(A/N: Two updates in two weeks? Yeah, I don't know what's going on either...)
Chapter VI
"Lamp, we gotta talk," Jack said to the boy, the unwelcome visitor who'd taken up temporary residence in an empty bunk in the Brooklyn Lodging House...to take care of business for the time being, he'd explained with a shrug. The East Bronx leader was sprawled out on a bed, his right hand cradling his messy, matted, dingy blonde hair and his left hand lightly holding a half smoked cigar. As Jack sharply inhaled, he could smell the grime of his skin and the smoke and dirt in his clothing. The distinct odor was the same stench that lingered upon them all, but Lamp's seemed particularly repulsive to Jack.
Lamp tilted up the brim up his cap just enough so that he could peer out from under it. At the sight of Jack standing expectantly before him, his cat-like green eyes narrowed to slits and he licked his lips in contemplation. "What about?" he asked with the sharp hint of interest.
Jack felt wrong even standing there talking to Lamp, as though he were betraying both himself and Ray. Ray whom he'd have a conversation with earlier and promised exactly not to be standing there discussing the matter he was about to discuss with Lamp, ever.
He found himself once more in that same attic makeshift jail, looking upon the same figure that was hunched and withering away. She'd refused to eat or drink much and only talked a few select words to those she deemed worthy, few as they were. "Ray, I think I know a way to get you out of here," Jack softly began.
Ray didn't look at him. Not one part of her flinched to acknowledge his presence. But Jack was used to it. Since being shut away and condemned, she hadn't exactly been much for conversation or even long glances. The window was her only ally – her view out onto the world that she'd never know to be the same again. "Oh, do you?" she muttered. Her tone told him that she thought that he most certainly did not, but her inquisitive nature would not let her not ask.
"Yeah, I do. You ain't gonna like it though." Jack shuffled his feet nervously and waited for her reply. No, she wasn't going to like it. He knew she wasn't. Jack wondered how just many words he would be able to get out before she silenced him with utter refusal to listen.
"Tell me anyway."
"It's about the Bronx...and your brother."
"I changed my mind, I don't want you to tell me anymore," Ray interrupted
"Oh come on Ray. Can you for once in your life just hear me out? Just listen? It might save your ass if you give it half a chance. No matter how much you don't like the sound of it at first." He was pleading with her. Begging her to care about herself and to somehow want to fight against the horrible hand she'd been dealt. Raven's reaction was only silence, which Jack readily accepted as her surrender to listen. Before she could offer up a word in protest, Jack delicately and hesitantly stated, "Do you think that maybe, your brother – if he got mad or jealous enough – would kill somebody?"
"My brother would kill anyone if they had the bad luck of gettin' in his way. It wouldn't take him getting very mad or jealous," she responded point blank.
"Well, do you think that your brother could have gotten wind that you were in Brooklyn?"
"I s'pose."
"Okay, well, don't you think that it might be possible that your brother knew you were in Brooklyn and knew Spot was takin' care of you and didn't like it very much? That he coulda gotten really mad and stuff...so much that he could have killed Spot?" Ray was silent once more so Jack simply proceeded onward, letting his mouth lead, spilling the contents of his mind. "Because I've been doin' some thinkin', and it all adds up. I mean, Hunter's one mean bastard who don't like nobody takin' what's his, right? It makes sense to me that he thinks that you's his, and that Spot coulda took you from him. That woulda been enough, right? Then the bastard could've played all nice to Spot and climbed into his window just after you climbed out of it. Spot's enough of a cocky son of a bitch to take a challenge if he sees one presentin' itself. He would've let Hunter in just to see what would happen because he though he was invincible enough to just knock Hunter's block off if trouble started goin' down. Hunter's the kind to carry a switchblade, right? He coulda just slit his throat right there and-"
"That's enough, Jack," Ray interrupted once again. "I don't want to hear any more of it."
"But Ravy – don't you see? That's what happened. It's gotta be that way because you didn't kill nobody. You and me gotta go to the others and tell 'em what happened. We gotta try Ray."
Raven turned her gaze away from the streets outside her window and set her eyes upon Jack. Her stare was hollow, yet icy and her eyes cut right through him, silencing his tongue with authority. In a voice more clear and more formal than he had ever heard her use, Raven tonelessly said, "Jack... My brother is dead. He is dead to me and I want nothing to do with him. Go away and do not ever mention his name to me again. Forget that you ever heard of him."
Jack had gone away with his tail between his legs, feeling utterly guilty and promising that he wouldn't speak another word of it. Yet, there he was, breaking that very promise and standing firmly in his betrayal...just another in a list that he considered to be a bit too long. Sorry Ray, he thought. It's something I have to do though. I won't let you fall apart. "Someone you might know," Jack told Lamp bluntly. "Or be acquainted with."
The intrigue and Jack's vagueness must have piqued Lamp's interest, for he sat up in bed and pushed the cap back on his head, well out of his vision's range. The distinct glimmer of curiosity, though dulled, was present in his eyes, and Jack took this as a good sign. "Oh? And who might that be?" he asked through his teeth.
Jack hesitated before speaking the aforementioned person's name. He knew that it would be a particularly weighted name to utter and he had to prepare for whatever reaction Lamp would throw his way. Jack sniffled and rubbed at his nose, shifting his eyes from Lamp's face to the open bunkroom door as he said, "Hunter. He holed up in your territory...or at least he used to awhile back. I was wondering if you knew him. Knew what he might be doin' or where he might be stayin'." Jack brought his gaze back to the other boy's face, searching for some sign of recognition or some telltale flinch. But Lamp offered him nothing except a too-controlled sneer.
"Yeah," he said slowly, lips parting a bit to reveal his teeth. Teeth that were cut jagged and sharply. "I mighta known him way back then. But I ain't got no idea where he is now." He cracked his knuckles, each snapping separately and moving in line with a sharp pop. Lamp, then readjusted the hat upon his head, pulling the bill until it tilted slightly ajar on his head, finishing his sentence with, "Or what he might be up to. Sorry." With his apology, Lamp leaned forward and rested his weight upon his knee, raising his eyebrows slightly as he provoked Jack to challenge his alibi.
Jack took bait. "You sure? You sure you don't know nothing? Nothing at all?" Lamp only offered a silent shaking of his head in response, provoking Jack to only press further, harder. "What about Ray? She used to live there. You gonna claim you don't know nothing about her while you sit here and say that you're sure that she's just the type to slit a guy's throat? Or is that a secret too?"
Lamp made a show of placing his cigar butt into a tin can kept at his bedside before sucking in breath in preparation to answer. But before he did, he chewed at the nail of his middle finger, bit it off, and then spat it out deliberately onto the floor. "Let me make this clear to ya, Jack," he said, forming his finger into a pointing gesture that came to land directly on Jack when Lamp's tongue graced his name. "My territory is run jus' like Brooklyn is run. Now, I'm sure you're familiar with the way they do things around here, and if not, I'm sure Esco or one of the other boys is sittin' around somewheres downstairs and would be happy to inform you. You're a lot of things, Kelly...But you ain't stupid. You're a leader too, and I know you understand how tryin' it can be when someone tries to interfere the way you want things done. What happens in the Bronx stays there. Who might or might not have been there and what they did there is none of your business. If you want to know anythin' about where Ray comes from or what she did in her messy little past, you'll have to run along upstairs and ask her yourself." Lamp shrugged his shoulders before adding in an oily smile that revealed his jagged teeth once more. "Not like she'll tell you though. That bitch is not a quick one to offer any helpful information. But you two's friends, right? You should know all about her."
Jack found himself more and more disgusted with Lamp with each word that dropped off of the boy's hard, dry lips. He was belittling and presumptuous...haughty above all things. Who did he think he was? Lamp may have been king in the realm of the Bronx, but here in Brooklyn, he was nothing to Jack. Jack Kelly entertained thoughts of grabbing Lamp by his shirtcollar, and then holding him down as he drove his fist firmly into Lamp's face. Strike after strike, blow after blow until the boy talked and told Jack something useful. It was a happy little delusion, and Jack wanted more than anything to carry it out. Brutality toward another brute would have let vengeance sweet glow of affirmation pour all over Jack's appeased head. But if there was one thing that he needed less of it, it was violence. Enacting more physical harm upon another newsboy, despite however much he deserved it, would only seek to add to the problems. Not vanquish them. So, Jack held both his tongue at his temper in check as he explored other options to get Lamp to cooperate.
At that moment, there was a light rap at the door. Lamp whipped his head around to see who might be intruding, but Jack kept his eyes on Lamp. The door opened with a pained creak, and Esco stuck his head inside. "Um, Jack..." he interrupted, sticking only his head inside the crevice he had made and shifting his eyes warily between the two other boys. When Jack whirled around to face him, he wasn't sure that he liked the look in Esco's eye. "You've got a visitor."
"Okay," Jack answered.
"Downstairs, in the lobby," Esco explained, and then exited as quickly as he had come, shutting the door tightly behind him.
"Well, Jack...it appears that you got a visitor," Lamp remarked with a sneer, accenting the word "visitor" with special emphasis. He reclined back into a lounging position upon the bunk and pulled his brown hat low over his eyes once more.
Jack heaved an irritated sigh. He had gotten nothing from Lamp. No hint, no sign, no slight affirmation that he was on the right path. The conversation was not over, as far as he was concerned. No, Jack had every intention of marching right back up the old wooden staircase after he'd dealt with whatever annoyance that requested his presence in the lobby and ringing Lamp's slimy little neck until he obtained the information he desired . Shooting the other boy an "I dare you to move" look, Jack started toward the door, excusing himself from Lamp's company with a grunt instead of a goodbye and trudged down the stairs. In place of the annoyance expected, he was met by Marion. Upon catching sight of her, the hardness disappeared from Jack's face. She stood politely at attention in the lobby, hands clasped in front of her, and her mouth, Jack noticed, was pursed slightly. Her complexion seem paler than ever - the colour of moonlight, perhaps - but her hair was the same deep black her remembered it to be, twisted into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck with tendrils working themselves out in rebellion. It seemed strange of him to see her standing there in Brooklyn and so early in the day. Marion was a creature that he had only had encounters with at night, and Jack never stopped consider how odd of a thing that was until he saw her standing before him so early. "Marion," he greeted her. "What are you doing here in Brooklyn and so early?"
"It's not early. The day's gone already," she replied evenly, forgoing hellos to gesture slightly out of the window. "See? The sun's gone done. It's dusk. Where have you been Jack?"
Jack's first impulse was to answer that he did not know where he'd been...that everything he said and did had passed by him in the most horrendous monotone blur of nothingness. One day flowed into another and soon they all blended together in one non-fabulous slur. He couldn't recognize the difference between day and night...between sleeping and waking. But instead of answering with a speech that was sure to sound near crazy, he only shrugged and simply told her, "Around."
"I went to your place...looking for you of course," she started, answering his former question. "A boy there was kind enough to help me out...Boots, I think he said his name was. He told me that you were spending most of your time in Brooklyn and I that I should inquire after you here."
"I'm surprised that a lady like you knows where to find a ramshackle place like this."
She smiled wisely. "I know my way around this city, Jack. Don't doubt my knowledge or means. I can get to where I want to go." Marion tilted her head to the side, examining Jack's worn features and the weary look he wore uncomfortably upon his face. "Jack, you look different. The boy I met not too long ago had such confidence and pomp in his step. You look like death incarnate. Is there anything you need to talk about? I'm a willing listener. You know that." She raised her hand up to his brow to lightly brush his hair off of his forehead. After she did, she let her hand trail over his cheek and down to his jaw, which she cupped in her hand tenderly.
Jack felt his entire face grow hot. He felt it burn. Objects began to swim in his peripheral vision. Was he sick? Did he have a fever? It was quite possible – Jack had been spending most of his time strung out and walking amidst the damp night air. But if he was sick, why was he only feeling so heady at this sudden instant? Time obscured, but Jack's intuition sharpened and realization dawned upon him. Everything stopped for a moment and he wondered how he could be falling in love at a time when everything around him was falling apart. Fate had interesting, ironic timing. The elation he felt by just letting his tongue stumble over the grace of Marion's name or allowing his eyes to drift over her features was a sharp contrast against the pang in his heart and befuddlement that made his chest heavy due to the tension, grief, and troubled times that surrounded him. The world felt to Jack like nothing substantial, only mad rush of breathlessness. In that moment, everything was perfect regardless of anything and everything. He didn't recall that his best friend was dead and another was on her way. He didn't feel the tightened grip that confusion had on his chest. He didn't care about Hunter's whereabouts or how the boy had quite probably fooled them all and caused a mess that was beyond Jack's cleaning up. The only thing he was aware of was that Marion was standing in front of him and that he could have her if he wanted her. Hell, he already had her and he marveled at his great luck in the sway he possessed over the heart of a being so intrinsically and uncannily beautiful.
Still dwelling in his hazy bubble, a loud noise suddenly reverberated off of his eardrums. A clamber of shuffling boots and closing doors – the tromp of boys' quick steps. He was immediately shuffled back into reality as he jerked his head around and shouted up to the rafters, "Get out of here! Damn eavesdroppers. Always pokin' their heads into business that ain't theirs."
"They're just kids, Jack," Marion returned. "They don't know any better." She reached out and touched his knuckles with her fingertips. It was reassuring, yet not enough to console him back into lofty daydreams.
Jack looked into Marion's soft eyes and wanted nothing more than to drown himself in them, to let the comfort of her arms and the velvet of her lips envelop him. But the ruckus upstairs had called him back to duty and reminded him that he was a leader of these urchins, vagabond orphans and runaways and that came with certain obligations. Such as saving the life of a friend who couldn't save her own. Jack suddenly hated everything his life stood for – every little compromise he had made, every little responsibility he had taken on, every little in and out that came with being one of the oldest and smartest in their ragtag population. With a deep, heavy, exhalation, he took Marion's small hand in her own and prepared to bid her goodbye. Yet, as he searched her face, his eyes kept tripping over the depth of hers and the way her mouth slightly parted with gentle partiality toward him whenever he looked at her. Like she was always on the verge of saying something wonderful – something that could rescue him from the bonds of the burden he never wanted. His desire weakened him and as much as he should have sent her on her way, he found that nothing in him would let go of her hand. No matter how much good common sense willed him to.
The last thing Jack remembered clearly was tightening his grasp on Marion's hand and stealing away with her under the blanket sky. With the blink of an eye, Jack escaped from the lodging house and all of the obligations it held for him. He could be free, he told himself. He could be free just for one night without consequence. It was an entitlement of every human being in his mind...even one that had fallen from grace. Back at her warehouse shelter, he laid her down upon the crude bedding and made love to her with such purpose and intent, losing himself in her embrace and letting her eyes take him to places he'd not yet traveled to. He buried his conscience in the back of his mind and was glad for its silence. Afterward, by the light of one old, yellow beeswax candle he watched as she haphazardly tried to smooth her hair back into the chignon it had once been. Her nimble fingers worked through her black hair, twisting, twining, and pinning each wayward lock into a replication of what it had been before the bed. Before the rhythm of their two bodies rubbed it loose. But no matter how she pinned and worked it, it refused to be what she had hoped it to be. Until finally in dissatisfaction, Marion relented and removed all of the pins, letting her hair fall loosely around her shoulders.
"Leave it," Jack mumbled sleepily, glancing up at her. "I like it. I've never seen it when you didn't have it pulled up. You look nice."
Marion smiled at him coyly, as if she believed him. As if merely his say had power over her. But, her coyness did not mean that she intended to mind his wishes. Instead, she combed through it with her fingers and divided it into three sections, easily transforming it into the braid she was so accustomed to being seen in.
When Jack awoke before sunrise, he expected to lean over and find Marion gone. He was so accustomed to having her vanish into thin air, that in the blue gray light of morning, he was startled when looked over and found Marion still sleeping beside him. Her black hair loosed from its braid and spread out over the pallet. She looked peaceful, lying there unconscious. Her face held not the conviction that could turn bows into arrows, but a new, welcome comfort – something that one could come home to. Yet, despite the glory and redemption he felt the night before, when Jack awoke, he simply felt stiff. The cold dull ache once more took comfortable place in his heart. Careful not to disturb the slumber of Marion, he pushed back the threadbare covers and slowly made his way to a stand. Jack dressed in silent distraction with unseeing eyes and a heavy heart. He draped his bandanna loosely around his neck before stooping to kiss her cheek gently. Then he departed, tying the red kerchief into a loose haphazard knot. Back out on the streets he found himself again. He had to squint to peer through the thick, wet air of pre-dawn, but such wasn't enough to detain him on his way long journey back to Brooklyn. There was no part of him that was happy to have it as his destination, yet time was growing shorter and shorter and he still had a monstrous load of information he had to find out before it was too late.
As he walked along, his boots pounding out a hard, steady rhythm on the cobblestone, Jack cursed himself for thinking that he could afford a night of reckless and selfish fun. He'd needed it, of that there had been no doubt. But such foolhardy actions were sure to come back and bite him in the rear. For those of Jack's status, there could be no good that did not come with an equal dose of bad. When the sun began to finally rise up over the brownstone structures and towers of steel built by the hands of many men, he found that he had to squint from its piercing light. His destination was due east enough to met by the sun shining in all of its morning splendor. Jack hated it and its non-mercy, its intense light that shone right into his eyes and rendered him blind. In any circumstance, he much preferred the moon. For what light she gave was few, but never harsh or intruding. Jack finally came to the river...the docks that Spot had loved so much. He'd spent so much time with him there because Spot insisted on being there so much. Jack stopped on Pier 6, Spot's favourite, and gazed out onto the water. The sunlight glinted off of its surface and sent shimmering rays lapping toward the pier.
In a sudden wave of nostalgia, a long lost memory broke through the hardened barriers of Jack's mind. It was faint at first, only appearing in fragments of words and pictures – a mere trickle. But the past was often much like a dammed river. The more one tried to hold it back, the harder it pushed. And push it did. The scene came flooding through the cracks and crevices of Jack's purposed forgetfulness and pieced itself back together in bittersweet completion. As he continued to stare out over the hushed, murmuring river, it grew stronger...strong enough to trick him into believing that it just happened the previous day, had circumstances not been so painfully otherwise. Though his mind's eye, Jack could smell the air of that lazy day – the rare afternoon where there'd been enough money for a full stomach and a night's stay without having to hawk the headlines of both editions. They were both fortunate then, he and Spot that day.
Jack sat on the edge of the pier. He extended one leg down, only far enough to let the toe of his boot graze the skin of the water below him. Quick thundering footsteps rose up behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spot leap and glide easily through the air until the water broke his flight. It overtook him with a large splash, from which Jack vainly protected himself with a raised arm and a scowl. "Spot!" Jack growled after the top of his friend's wet head popped back up into view. "What the hell was that for? You couldn't just climb in or somethin'? Fuck you. You always have to make a big show out of everythin'."
"Sorry Kelly," Spot mumbled, without a hint of regret. He shot Jack a smug half grin and then swum out a few feet from the dock. Jack watched him gently bob up and down as he treaded water, and wiped a few leftover beads of water from his own brow.
"Hey Jack," Spot called out turning around. "What would you think if I suddenly wan't the leader of this place no more?"
"I'd think that there was somethin' seriously wrong with ya," Jack stated without missing a beat.
Spot chuckled in return. "You know, I can't run this place forever. I was thinking...about retiring someday. Doing something else."
Jack snorted. He wasn't sure if it was at Spot's declaration of wanting to leave in particular or the thought of any of them amounting to anything better than a newsboy. "No just who are you gonna get to run it when you leave? Brooklyn's like your kid. I ain't never known you to be anything but mighty protective of it. Who you gonna leave in charge of that?" he asked, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
"I dunno. Never thought about it," Spot remarked. He swam out a few more feet and then turned to speak to Jack over his shoulder. "Hey, uh, Jacky-boy, what are you doin' for the rest of your life?" he asked with a smirk.
"Oh no...nuh uh Spot. You ain't ropin' me into taking care of your little hellhole. You gotta lot of nerve, ya bastard. I got things to do myself. Who says I want to stay here taking care of whiny little troublemakin' boys the rest of my life?"
"Don't call 'em whiny," Spot quickly shot back, showing his inbred protectiveness that Jack has moments ago spoken of. "Brooklyn ain't whiny. They a lot of things, but not that."
"Alright, fine. I take it back. Don't get so hot about it." Jack threw a pebble into the water and watched the ripples radiate from it until the largest circle licked at Spot's shoulders. He wondered how something so small could have such a profound impact on everything around it. "Why don't you get Esco to do it?" he offered. It was a simple, obvious solution, and he wondered why Spot had never thought of it.
Spot furrowed his brow a bit and Jack was almost certain that he caught traces of a very slight scowl dragging down the corners of his mouth. "Esco?" Spot repeated.
"Yeah. Esco. You know, your right hand man. The one you're so proud of. The one you claimed was like the brother you never had?"
Spot shrugged. "I guess he'd work. I jus' never thought of it. Never had to before. Hey Jack, whatcha gonna do when you get out of the newspaper business?"
"That's a dumb question, Conlon. You know that already. I'm gonna get myself a good hat...better than this old piece of shit that ain't worth nothin'. Then I'm gonna hop a train and not get off until it hits Santa Fe. Then, I don't know...I guess I'll work for a bit as a ranch hand or something. Be a real cowboy. Then when I save up enough money, I'll buy my own place out there. Get a few cows, some pigs and chickens. Set everything up right. What are you gonna do, Spot...when you retire like you keep sayin' you want to do?"
"Me? Well, I was thinking maybe I'd travel around a bit until I found a place that suited me better than New York."
"Something that suits Spot Conlon better than New York?" Jack asked with choked incredulity, surprise keying his voice higher than normal. "I don't think no place like that exists. You were made for a place like this. I can't imagine you bein' no place else."
"You might have to," Spot returned seriously. "There ain't nothing great about this city. It's crowded and dirty and it'll eat you alive if you let it. I'm tired of the way it keeps trying to swallow me. I'm tired of the dirt and the rats and the lice. I'm tired of always watchin' my back and waitin' for some stupid hotheaded kid with a knife to jump me and end it all. Nah, Jack...if there ain't a more perfect place for me than here, then I'd say I'm in a lot of trouble. I'm gonna find it, and when I do, I'll get a place of my own too. I'll buy a piece of land where I could see the sky touch the water and watch the sun kiss it every evenin'."
"Well that's beautiful, Spot. A nice little poetic touch on the end there. Didn't think a blockhead like you coulda thought of somethin' so sweet." Jack clapped his hand to his heart. "That's touching, really."
"Shut your trap, Kelly. Don't make me come outta this water and give your ass a good beating for picking on me," Spot fired back. "Now, seriously, how much do you think somethin' like that would cost?"
Jack snorted as he figured up the cost in his head. Something like that, something like the wild dreams in Spot's head would certainly run up a fair price. Hell, it'd probably even cost more than either of them could earn in their entire lives, put together. "Probably," Jack finally answered thoughtfully, "a lifetime's worth of gold."
"Hmm...that much, huh?" Spot asked. Jack nodded. Spot looked defeated for a moment at the thought of his dream vanishing into thin air before him. Then Jack saw his eyes light up and a smile drape itself over his face. "Well, maybe I could push a thousand papes an hour...if I did that and I didn't take no breaks 'cept to sleep and eat, I could make it easy. Right?"
Such poor, sad dreams they all had. The streets and lodging houses were filled with poor, sad dreams unrealized. Penniless boys who were forced to grow up too fast...some never having been afforded a childhood at all. He was one of those pathetic kids that came in wide-eyed and full of hope and was only given emptiness in return. It's a fine life – yes, they all used to quote that little saying to one another, either in jest or in celebration when the times were good. But it wasn't really a fine life at all. It was bleak and ill-fated, and forever trapped the souls of men that fell under its false siren's call of freedom. Freedom, Jack thought with a scoff. There never was and would never be any freedom for Jack Kelly. Especially not now. His legs might of have been free to roam, but from that point onward, he realized that his heart would forever be enslaved to memories and how he'd lost those who made them.
A strange desire took hold of him and he stopped short. For a moment, he wished more than anything that he could somehow convince all of the boys to believe that he did it. That Jack, himself, was he culprit – the cold blooded killer. Then, they would throw him in the water and he could drown his sorrows and troubles and be through with it all. At least then, there would be a guaranteed way out. But as the lodging house came into view, Jack realized how cowardly selfish that plan of action would be. It'd be different if it were only him that he'd have to care for, but he couldn't let himself compromise all of the others. The others...yes, he had to think of them, for their sakes and his own. Ten minutes earlier, Jack had been gazing out upon the river, watching it reflect the sun's first light and his glorified remembrances. But the radiance of the earlier morning sun was short lived, for as he turned decisively toward the lodging house, the skies opened up. Raindrops poured upon him, drowning all of his fondness for the past in one unrelenting shower. Jack sighed heavily and shook his head – not in disbelief, for he thoroughly expected that whatever brightness there was would surely be short lived. "Same old, same old," he mumbled as he pulled his collar up and faced the storm on his own.