Prologue
Somewhere in a hidden memory
Images float before my eyes
The wind is full of a thousand voices
They pass by the bridge and me.
December 3, 1899.
It had not been one full month of winter when New York bloomed to an almost fully frozen solid state. Early December had left no safe transition from autumn's chill to winter's freeze. It had never been a welcome month in the city, nor was the cold it brought. The windows of every home and business were shrouded in a white mist and the mouths of passersby frothed with hazy gray smoke. The city, if held in the palm one's hand could scar the human skin with its scorching, biting chill. The winds blew curses at the buildings and scraped at the brick walls of the strongest to the shacks of Hell's Kitchen with jagged teeth. Icy rain nipped at the poorly clothed skins of homeless and destitute congregations lining the streets and sidewalks. Winter pushed and prodded everything within its reach, the weak and poverty stricken its best and easiest targets. Each newly falling year a renewed chance to pull at the souls of its victims with weapons of destruction. That year, it had plucked a particularly potent arrow out of its quiver – influenza.
Violent hacking coughs rattled through the thin walls of a long abandoned, decrepit wooden structure, chilling its interior with the coarse, cacophonous noise. A pale girl lay on the floor in a dim corner, lit only by a small fire. Long, dark strands of hair clung to her wet forehead, yet she still shivered violently beneath threadbare, moth eaten blankets. These mere coverings were nothing more than rags. Yet they were rags that formed that slight barrier between life and death. More than anything, she desperately needed to stay warm. Her efforts were futile. Her position upon the rags on the icy floor froze her skin and chilled her blood as once again her body shook with another strained hacking of the lungs. She closed her red rimmed, fevered eyes and tried to concentrate on the nonexistent sun burning a hole through the wall to heat the interior of her confine. But when she opened her eyes once more and gazed tiredly at the small crack in the boarded up window, she could only see darkness and white. It was still snowing.
She looked at her hand. Her skin had turned to a pasty chalk-white color that matched the drifts of snowflakes gently falling gently down. If she thought hard enough, she could have looked at the snow and imagined it beautiful. She could have let herself think back to her childhood – back to the smell of baking pies and warm fires. Back to a time when her only worry was if her brother had hidden her favourite doll from her again. Back to happiness.
But the happiness did not last long, for another menacing cough rattled her lungs and thrust her from her short-lived reverie. She sat up halfway, propping herself on her already far weakened arms as she continued to quake with the force of each new fit of coughs.
"Lie down, will you?" a soft voice came from the fireside. Another girl of the same age as her counterpart rose from a kneeling position and dusted the ash from her apron. Pushing the hair that always seemed to be falling into her eyes away, she hurriedly made way to the bed on the floor. "Ray, you've got to lie down and rest." She cradled the sick girl in the crook of her arm and gently lowered her back down to her pallet. "You're going to kill yourself." However, she quickly realized that dark truth in her statement, and regretted it immediately. Her face began to form a grimace, but she hurriedly transformed it into somewhat of a sad smile. She had to maintain a pleasant face. She had to remain looking as though she carried with her a great deal of hope.
"Don't tease me, Audrey," Ray said in a small weak voice, mustering up her best crooked smile.
She pressed the back of her hand to Ray's forehead. It felt clammy to the touch. Audrey pushed away brown strands of hair that had matted themselves to the sides of her flushed cheeks. Ray released another strained gasp of air, parting her cracked lips to do so and promptly choked once more. She could not move, nor would she try. Her head pounded as though her innards would crash through her skull and seep all around her in relief. That was what she desired, relief from the sickness that plagued her, and Audrey knew this more than well. Her body had begun to give up and her will had begun to deteriorate as well, the forced will to strive and go on was the size of a pin's head. Raven had formed a new goal – and that was just to let herself go. As she breathed, she felt her chest scratch with paper cuts and wheezed slowly. To breathe was a task to hard in itself and therefore she only wished to stop.
Audrey left Ray's side for a moment to seek out an extra piece of cloth. When she had scoured the room and found none, she looked over to Ray's bedding for one moment and considered pulling off a piece of her coverings. However, knowing that the sick girl could spare nothing, she soon pushed the thought from her mind as quickly as it had come. With a sigh of resignation, Audrey, bent over and ripped off the bottom of her skirt. She soaked it in a puddle of melting snow that had collected near the door and folded the cloth until it was a neat, thick, rectangular form. She then held it over the fire until the cold snow-water had heated to lukewarm, and then placed the cloth to Ray's forehead.
Not knowing what else she could possibly do to help her friend, Audrey brought her hand to rest against Ray's cheek, trying to offer her the least bit of comfort by caressing it. As her hand moved over the flushed, wet skin, Audrey noticed that it had become bony and calloused. The skin on it looked nearly as ashen as Ray's and there were cuts on almost every finger. Audrey's mind kept falling back to the inevitable - Death. It loomed amidst those walls and even Audrey herself was beginning to reek of it as she watched slow and painful deterioration conquering Ray's once unbreakable spirit. She wished more than anything that there was some way she could magically release Ray from the torture of illness. Magically. Ha. Audrey scoffed at the ridiculous notion that had somehow momentarily broken though every barrier she had set up and made an appearance in her mind. "Remember the old ways and keep them close to your heart for you may need to call upon them someday," her mother had always told her. Yet Audrey had long ago forsaken them as they had forsaken her, and she doubted that if they would heed her call if she suddenly were to draw upon them again.
Audrey reached for the small bowl of broth that she had prepared. Its contents were meager and thin, yet it would have to do. She helped Ray to a sitting position by propping her up on her arm and with her free hand, raised the bowl to Ray's mouth, tipping it to her lips. Ray parted her mouth ever so slightly and let the warmth pour over her tongue. It gently drifted down her throat and came to rest in the pit of her stomach, warming it like a wood-filled fireplace.
Ray drank it slowly. She tongued the top of her palette and smacked her lips thoughtfully. "It's chicken," she said in a pained, raspy voice. "Where the hell did you get chicken?"
"Shhhhh," Audrey interrupted her. "Don't you worry where I got chicken. It's not like it's that much anyway. Just a scrap I managed to conjure up." In truth, Audrey had made a little trip to a consignment shop that morning to sell one of her last possessions – a monogrammed handkerchief that her mother had made her a very long time ago. It had brought her enough money to buy a scrap of chicken and a little more for food for a few more days. One her way home, she pinched an apple from a stand when the vendor wasn't looking and mashed and cooked it for Ray's lunch.
Before Audrey could continue, the old wooden makeshift door opened with a loud creak. A gust of wind and swirled snow raced inside though the small cracked opening and a dark figure hurried in behind them, closing the door with a loud, jarring slam. Both Ray and Audrey turned every shred of their attention to the figure, who now stood in front of the door brushing the snow from his ragged coat and shaking snowflakes from his gray cap. Looking closer, Audrey saw that he was also shivering violently. "God fucking damn it," the figure said. "God damn snowstorm. Damn New York. Damn it to fucking hell!"
Audrey looked to Ray. Despite her ashen, paled complexion and her bloody red dotted cheeks, she could have sworn that the girl emitted a slight glow. Her eyes were open and her head tilted in such a way that the firelight reflected in her eyes and revealed the golden, scotch-liquor coloured flecks that lay under her pupil. At that moment, she looked more like herself than she had in weeks. She looked alive. Audrey rose, pulled her shawl tightly around her, and walked over to greet the newcomer. Upon reaching him, she mumbled a brief, "Hello Spot."
Spot nodded toward her and returned her greeting. "Audrey," he said briefly as he stepped quickly past her in his effort to get to where the suffering mass in the corner lay. Under his coat, he huddled a bundle close to his chest. It looked to be another ragged, threadbare blanket. Spot pulled it out from his coat and began to unfold it. Encased inside of it was a dark, half loaf of hardened day old bread which he placed on a crate near the makeshift bed. The blanket he unfurled and let drift over Ray. He tucked it around her shoulders as best he could. She had her eyes closed once again. He could not tell if she had drifted into a fever induced sleep or if she simply had not the energy to keep them open. He leaned over and pressed his cold, chapped lips to her perspiring forehead, allowing them to linger for one moment, the heat radiating from her fever absorbing into his skin.
Rising, he stole one back glance at Ray and then turned his attention to the one tending to her. But as he clearly spoke to Audrey, his eyes never strayed from the girl lying beneath the mounds of tattered blankets. "Have you eaten today?" he asked, to which Audrey shook her head in dissent. "Why not?" was his next question.
"Are you out of your bloody mind? Of course I didn't eat. I gave it all to Ray." Audrey answered him.
Spot picked up the loaf of bread which lay on the edge crate and broke it in half. "Here, we don't need anyone else getting sick." He held the bread out to Audrey.
"Conlon," she said in a stern voice, looking warily at him from under her thick bangs and taking one step back in retreat from his offering.
"Nellwyn," he replied in a tone that was equally unmoving and held the bread out to her more forcefully. With one eyebrow raised, he silently commanded her to take it.
Audrey scowled and reluctantly accepted it from his hand. Spot smiled a tad and returned his attention to Ray, kneeling at her bedside. After he had gone, Audrey hungrily bit off the end of the bread, chewing it quickly and almost choking herself by swallowing the bite whole. She sat by the fire with her back turned to Spot and Ray whilst she finished off the chunk of bread. A rat scurried across the toe of her boot and she shuddered. Audrey would have been at Ray's side but her place had been temporarily taken by Spot. In some part of her Audrey felt he had no right to be there – that she was tending to Ray like she always had and would continue to. She was the one who was there through the long hours of the day and night. When Ray woke she would rise as well and soothe the fevered girl back to sleep. If there was any saving to be done, Audrey's hands were to be the ones that did the rescuing, not Spot. But most assuredly, Audrey was certain that it was thoughts of Spot that kept her going and Spot's touch that she stayed alive for.
If Audrey had even suggested that Spot leave at that moment, her efforts would have been ignored. He sat next to Ray and gripped her hand in his own, running his thumb over her knuckles again and again. He looked down at the pale face and tried to remember her full of life when her cheeks were only red from the wind. From her appearance before him, it was hard to picture her ever being that way. Try as he may, the only way in which he could envision was her these days was as that ill, sickly pale, shell of herself lying amidst a sea of dirty, thin rags. Day after day he came to sit by her beside and each day passing saw no change for the better. Taking a deep, ragged breath, Spot squeezed her hand gently.
To his surprise, Ray laboriously let her eyes open a small crack. As they fell upon his face, Spot grinned lopsidedly and said, "Heya dollface." A slender smile struck the edges of her lips when she saw his warm, welcoming blue eyes staring down at her. She had been waiting for him all day. He was the only thing she wanted to see, and sometimes, as Audrey had mentioned and he too had begun to think, his visits were the only thing that kept her alive. Spot brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckled. "Rachel," he whispered and leaned down to let his mouth grace her cheek. As he sat there her heart had already begun to pound stronger. When he breathed her name, her real name, and kissed her cheek, Ray felt as though he were somehow reaching into her chest and gripping her heart with his hand to pump it for her.
"Shhhh, no. Don't talk," he told her gently. However, Spot knew as well as anyone that Ray would just plow forward and do exactly what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it, regardless of anyone's wishes or warnings.
"But I wanna talk. I waited all day for this," she said. She attempted to prop herself up to better hold a conversation with Spot. She struggled for a moment to get her arms underneath her. Spot said idly by, unmoving to the eye, but ready to leap to action should she need him. Rachel would never admit that she needed him for anything, he knew. She would never admit to needing anyone and never ask for help. A standard had long been set that, as a rule, Rachel never needed anything but Rachel. Spot knew that had not been the truth for about a month, yet, he was not going to risk upsetting her by trying to push any unwarranted caretaking upon her. As she pulled herself up on her arms, she faltered a bit...wavered and for a moment looked as she might tumbled backwards. Spot lurched forward his arms opening to catch her, but just as he began to move toward her, she recovered and steadied herself.
He pulled back, somewhat scared to even touch her for fear that he'd only do her harm. After a second's thought, his gut overpowered his head and he threw caution to the wind. Spot pulled her into his arms anyway and clutched her to his chest. He held her so close that he could feel her heart pounding beneath her skin. Raven rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, his steady heartbeat's rhythm playing music in her ears. One, beat, two, beat, one two. One...beat...two...beat...Her breathing started to even out slowly and in a matter of moments she had drifted into a long awaited sleep. Spot laid her down gently and pushed more damp strands from her face, keeping them clear of her heavy lidded eyes. He then removed his coat from his lanky, thinly framed body and shivering as he did so, placed it over Ray's body and tucked the sides of it around her. Kissing each of her cheeks, he made certain that she was fully asleep and then tiptoed to where Audrey sat and looked on.
"Can't you do anything to help her?" Spot asked. He had removed his hat from his head and held it tightly. He passed it through his hands in a repetitive circular motion as though it helped him to think.
Audrey shook her head. "Spot, I'm doing all I can. There's no money for food or wood for a fire or even a decent blanket. So, there's definitely none for a proper doctor. I thought about going out and trying to get some money somehow, but that will never work. I just can't leave her here. She'd die for sure. It's influenza. It's spreading like wildfire around the city and thousands of people are dying because there's no food or enough doctors or medicine to go around. If an entire city cannot save its own, what would you have me, alone, do?"
"I don't know."
Spot's voice had almost broken when he said it. Audrey could sense the growing, gnawing desperation that was beginning to take hold. To take over his normally calm, cool, in control facade. His love was withering before his eyes, and Audrey was standing before him telling him that there was nothing on God's green earth that could be done for her because of bloody greenbacks and coins. She had never cared for Spot. He had always seemed too much of an arrogant, stubborn bastard that cared nothing for anyone but himself. However, Ray's disease had shown another side to him. It was another side that Audrey could not help but empathize with. What could she do? What could she do?
She frantically searched her mind for something – anything. Some answer to give him. Her mothers words came to mind again. The old ways. She still knew some of it – remedies and elixirs. Herbs. Chants for healing. Yes, these were all options, she supposed, but would they prove effective. Audrey had not studied in the Romani faith for sometime. Not since her mother had passed on. And she was only a halfbreed, born to a gypsy mother and a thoroughly English father. Was her bloodline even nearly pure enough to make any sort of healing device work? No. She could not risk it. Her poor education in the gypsy ways could prove more harmful than good. Too much or too little of anything could have unforeseen ill effects, which could make poor Rachel Tortulo even sicker. Audrey would not chance it. She would not dabble with a force that was unfamiliar and quite possibly very displeased with her.
As Audrey thought, Spot wandered over to the fire and threw a handful of pebbles and dust he had gathered from the floor into it. "She's getting worse." He stared into the weak fire's struggling, yet bright flames for some time. "If you were still working this wouldn't be as bad," he commented offhandedly.
Her jaw dropped a bit. "Look Conlon, it's not my fault we were fired and evicted if you remember. It was indeed your precious Ray's." Audrey replied. "What was I supposed to do, stay there without her? I would have just been watched more closely or even fired later on."
"She did what she thought was right," Spot sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "But she should have left things alone."
"She should have," Audrey agreed, fingering the end of her thick braid. "But they would have let us both go soon anyway. We were the first on the brink of a mass turnover. There were too many little Chinese coming in with nimbler hands and willing to work for far less wages." She paused and scuffed the toe of her worn thin shoe on the dirty floor. "Spot," she added, hesitantly, "You don't think this is my fault, do you?"
Spot shook his head no.
Audrey nodded. "Good," she said quietly, and then promptly changed the subject. "Have you talked to Jack at all today?" she asked him.
"I did yesterday, but not today. No, I haven't even seen him today."
"I haven't spoken to him in three days. But he promised he would come today. He promised. He should have been here by now." Audrey gazed forlornly out of the slit that comprised the window and watched the graceful snow fall to the ground. "It's getting so late." She flattened her palm against the wall and stared at her calloused and chapped hand. "Jack," she said quietly. "Where are you? Are you a figment of my imagination? Did I dream you up? You're becoming more of a memory instead of anything constant or tangible. And I can't stand it." She sighed and kicked herself for having been so weak and willing to give into how much she missed him. "He'll be here," she reassured herself and turned her mind and attention back to caring for her friend.
Jack pulled his rusted watch from his pants pocket. He dusted the fog off of its face and squinted. His eyes could just barely make out the time: ten forty seven. His shift scrubbing the floors, tables, and the lavatory at Joe McGarty's Tavern had just ended and his pockets were a few coins richer. McGarty's was a seedy place and as Joe himself claimed, was filled with nothing but cheats, liars, no-goods, drunks, and crooks – but Jack was willing to overlook that for the extra jingle in pockets. He gripped his few newspapers as tightly as he could, but still had a weak hold. He held on to them barely, his ice cold fingers weak and tired and far from feeling the ink beneath them. They hadn't sold that morning, and he somehow hoped that he could trick a few drunks into buying two or three of them off of him so that it would not be a complete waste.
He was cold. No, he was more than cold, he was past frozen and his whole body shivered and chattered violently as he walked down the bare streets. The newspapers began to slip through his frostbitten fingers and he just let them go. The floated to the floor in a shuffle of black and white and slid down into the mud of slosh ridden cobblestones. He turned, and continued on down an alley way. The wind rushed through the crevice and seemed to punch him in the gut sending him leaning against the brick face. He coughed, his body shaking as a patch of phlegm trickled into his mouth. He spat it onto the dirt covered floor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He slid down the wall slowly before coming to a crouched position at the base. He was so tired.
Audrey left Spot's side and sat next to Ray on the floor, feeling her forehead once again for any welcome change. However, she was greatly disheartened to find more heat in her skin than cool. Without a word, Ray grabbed Audrey's hand, removed it from her head and placed it on the edge of the blankets. Audrey stared at her for a moment, mostly in shock that her care was being pushed away.
"I can't always be around to protect you Audrey, you have to learn to stand up for yourself," Ray words were gravely and more mumbled than clearly spoken. It was apparent that even to speak was an uphill battle in a war that she would likely not win. "I'm not the only thing that can stop others from hurting you." It was almost as though the winter had turned recoiled itself back and autumn were upon them once more. They were back in the factory and Ray was scolding her friend for not defending herself against their catty coworkers.
"You're just going to let her say that to you? Ugh. Audrey, really. God," Ray spoke in loud nearwhispers at they sat on a bench at a long table with about one hundred other young, female workers in their midst. "You see, if I were you, I would go over there and punch her lights out. Delores too. The both of them need a good black eye."
"And that's why you're not me," Audrey said, her voice hushed. "I do wish you'd keep your voice down, they can probably hear you." Audrey poked her head up from her lunch and looked up and down the table for signs of someone eavesdropping. She fiddled with the waxed wrapping on her sandwich. "Besides, Ray, you don't know what kinds of problems they may be dealing with. They might have a perfectly good reason for acting that way...like they're having a bad week or maybe they're married to awful men who beat them and make them slave away in hot kitchen. They aren't hurting me. I'll survive I'm sure. I'm not made of glass, you know. Words will not scar me."
"Audrey, you're such a martyr, really. You make me sick. You want me to go over there and tell them a thing or two?" Ray was getting a bit riled up and her voice was rising with her temper. She had begun to stand up from her seat when Audrey pulled her back down with one good, hard yank.
"No," she growled at Ray in soft tones, "I want you to sit here and finish your lunch." She looked over her shoulder and her eyes fell upon where Marcia and Delores were sitting. Noticing her eyes upon them, the two others leaned over to whisper amongst themselves and giggle. After they'd had a small laugh, they both made gruesome, twisted faces at Audrey. Audrey turned around, her pride hurt a bit, but still determined not to allow Ray to see that their actions had phased her in the slightest way. She wanted to cry, or at the very least, run away to where their mocking eyes would not find her, yet she regained her composure and sat fast in her seat.
"I should go over there and give them a piece of my mind," Ray mumbled through her teeth.
"Rachel," Audrey began, using Ray's full name with a matched hard gleam in her eyes for the utmost effect, "I swear to you that if you do anything to those two – if you give them a mean look, if you say anything to them or to anyone about them, and especially if you lay one finger on them, I will disown you as a friend. I promise you that."
Ray sneered at Audrey and then slumped down in her seat and sulked. She crossed her arms over her chest and mocked Audrey silently. "You know Audrey...." she said in a louder voice, "You are just.....just...NO...FUN."
"Well, you are a rabble-rouser," Audrey retorted.
"Priss," Ray returned.
This remark caused Audrey to return with a decisive, "Loudmouth."
"Know it all."
"Crude."
"Halfbreed."
"Liar."
"Thief."
"Boy."
Ray recoiled in shock and anger. Her face beheld and expression of pure disgust and her lip began to curl slightly in horror. She stared Audrey down with venom in her eyes. "How. Dare. You?!?" she spat out.
Audrey examined Ray in her state of terror and a gleeful sort of mischief kindled and flickered in her dark eyes. Suddenly, she began to softly giggle. The giggle developed into a laugh, which in turn, soon erupted into a full outburst. Audrey laughed with her mouth open and head thrown back without care for how Ray felt or who was watching.
Before long, a smirk appeared on Ray's face. She mumbled something in the vein of, "Oh, you think you're funny, don't you?" and continued to watch Audrey fall over herself laughing. Slowly, she began to uncoil from her furled position of disgusted retreat, and soon, she had joined her friend and the two laughed together wholeheartedly.
But the time for laughter had long passed. The memory soon broke and started to fade. With renewed vigor and determined vengeance, Audrey left her friend's side and retreated into the far corner. Once there she began to pull vials from an old, rumpled gray canvas bag. Audrey was surprised in herself that she had kept them as long as she had. But then, these were the ones she had been told to always hold on to. Audrey wiped the dust of disuse off of the glasses and held a bottle up to the light. Its contents looked untouched and unharmed by time. Perhaps they would still be of some use to her. From under the bag, she produced an old brown leather book. Without a moment wasted, she began to flip through the pages to frantically search for an answer amongst its text. She was looking for something to heal, to bless...to bring forth life from the present ruins. Angrily, she flung her near-black braid behind her shoulder and tore through another set of pages. She knew that what she sought was indeed there, but it seemed that her eyes were missing it.
Spot made his way over to her and was looking over Audrey's shoulder and at the collection of strange bottles and sacks of unknown objects that lay before her. He clicked his tongue, and then crouched down.. "Well, well, Audrey Nellwyn...our own resident British witch. I must say, I'm not surprised. It must be hard," he said. "Believing in God and the occult, all at the same time."
Audrey did not bother to take her eyes from her task when she plainly answered, "It's not God and the occult. It's the same thing. We just believe that God works in mysterious ways sometimes."
"You kept a book? I mean, you've had it all this time? Why didn't you sell it or something?" Spot asked, with a note of incredulous reprimand in his voice.
"Because I need it" was Audrey's simple answer. She licked her finger and flicked though a few more pages before throwing her head back and groaning loudly. "Bloody fucking hell! Nothing fits...damn it..nothing fits!"
"What do you mean nothing fits? That's a huge book. There's got to be something in there. Something."
"Well, there are pieces of things, but none that are exactly tailored to what we want. I can't use anything that promotes things we are not wholly trying to achieve. You don't play with things like this. It either fits the situation or it doesn't. And if it doesn't, you do not use it." She turned more pages, studying the text on each. "Well," she said after examining a few additional passages. "I suppose I could piece together one of my own." Audrey bit her bottom lip at the idea. "But I've never done that before. I'd have to make sure that I encompassed everything we wanted. That I cover all of the ground. Now, let's think – what do we need? We need one for healing sickness..restoration of the body and soul. And...maybe one for vanquishing...death." She hesitated over saying that last word, but it was unavoidable and too present to just graze over unmentioned. Audrey exchanged worried gazes with Spot and then immediately returned her eyes to her book. The pain in his eyes was equal to hers and put together, it was too much to bear. "How about a strong friendship too? Something about not leaving the ones you love."
"That's good," Spot said. "And...maybe something about...not breaking the bonds of love. That what was meant for each other should stay together."
Audrey looked up from her text and gave Spot a soft smile. There was hope in his voice and a sweet, gentleness she had not expected out of the usually sardonic boy. "Yes, something for that too," she assured him. Suddenly there was a painful hacking cough coming from the girl beneath the tattered blankets, her face has gone from a cream colored white to near blue as she tried to catch her breath. She tried to breath but it only caused another round of vicious attacks on her lungs and she grasped her chest. Both she and Spot instantly turned their attention to the pallet in the corner. "We've got to hurry," Audrey said with a strained, yet calm desperation.
She picked up a twig from the floor and broke it until it was small enough to easily wield in her hand. "Your knife?" she asked of Spot. He fished though his pocket and handed her his pocketknife. She accepted it and began to whittle away at the stick's end. When she'd fashioned a point out of it, she returned it to Spot. Audrey rose, and then hurried over to the fire, from where she gathered in her skirt a fair amount of ash. On her return, she passed by a pile of scrap wood that she had been burning in the fire and plucked from it a flat, somewhat clean piece. She carried the wood to her place beside her book and vials and set off to work.
The stick's tip, she stuck in her mouth to wet with saliva. Whilst she was wetting the end, with her other hand, she flipped to a page in the book and placed her finger on a certain line. Satisfied that her stick's tip was wet enough, she dipped it in the ash and began to scrawl across the piece of found wood a line copied from the book's pages.
She continued like this for some time – flipping pages, placing her fingers on parts of verses, writing hurriedly with the ash-inked stylus. Scratching verses out and starting over, staring at the fire in order to think more clearly and add original sections when the book could not provide her with what she wished for. When she had written down a fair amount, she began to line up and chose from her collection certain vials filled with herbs and leaves...powders, sticks, and liquid. In one small crude bowl, she poured several powders and added a splash of a goldeny liquid. To this mixture, Audrey added a few leaves from several varied jars. She crushed the leaves with her fist and then mixed all of the ingredients together with her hand, continuing to mash and integrate all parts evenly to a smooth consistency.
After another burst of coughs and wheezing from Ray, Audrey heard Spot call out, "Hurry, please."
"I'm almost done," she answered him. She recovered the things she was looking for and laid several more of them out on the floor. In another bowl, she combined several powders and only added a dash of dark liquid to make a paste instead of a drinkable fluid. Once more, she began to turn the pages of her book, flipping each with a calm, steady precision and strong resolve. Finally complete, Audrey wiped her stained, soiled hands on her skirt and carried the board she had scrawled upon and both small bowls over to her suffering friend's bedside. "Ray," she whispered softly. "Ray, give me your hand."
"Whaddaya want my......my...hand for?" The sentence was broken by coughs and gasps.
"I'm-" She paused and then looked over to Spot and corrected herself. "We're going to do something that will help you, okay? I need you to take Spot's hand and mine, and then-"
"What are you goin' to do?"
Audrey smiled in spite of herself. Even near death, Ray was persistent and desperate to know everything. "I wrote a spell." As she said the word, she could see a strange look of uncertainty and confusion come over Ray's face. Audrey quickly explained, "Well, not really a spell. It's more of a blessing than anything. It's only good. Nothing evil or slightly ambiguous in nature. I promise."
"You...wrote a ...spell?" Ray repeated weakly. Evidently, it was all that she had allowed herself to hear. Audrey nodded. Ray narrowed her heavy eyes slightly. "A gypsy...spell?" she asked struggling through the words and barely managing breath between them. Audrey once again nodded. "From your...from your book?" Ray's voice was growing more raspy and undefined with each new question she posed. Audrey could only nod once more. Ray sucked her chapped bottom lip into her dry mouth, feeling the iron taste of dried blood fill her it. She looked around the room as she collected her thoughts. Her eyes last connected with Spot's. In his, she detected an urgency, a desperation. A pleading that she twisted her heart and multiplied her already present pain times over. "Alright," she said finally in a strained whisper, barely audible. "Go ahead."
Audrey nodded to Spot and he took one of Ray's hands. As he did, he could feel her body tense and rubbed his finger over her knuckles to comfort and reassure her. Audrey slipped one hand behind Ray's head and tipped it up. Into her mouth, she poured a yellowish liquid. As the bitter tasting fluid entered her mouth, Ray choked on it and a small stream of it came back up and slid down the corner of her mouth. "Drink it slowly," Audrey whispered to her. "Just try to get some of it down." She poured more into Ray's mouth and this time, Ray fought with it and through a laboured struggle, managed to keep down two swallows. Audrey lowered her head back down to the floor and caressed her cheek. She then, took a portion of the darker paste from the other bow into her hand. Using her thumb and forefinger, she smeared the paste across the center of her friend's forehead, making a thick brown line just above her brow. Ray's eyes had closed and the girl did not stir. She lied solid and unmoving. Her only sound the wheeze of her arduous breath and choking noises from the back of her throat. Audrey could instinctively tell that she was fading fast and that every second would now need to be precious and used well. She would have to work quickly.
Audrey struck a match on her boot and with great care not to extinguish it, touched its flame to an already mostly spent yellow tallow candle. It took to the wick and lit immediately. Audrey shook out the match and gray smoke poured from it, its tendrils wrapping around her cold dark hair like a ghostly halo. The candlelight's flicker reflected in her eyes. Audrey took a deep breath and in a low voice began her prose.
"Oh, intranquil spirit,
you that are in hell wandering
and will never reach heaven, hear me,
oh, hear me"
Outside, the snowfall increased. Spot stole a quick glance out of the window and found the outside nearly opaquely white with frothy downpour. Following Spot's lead, Audrey also hurriedly glanced through the window's opening, but ignored it and continued her recitation.
"Seek what beckons you near
Follow the light back to thy rightful place."
Ray's coughing began again, yet each bellow sounded more full of sickly rasp and rattle. The room was growing colder to Spot. He reached out a hand to her cheek to soothe her, yet her fit did not ease or lessen. If pain could possibly be made tangible, Spot would have sworn that he physically felt hers when his palm touched her face.
"Return to me," Audrey whispered slowly. She paused for a moment, her eyes never leaving Rachel's ashen face. Then she, with louder voice growing with confidence and determination, spoke forcefully.
"Heal this frail body.
Let it no longer rest in evil's grasp.
Restore what was once whole.
May the life flow through you
And carry you beyond eternal sleep's cold grip
May death grant you no recompense
May you know all that time holds for you
And may the reach of your hand extend to those days yet to come."
A draft blew in from one or many of the open cracks and crevices in the unwhole structure. Its chilled bitter wind circled around and blew through the meager clothing of three lone figures. Spot shivered as its icy fingers grasped his skin. He looked to Audrey. The wind wafted through her hair and lifted it, yet she showed no reaction. Her expression appeared entranced. The deepness of her eyes looked unfathomable as the candlelight reflected off of the black nothingness. There was something unholy in them chilled Spot more than he thought possible. He refocused on Ray's paling face and clenched her hand more tightly.
"Hail fair moon," she continued in a still, unwavering voice.
"Ruler of the night;
Guard me and mine
Until the light
Hold together that which should never be apart.
Let all hearts be known to those familiar
Protect the fragile ties fastening one to another
Let all that is ever lost be found once more
No harm shall come to those God has joined."
Audrey reached into the bowl beside her and scooped out a bit more of the dark chocolate coloured paste. Fingertip to Ray's forehead once more, she formed another thick line, similar to the first, but perpendicular instead of parallel. When Audrey removed her hand, Ray's brow bore a dark cross. Audrey wiped the remainder of the paste onto her own skirt and closed her eyes to finish the final verse.
"What is bound together shall not be broken
What is bound together shall not be broken
What is bound together shall not be broken."
As soon as her mouth had uttered the final word, a forceful gust of wind burst through the old wooden door, viciously pushing it open. It slammed hard against the thin wall through making the frail building shudder violently. The rushing current tore through the room and hushed out the candle instantly, sending dried herbs fluttering into the air. Skirts and hair flying, Audrey snapped out of her trance-like state, and as though returning to life, jumped up and rushed to the door. Using a good deal of strength, she shoved it closed with a grunt.
After the brief chaos subsided to calm, Spot resumed his watch over Ray. At first glance, he thought he was mistaken. He blinked twice. How could it be? His eyes had only left her for one second to watch Audrey leap up to close the door. He inched closer to her and gripped her hand, feeling for a pulse and when he received none, he dropped it in shock. Her arm fell back to the floor, limp. He stared at her chest willing her to breathe. However, her chest did not begin to rise and fall in response, it merely stayed solid as stone. "Audrey." When he uttered her name it came out pained and edgy, as though he was near choking.
They both lingered after for a while in the cold warehouse, just looking upon the face of their newly passed friend, neither knowing what exactly to think, do, say, or even feel. Spot still held Ray's hand. He clung to it, not willing to let it go for fear that if he did, he was accepting the fact that she was really gone, and he was not emotionally stable or ready enough to face those harsh terms of the grim reality of it all. At that moment, he hated God as he never had before, and made a solemn vow to somehow get even with Him for taking Rachel away from him. She was, quite possibly, the only thing that he had ever loved outside of himself.
"I guess there's nothing more I can do here," Spot said after a time of seemingly infinite silence, his voice low, yet sharp. His eyes never left his dead love as he spoke. Slowly, he stood and grabbed his hat and lifted his coat from around the still unmoving girl he had loved. After putting them on, he nodded at Audrey and told her that he'd be back the next morning to help her with any arrangements that needed to be done. "You should get some sleep," he told her in parting, and then hurried out of the door.
Audrey had only nodded slightly at Spot when he left. She was too grief stricken and downright shocked to speak or move. Audrey Nellwyn and Rachel Tortulo had been together for quite some time. They'd lived together, worked together, laughed together, and lost it everything they had in one unforeseen moment together. To Audrey, it seemed more like she were losing a part of herself than merely a friend. It felt unreal, as thought it weren't happening. Feeling as if she were in a bad dream, she pondered how she could possibly wake herself out of it. Yet, as much as she tried to shake it off, it was still there and unmovable. It was not supposed to happen. None of it was. Yet it did, and it was her fault. The guilt mounted within her. It stacked itself so high within her that she could barely breathe. One, weak, pathetic whimper worked its way from her throat and then silence. But the silence was chased by one tear. One tear that became another, and another, until saltwater cascaded down her face in droves and sobbing wracked her already weakened body. It should have been her – it should have been Audrey that died. It was her blessing – her blessing that turned out to be an utter curse and quenched the life force of her best friend.
Audrey stood at the window and looked out onto the night. The snow had stopped falling and through the blackness of the sky, she could make out the waning crescent moon clearly. All was still and quiet in her sphere of existence. She thought she heard Ray laugh, but harshly chided herself with a reminder that she would never again hear Ray laugh. It was only her imagination. Just as it was her imagination that told her that she had one ounce of a chance to save her. To prolong one dying light in the midst of a storm. She was a foolish, naive girl whose head was never satisfied with remaining below the clouds. . Staring out of the window once more, in jest she raised her forefinger and brought it up above her head. Audrey placed the tip over her finger over the moon, making it no longer visible to her eye. She bitterly laughed at the irony of it all. "I cannot save the life of my best friend with a simple enchantment," she thought acrimoniously, "Yet, I can put out the moon."
She would not sleep that night.
Therefore, she crossed herself in true English Anglican fashion, cursed the Romani and her gypsy heritage, and then in the same breath, mixed a good amount of her herbal cures together in one dose, and then choked them down. She might have held scores of hatred and anger in one violent grudge against the old ways, but she needed them to help her sleep that night. Drained, dizzy, and with nothing left to think or wonder, she pulled a thin blanket over Ray's graying face, and then curled up in a spot next to her on the floor. She had only her own meager coat as protection from the cold that seeped in through every tiny crack and chilled the ground she lay on.
Through her eyes the burned both from tears and fatigued, the world became hazy and blurred. It swum around her and made her sick to her stomach. A growing, gnawing ache was eating at her insides. She doubled over and curled into a ball in response to the sharp, cramping pain. Sweating and weak, Audrey managed to pull herself up to a stand and then limped and stumbled to a far corner of the warehouse where she bent in half and wretched. After she had finished, she could have sworn she tasted blood at the back of her throat. She felt better for a split moment – long enough to drag herself back to her pallet of rags on the floor. Though, once she lied down again, she was overtaken by the same weakness and draining nausea. She felt lightheaded and suddenly overwhelmingly fatigued. She just needed to rest for a moment. Yes, that was it. Audrey simply needed to sleep...to close her eyes and be blind to the world. To forget.
Spot shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his middle finger sliding through a hole birthed from an unbreakable nervous habit. Though half of him knew that he should have stayed behind to help Audrey even if there was nothing really that he could do, Spot knew that he had to leave. His only salvation was to get out as quickly as he could, and run straight for the arms of solace that Brooklyn always held open to him. Brooklyn. Brooklyn was steady, certain, and never faltering. Not matter how hard or how far he fell, she always caught him and comforted him until he was stable enough to pick himself back up. That night he needed her more than ever.
He plodded through freshly fallen snow that covered the streets of lower Manhattan, scarring its surface with gray brown lined pits where his boots fell, making a path behind him that, if followed, would have led straight to the bridge. Spot had known for a few weeks that Ray's death was imminent. He had lay awake long after every one else was far into deep sleep coming to terms with the dark veil that was soon to fall over his known world. His preparation insured that when the time came, he could be able to maintain a solid, strong exterior. Even in the face of the most harrowing event to ever shake the tender twenty years of his life, he could not and would not break down. Realization was entirely too present, yet acceptance was not something forthcoming.
Life was tough, and Spot knew it well. He was not the only one in the world to ever suffer, to ever lose something dear to him. His entire existence had been formed around and surrounded by those at unfortunate as himself. What had they done when great misfortune befell them? Did they let go and simply shrivel up and die? No. He couldn't just stop breathing now could he? It was one rotten hand that fate had dealt him, and not it held all the cards. Spot paused. He kicked a piece of broken bottle that had wedged itself into the snow with the toe of his boot. Sighing, she shrugged his shouldered and straightened his back. He pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck to better protect his exposed flesh from the searing winds. Spot brought a hand up to his face, massaged his brow, and then rubbed his eyes. He shoved his hand back into his pocket and looked up to the star-filled sky. Deep into the darkness, prayers were rising softly, he was sure. Somewhere the sun was rising over the dunes in the desert. Somewhere it was raining on a grassy plane. Somewhere there was a warm fire and a duck roasting on the hearth. Somewhere two lovers exchanged whispered vows. But on that empty corner of that abandoned street in lower Manhattan, Spot was alone and the world was unspeaking to him.
As he listened to the night's stillness, he could make out the faint joyful, drunken cries coming from a tavern down the street....and for a fleeting moment, he thought he faintly heard something more welcoming. Ray's voice seemed so clear...so calmly she was calling. But when he turned around, there was no one standing behind him. Spot rubbed his stinging eyes and once more turned his gaze upward. He wanted to open his mouth and scream in anguish into the sky. His chest constricted and his mind, at best, was reeling. His heart was swollen inside of his chest with tears that poured into him but had not been allowed to surface. Facing the fact that she was dead was harder than he had expected and beyond any preparation he could have done. Slowly, Spot's mental stronghold and physical facade crumbled into grains of sand. Not a single hapless bum or passerby played witness to his undoing. No length of coming to terms or logical rationalization could save anyone from the pain, Spot now knew undeniably.
Spot would have suffered blindly until death finally dragged him down into the hot pits of hell. That's where he felt he belonged, to burn for all eternity for the sins of his youth. He deserved it more than she had. If he could have taken her place he would have gladly done so. But that was selfish – wishing the alleviation of his own pain of knowing a life after her. Which would have been better...more right? He did not know. Spot Conlon would just have to play out his hand. He began his trek once more. Walking steadily, he considered what the future held for him now. As odds were, he would probably marry a woman he could tolerate and would keep house for him, but was mediocre at best. They would, together, give birth to a brood of children that looked like him and shared his name but did not know their father as they should. Every night, Spot would return home from his grueling, underpaid job in a manufactory and pause long enough to pat them on their heads and slurp down a half-filling dinner before passing out cold in his bed. It was misery by no other name. Rachel, in her own miracle of a way, had held such great potential for him – such hope that was certain never to find again. His heart and soul would never find rest as real and as simply true as it had in her. If only he could have gone with her. If only he could have followed. Because, hell, what did he have to life for anyway?
Of course, then and there everything seemed so bleak. So tragic and so final. There would long not be room for the comfort that time would most likely bring. Spot blindly and deafly strode onward into the night, he did not notice the silhouette trailing him. After a moment, the one lone figure became three, clouded in black and shield by the night's cloak. Spot was oblivious to them as he continued to remain lost in his own heavy heart and hopeless world. Each step he took, they took two, greatly lessening the gap between he and they with each passing second. Another wind came up and Spot shivered his its presence. He stopped for a moment to readjust his coat's collar.
"Heya Conlon," a dark voice called from the dark. "We got a little surprise for you." The voice slithered through Spot's eardrums and made the short hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He spun around as fast as he could, but had no time to utter a sentence or fight back in defense. With a loud thud, a coarse chunk of brick connected with the side of his head and slammed dead on into his left temple. A gasp caught in the back of Spot's throat and without a word, he crumpled and fell into a sprawled heap upon the ground.. Unmoving, the heat of his lifeless body wilted the snow beneath him and Spot's body slowly sank into its covering. A neat trail of deep crimson blood flowed from his wound and spilled onto the snow, a harsh red burn against the purity of the powder beneath it in perfect contrast.
Jack had taken refuge in the middle of the square. He leaned against the cold, solid statue of Horace Greeley with eyes half closed. He just wanted to stay there, to stay there and somehow still be warm. Yet, warmth was impossible – unattainable. Anywhere he went he would freeze. To save the one ounce of dignity he had left, Jack almost forced himself to stand and continue on, but as quickly as he mustered the strength to rise, exhaustion took hold once more. No. Everything within him screamed. He had to get up, to make money, to provide. As he sat wasting time, Ray hovered one inch away from death. He needed to provide the means with which to save her.
The snow had begun to fall again. A brutal fit of coughs overtook and rattled his shaky body. Stop. No. Jack was not sick. He would not allow himself to be. He was simply tired. There was no way in hell or New York he was going to be sick. Ray. Ray was the one who wasn't well. Dying. "Damn it. Fuck," he muttered under his breath. She would die – Jack knew it and the very thought of it drove him mad. He couldn't save her, damn him. But he could get his pathetic ass up from the statue's base and try. He had to try. He needed her know that he tried. Another cough took hold of him and held his good intentions captive.
NO.
He leaned his head back against the smooth surface of Greeley's pant leg and closed his eyes. Swallowing hard, Jack felt himself slip off of the statue's base and down its pedestal's side onto the ground. He swallowed hard. From the corners of his eyes hot tears began to trail down the side of his face. His chest was burning and each strugglig breath was a fight to the death. His body was aching. His head was pounding. Ray was dying. Audrey...
"Audrey." The word passed through Jack's lips and faded as quickly as he had put it to voice. He shut his eyes tightly once more and it was as though she were standing before him instantly, her soft fingers touching his face gently.
"Don't cry silly boy," she whispered to him and kissed his forehead. The touch ignited a fire within him and his whole body began to warm. She wrapped her arms around him and encased him fully, barring out the snow which had begun to fall around him. Oddly enough the snow seeping through this threadbare pants was not as bone chilling cold as he had expected. Instead it felt more like lukewarm rain upon his skin. It was Audrey. She made him warm. She could make the entire city warm if she tried, he thought. More tears began to slip from his eyes and clotted in his lashes. He could no longer open his eyes because the cold had turned them to ice and frozen his lashes shut. Surrendering to his imagination and fatigue, Jack decided that he would stay for just awhile longer. Yes, just a short while. Then he would get up, sell a few papers or two and then head home so that he could rise the next morning and push a good one hundred and fifty papers before noon. Slowly, Jack's good will began to dissolve until it released into a peaceful slumber. The snow continued to fall around his still form and blanketed him with a pure shield. It spread out like an infinite cloak and mercilessly shrouded the ground as well as the frozen boy beneath it. Three blocks away, the clock of the old St. Augustine's tolled out the twelve chimes as midnight fell upon the city.
Tues: dies from finishing up Chapter One at 4 in the bloody morning after only one week of work
Ravy: That is all folks. bows Yes, we are nuts.
Tues.: We are. But we are novelty items. People should collect us.
Ravy: Seriously, they'd make a fortune from us off Ebay.
Tues: Especially me because I never run out of energy.
Ravy: I'd be special because I am a New Yorker. Period. I am a special breed of human.
Tues: Snob.
Ravy: Boy............ "Why are you crying?" Muahaha. Peter Pan, Bitch. I am the Queen of Randomly Goodness. (tm)
Tues: I should have been recoiling in mock horror. I forgot. recoils in mock horror
(behind the scenes snippets from the creation of winter)
Tues: You've got a club hitting Spot in the head. I was gonna use a brick.
Ravy: A brick is too heavy. It wouldn't be a neat hit. He could live.
Tues: Do we need a neat hit?
Ravy: Yeah. Something that's gonna bash him.
Tues: I mean, even I could swing a brick and kill someone. They don't have to throw it, just slam it against the side of his head. A club is too long, not much precision because your hand it so far back. But a brick...hand, brick, head – it's all right there man.
Ravy: That's true, so change it to a brick.
(during talk of snogging Billy in the Smashing Pumpkins' Bullet With Butterfly wings video.)
Tues: You have a Billy!Muse.
Ravy: I so do.
Tues: How does a cough sound? Like if you wrote it, how would it sound?
Ravy: cuaha. chuack?
Tues: cuahahah.... ahcuhuh.
Ravy: You know I coughed to do that.
Tues: Yeah me too.
This chapter celebrated with birthday cake.
Tues: And booze...because I can so buy it now.
(We encourage review leaving so that we can talk to you instead of boring you with our meaningless rambling via a/n.)
Ravy: Our ramble is not meaningless...I would just like to talk to someone other then my darling Tuesday smirk
Tues: Yeah, yeah. And if you're wondering, yes we are going somewhere with this. So, stay tuned.
(Opening poetry/lyrics courtesy of Loreena McKennitt.)