Oh, God, what to even say? I hope my readers are still out there, cause you guys totally rock my world. I don't expect you to forgive me for not updating this thing for almost a year, but at least maybe consider that stuff happened (search for college, dad out of work, my own work, graduation, family death, no inspiration at all for this, etc, etc). Yeah, but I am trying to write a bit at a time of this, now that I am back at work in the same place at which I wrote almost this entire story so far. Please, if you read this, review. If you hate me, it's cool, I hate that I did this to my readers, honestly, I do. But thanks, and regards. All the best!

Just One (New York, New York)



SEVEN

Sunlight. Birds chirping. People gathering.

Morning again. She rolled over and put a hand on her aching forehead. In the corner sat the full tub she had used to bathe last night before she went to sleep. For a moment she eyed it with blurry vision, then resigned herself to getting out of bed.

Today she should shop, she thought as she stretched. For all her cleaning the other night (was it yesterday? Oh, how the days were blurring now), the room was a mess again. She glanced around. The soaked clothing Mush had left on the chair was still there and it was dry now; the tub was occupying and entire corner; blankets kicked away in the middle of the night were strewn everywhere; and her own clothing speckled the room in random places. She smiled wryly. And interesting mix of possessions and articles.

She pulled the curtain open to see the full glory of the newly-crowned day. It was bright and sunny, the storms and rain of yesterday forgotten in this changed condition. Last night when the darkness had prevented her from leaving her room, she had bathed and washed all her clothing, and Mush's, too, except for his green shirt that she loved. If she washed it, it would lose his scent. And at night, when she was all alone and frightened by the thoughts of a seemingly-impossible future, she needed something to reassure her.

Pulling a brush through her hair, she peered outside. Standing below, under the extinquished street lamp on the corner, she was shocked to see – but who? – a group of newsboys all talking quietly, one pointing off-handedly to her window. Immediately she ducked, hoping they had not yet seen her.

As quickly as possible she dressed and brushed her teeth. She sneaked over to pull the curtains shut and then left just as quickly, locking the door behind her. Again she was clothed in half of the full attire, unwilling to be so hot and uncomfortable as all that. The real stuff was too heavy and made her feel sluggish and dull.

"Oh, heya there," called a voice with layers of toughness filtering through it. She remembered his name as being Kid Blink and had seen firsthand that this particular boy, like Mush and Racetrack and Davey, had a place close to Jack. But Jack was not here. Instead it was Skittery, Snitch, and Blink. Mush was not in her presence, either, and Racetrack was most likely still in Brooklyn. Crestfallen, she turned back to the three boys.

"Hey," she said in greeting. "What are you doing this far from the Lodging House?"

"Jack's ordahs. Said tah come an' scope out dah area," Blink answered. "Gotta see who sells 'round heah. Close tah Brooklyn, dis is."

"Mush sells here but I've never seen anyone else," she answered. "Where is everyone else?"

"Eh, just us fer now," Skittery said, smoking occasionally on a hand-rolled cigar. "If you's lookin' fer Mush, Jack wanted 'im an' Davey tah stay behind an' heah Spot's page from Brooklyn."

She nodded, silent. Snitch gave her a quick, friendly smile in acknowledgement of her presence, which she returned, glad for his company. Finally she asked, "Did something happen?"

"Nah, not yet. Too soon fer dah uddah districts tah move. Gotta giant mass tah get movin' fahward." Skittery said. She hadn't realized before how tall he was, and wonderfully lean.

"But Spot's sendin' a few messengah's just tah tell Jack dah daily news. Gotta make shoah Race's okay." Blink told her. He did not look malicious anymore, or intimidating. Was it just her imagination, or did his eyes hold the slightest bit of fear?

Her mind was full of quick comprehension and flickering thoughts. Too many nights such things had kept her from her sleep, and now she was filling slowly with silent observation and dignified terror.

She nodded. "Of course."

"Jack asked that yah keep a low profile 'til we sort dis mess out," Blink told her. "Yah know, since you's was at dat last meetin' an' everything. Don' want no one tah get dah wrong idea about yah."

"Keep a low profile?" she asked.

"Yeah, stay away from dah streets," Snitch offered, not being unkind. "You's ain't dealin' wid no gentlemen and ladies, you's dealin' wid orphans an' guttah snipes. An' dey don' hesitate to hurt a person."

Her heart fell. She was by no means a delicate creature, a fragile flower. Unbeknownst to these boys, she had, in her own time, been the subject of pain and torment. Physically, if the need arose, she could be brutish and angry.

Skittery's voice showed her some sympathy. "It ain't nothin' tah stress about, Miss. Mushy said he'd come tah see yah latah."

They all mumbled, as if ashamed by some rude speech. "It ain't yah fault," one of them said. Blink spoke up. "But have a good day, an' we's'll see yah before too long. I'm sorry, Miss."

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. But in all reality, she knew they were only looking out for her safety. Her presence had presented them with another unneeded burden, and she thought it was selfish of herself to ask them for something more.

Selfishness and jealousy, she thought. They were always two of my biggest faults. I need to block them out.

But even so, as she waved good-bye to them and watched their retreating backs, she could not stem the tide of her rising anger.

Too many times I've watched them walk away, she thought, clenching her fists. I always seem to be the one doing the watching, and I am sick and tired of it.

What can I do? she asked herself. Then an idea fell upon her. I know, I know...

The boys disappeared into the distance.

It all ends tonight...

TRUE TO HER OWN PROMISE TO HERSELF, Jillian slipped from her roof as the sun set. The city looked different at night, less crowded, and, to a strange degree, less inviting. But she had taken notice of the locations she needed and in her pocket was a good amount of change to pay for it all.

Shapes moved inside of all the apartments and the tenements. She watched mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. Children were put to rest, lamps were extinguished. But for Jill, the night had just begun.

This was not the New York City she had known in her own time. This was no empire of grey and height. Instead the city was stone and dirt, and in the lower-class areas of the town such as the place through which she now traveled, there decidedly was a stale smell of piss, sweat, and alcohol. And at night, the darkest corners and alleys were crawling with persons of ill-repute. But then again, even in her own time, that wasn't so unusual.

Many of the shops and eateries were closed at such a late hour, but the smallest and perhaps the poorest were still open, trying desperately to attract patrons. She figured that one place was as good as another, though, and that it didn't matter where she paid her money as long as she did indeed pay for what she needed. Clothing was clothing, and there was no reason to agonise over what could not be helped. Even the cheap stuff would do.

The burning lamps inside of the dry goods store momentarily blinded her eyes, but then she smiled...

It all ends tonight...