I've been so horrible with the shout outs. How can I treat such wonderful reviewers in such a manner?! Thank goodness I get any reviews at all. So here's the big shout out that should never have been and if I don't continue with little thank you's for the rest of this story and Upstate Races then kick me to the Refuge.

NaughteeLady: I never even said hi to you, gave you a little recognition for hoping onto my story's train. Big hug! And hopefully this new chapter will make up for everything. Everyone elselisten up! Check out her fic 'Quite the Lady' cause it's quite a storyhehe, oh I just crack myself up. Ah

KatFightOnSkis: There has to be some story behind such a unique penname...care to share? Thanks so much for reviewing and I loved your story (or at least the first two chapters J ) of A Second Chance!

Klover: Geez, I need ta think of how to fit you into this story. Or at least Upstate Races. One of my first reviewersever! Hope these past couple chapters have been worth the wait!

Dakki: Last only because your most recent review just came in and I was reading that instead of writing your SO. AND I stumbled upon your livejournalsuch a weird concept really (but entertaining none the less). I especially like your dream about Race in the cafeteriaYes, shame on you for not writing the next chapter of HorsesI'm getting desperateso weakneed to read 'Horses'or chocolate. J Tell Dalton I say hi when he returns and I have to say that Racetrack's Quest is some hilarious fic.

Okay, phew, on with the chapter right? Right!

Chapter 8

He'd chased after her until the people around him blurred into a faceless mass. Somehow he lost her, but out of instinct he turned one corner after the next. She'd led him towards St. Mary's and, rushing into the open square, he wondered if she had found refuge inside. Flustered and turning frantically he first noticed the dimmed darkness of the churches arches—not a welcoming sight. This only made him more desperate to catch up but confused as to which road he should take. Stopping for only a moment he concluded that she must have passed the church and continued towards Brooklyn for it was the quickest way home.

So he began again, racing down one street after the other, bumping into other late night travelers, no fear for his own life. On numerous occasions he thought he saw her ahead of him, looking behind in fear at his approach, or being pulled into some alleyway, helpless and vulnerable. This only made him run faster, blinking back liquid that collected in the corner of his eyes—not tears, because he couldn't cry, but the closest emotion to such a breakdown.

It was only in front of her home that he stopped, stumbling awkwardly on the crooked cobblestone. He wanted to rush inside and he was about to take the stoop, two steps at a time, when his heart told him better. Backing up into the now deserted street, a neighborhood of family tenenets going to bed much earlier than the rest of the city, he had no need to fear a passing carriage. Instead he tipped his head back far and sure enough, caught a faint candle in a second story window. He knew it to be her room, the window pane often pelted with his pebbles on previous occasions, so he waited to see what she did. Her shadow was illuminated clearly, fumbling to stub out the candle until at last she succeeded and the room went black.

That seemed to satisfy his nerves and in a calmer state he realized the dizzy, exhausted feeling that had overcome him during his run. But she was safe at home, just what he'd wanted. As for their other problems, he'd known as soon as the door slammed behind her, that he wouldn't be explaining his side that night. He needed to be punished and watching her from the cold outside her window was just the beginning.

For the next couple days it was her well-being that concerned him the most. She didn't come out on Saturday, instead sitting by her window and reading, almost teasing him from where he hid across the street. On Sunday it was a quick outing to church, huddled in between her mother and grandmother. He idled behind them, observing the store front for whether or not her father would appear. And he did, sharp eyes catching his face out of the crowd before he could dart away. But he did not follow his wife and daughter to church so Jack was able to slip away.

He sat outside of the church, head resting against the cool stone walls. With the doors open (even in winter the church was overheated with bodies) he could hear the hymns being sung inside, reinforcing his belief that God was punishing him for such sinful behavior.

But he ignored such a lesson by straining to find her voice above the rest. And in this task he found momentary comfort, just as she had been singing to him a few days before.

On Monday, he thought he'd missed her early trek to St. Mary's until she scuttled out of the front door, hiding behind her pile of school books and scarf. She walked with her head hanging low, cowering into herself more than ever before. This only made the guilt feeding him stronger and he took a shorter route to St. Mary's, cutting in and out of her path to make sure she made her way safely, but arriving at the same time so that he stood on the bottom steps, watching her jog inside.

"Turn around" he pleaded, silently moving his lips and ignoring the stares of the other girls who had most likely already heard of their end. And as she halted under one of those arches, he held his breath and stood taller, until she slipped out of his view for the rest of the week. He crumbled back into the meager protection his coat provided, any amount of expensive fur or leather useless against his own inner cold.


For the rest of the week he moved in the routine he'd grown accustomed to, selling in the morning but waiting for the doors of St. Mary's to open and the girls to spill into the streets. She never showed among the rest of her classmates, hiding within the school dorms until Friday came and she was able to return to the comforts of her family in Brooklyn. But still, every day he came, even when rain needled the side of his face or cold stung his fingers raw, until two weeks passed with only one other sighting. When he waited he didn't bother any of the other girls, asking questions about how she was. He knew that even from inside those high stone walls she would know about these questions. And how she would hate him for dragging their personal problems into the publicas if she could hate him anymore.

So it was Anna who approached him first. He didn't notice right away for he was focusing on his shoes, wigging his toes and cursing when a grey sock-covered toe appeared through the top of one boot. "She's okay."

His head whipped up quickly and he jumped from his position leaning against the wall, trying to pretend that he had been selling papes instead of waiting. "Heya Anna," he mumbled after noticing that it was only her.

He returned to leaning against the wall, focusing on St. Mary's again so that Anna could clearly see the rings underneath his eyes. "Jack," she reached to rest a hand on his arm but he shook his head, smiling wryly.

"Spot and I haven't really talked yet Anna, and him seeing you here wit me, ain't gonna help my case." She straightened at Spot's name but Jack only continued, not really in the mood of talking to anyone but Eppie. All the other newsies had learned (most of them the hard way) and he was left alone daily. "Thanks for coming out to talk to me and all"

"She asked me to" Anna lied.

"No she didn't," he handed her his last paper and she looked at it oddly, "She would never do that."
Anna huffed, pulling out her stubborn streak as Jack expected. "Look at you, all worn out. She's the same way, you know" She pointed at Jack with the paper. "It's stupid, just go up there and talk to her, sweep her off her feet just like in those novels she reads. If both of you are so unhappy" She trailed off into an angry rumble, stamping her foot impatiently.

Jack smiled again, still focusing on St. Mary's as if she were watching all the time. It helped slightly, he could admit that much, knowing that Eppie was as miserable as he was. It kept his hope alive. "You can say those tins, Anna, but when you're in the same situation, what do ya do?"

She moved next to him, leaning up against the same wall and closing her eyes, head back in defense. "Yea, that's what I thought. You haven't spoken with Spot, either." She tried to explain but he held up his hand. "Let me just say that this whole mess was my fault, okay? He had nothing to do with it so go back to him, make him be extra sweet and start where you left off." He swatted her playfully with the newspaper he'd taken back and started out of the square, hearing but not responding to her final call good-bye.

"She knows you're here, Jack. "

The Jacobs' apartment was only a few blocks away and he found himself drifting down the familiar streets. He jogged up the steps, stopping in front of the door and knocking lightly. Mrs. Jacobs greeted him warmly, her inquiry after his health being drowned out by Les' excited shouts.

"Jack! Jack!" He rushed out of the room he shared with David, waving his hands aminmatedly, "Come look at all the books Eppie gave me!"

David noticed his friend wince visibly and he rested a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. "Les, not now, can't ya go"

"Naw, it's okay." Jack forced a smile and followed Les into the bedroom. Stacked at the far end, all neat in a small bookshelf, were two rows of paper back books. He knelt as Les folded his legs beneath him. David rested behind the two on one of the beds, nose in the paper Jack had dropped off.

"Okay, look at this one" Les pulled out a thin novel, "Oh, and this one too."

"Wow" Jack mused, skimming the titles quickly. Most of them he recognized, she'd spoken of them before, sometimes telling him a shortened version of the story. He was surprised, and a little worried, that she'd given them away. Whenever she spoke of her books she held to the fact that she'd never part with them and that it was a shame her father had to sell all his books.

"If I could, I'd keep all of them." He remembered her whispering once.

"She said that she didn't need 'em anymore" Les rambled, oblivious to the spacy look that had come over his face. "Why do ya think she did that, huh Jack?"

"I don't know kid" he mumbled, doulbe checking all the titles. He tried to keep up the smiles for Les but seeing her books, discarded and no longer needed, only reinforced the fact that she no longer was with him. He opened her favorite, Pride and Prejudice, and pulled out a bookmark that had been left in. Written in her neat distinct script, he recognized the first few phrases:

I remember
Stormy weather
The way the sky looks when it's cold
And you were with me
So unaware of the world

Please don't take me home tonight
Cause I don't wanna feel alone
Please don't take me home tonight
Cause I don't wanna go

The next set of words weren't as faded as the first, and written in a darker colored pencil. He ignored Les' questioning and returned to that night on the roof of the Lodging House.

If I had known then
That these things happen
Would they have happened with you

He slumped against the back of the bed, tilting his head back as David read the scrap of paper he held in his hands. The texture was thicker, certainly torn from her drawing book. He'd traced his fingers of those pages too many times to forget it's weight.

"Jack, I'm sorry." David offered, unsure of what else to say to his friend. "Les, pick up the books, Jack has to go."

Now clearly sensing the sadness surrounding his friend, Les glared at his older brother and reached for the paper. "What does it say Jack?" He scanned the lines, also recognizing Eppie's penmanship. But what he didn't see was the even shorter paragraph on the back that was then revealed to Jack. He sat up quickly and grasped it out of Les' hands, reading in quickly so that his lips moved also.

And if you turned to see me
And I was gone
You should have looked outside your window
Cause the sun was coming up

David and Les crowded behind him, reading over his shoulder. "I don't get it" Les whinded, nudged off the bed and back to stack his books by David. David didn't understand either, but by the smile on Jack's face, he figured the news was better than what he'd read on the front side. He helped Jack to his feet, asking him to stay for dinner even when he knew his friend would refuse.

"See ya early tomorrow, right Jack?" David asked, leaning over the banister as Jack descended the stairs.

He was still holding the paper, whispering to himself. "Sure," he glanced up a minute later, waving a quick good bye.

***

"When my father went away on business to Boston he'd say to me, 'Eppie, if you wake up and I'm gone, all you have to do is look outside your window and watch the sun coming up'" She buried closer to Jack. '"I'll be watching it too and if we're watching the same sun, it'll make us closer. This way," her voice was so soft he held his breath and bent close to hear, "we'll never be apart."