only when the piercing drops directly hit his orbs. The wind continued to blow with an unknown strength, and one would think that a boy so small would be blown right off the dock, but he stood as a statue. Never once did he move from his place as the cool agony poured out around him in a sobering finality.
Though as he stood alone in the grim dawn, the bullets of rain pounding around him, one could have sworn that it was tears that trickled down his red stung cheeks. If someone had asked him, he would have denied it, he might have even told them to go to hell because Spot Conlon didn't cry.
Brooklyn couldn't cry.
Though as he stood under the sky as it unleashed its fury upon the scorned earth, something with scalding warmth trickled from the corners of his eyes, unheeded by their possessor. The boy stood seeking answers that he knew he would never receive, praying to the heavens that he could join Frost in the afterlife. An ache spread through him that he hadn't known he could feel before, and as he fell to his knees under the storming sky, he bowed his head, unable to stand any longer.
He cried.
No, he sobbed. Deep heart-wrenching cries that could be heard over the claps of thunder and the clatter of the rain, but he didn't care. He was beyond caring because he had cared too much. Caring is what got him into that situation. The pelting drops felt like a million needles pricking his skin, but he didn't move. The only proof that he was alive was the heavy heaving of his shoulders as his grief overtook his body.
He cried for all of the times he had denied himself to let the tears flow. He cried for all of the moments that he had hated himself for what he had forced himself to become. He cried for all that he had lost because of what he had become. He cried for his past, he cried for his feature, he cried knowing that this would be the last time he cried for at least another good while, if ever again.
Most of all, he cried because he loved her – but she would never know.
. : ^_^ : .
A/N: :: sniff :: There is going to be one maybe two more chapter to pull this all together all bridge it into Blind Spot which I can put full attention into – but – once I am done with this fiction, I can post new stuff. So Blind Spot might be on the back burner until I get out some one-shot ideas that I haven't been able to use. AAAAAAAGGGGGH! I killed my favorite original character! I killed her! She died! Angst! Angst! Angst! I am going to die. I am just going to go die now. I can't tell you how sad I am right now, she was like my sister and now she is dead! Oh gosh, I am getting weepy now, excuse me while I go bawl.
Rae Kelly: I will write something disgustingly happy sometime! So there! Agh, I can't believe I killed her, hopefully you won't hate me for it. Thanks for the review….
Emotions/Ice: Do you know how much it hurts to kill off your favorite original character? A lot. Okay with that said, last chapters are always the hardest because you have to tie in all of the lose ends and if you have a sequel, you have to leave that option open – somehow. I have found that you just have to start writing and write out different options and most of the time you will find the one that is just what you were looking for. I can't tell you how many times I wrote this chapter… well I wrote it all once – and then my laptop deleted it…. :: mutters something about destroying her unworthy laptop before going into a corner and bawling ::
Kaylee: Yet another delayed update from me, but with good reason. My stupid laptop deleted all 10,000 + words of the original take of this chapter. Oh well, I think I like this re-write better, but to say the least I was distraught. As I have said before, the last chapter is the hardest, but I am sure that you will do fine. I'm on the favorites list? I am so honored… I don't know if I will be after this chapter – but I can dream can't I?
Tiger: I am glad you enjoy it, thanks for the review.
Ireland O'Reily: I killed her. I killed her. I can't believe I killed her. I knew that I was going to do it, but actually doing it is so much harder. I can't tell you how sorry I am for the major delay of chapters, but yeah – stuff happens. Like laptops deleting all 10,000 + words of your finished chapter just before posting. :: cough :: but I'm not bitter.
Frenchy DeWolfe: Thank you for the compliments and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter even though I killed Frost. :: breaks down :: I'm glad that you liked it, and I hope that you liked this chapter too, even if it was terrible and awful and I KILLED FROST! :: bawls :: Okay, I am obviously far too emotional to give a proper thank you, so I am just going to be leaving you now. Thanks for the review.
A/N: All I have to say is anyone who says that a paragraph is a long chapter, read this. This chapter alone is 16 pages long (Tahoma 10pt. Font), 12,971 words long, 56,908 characters without spaces long, 69,599 characters with spaces long, has 221 paragraphs, and 812 lines. That is without the song inserts, the author's notes, warning, shout outs, anything extra. It is just the raw text. So if you bothered to read it, leave me a review. I really could use the moral support right now.