Author's note: Thanks to Honor, sab, Marisa, Problems, and especially Volcanous for their reviews. You guys rule! I hope you enjoy this part, too.
Damnit, Jack thought as he glanced out a window and noticed Roxy and Wager enter the Manhattan Lodging House. He turned away from the grimy windowpane, carelessly tossed his hat to his bunk, and cursed his luck. He could tell from their grim expressions—apparent even from the second floor of the lodging house—that he would not be able to avoid the situation any longer. Especially if da rumahs are true, he thought, praying that he had been lied to.
"Hey, Jack!" Boots's voice called and a second later his head popped into the bunkroom. "Wagah and Roxy are heah- dey say dey gotta talk ta ya."
He nodded solemnly, the veins in his hands visible from tension. "Keep ev'rybody else outta da bunkroom, will ya?"
"Sure." Boots's forehead furrowed in slight confusion, but he did not question Jack's request. He disappeared into the hallway and a moment later the Brooklyn newsies stepped purposefully into the room.
There appeared to be a storm brewing in Jack's eyes; thus Roxy didn't feel the need to be diplomatic. "What didn't you tell us about Spot?' she demanded.
Jack bristled. "Are ya callin' me a liar?"
Roxy drew a deep breath and resisted the urge to punch him (although she realized, with her feeble fighting skills, it would not have done much good anyway). She marched towards him, speaking evenly as if she chose each word carefully. "No, Jack, of course not. It's just that Brooklyn is in a great deal of danger and we need to know everything you know. It might help us."
He eyed the Brooklyn newsies with a combination of suspicion and alarm. "What happened?"
"Ya mean deah ain't rumahs goin' around about us?" Wager inquired, raising his eyebrows in genuine surprise. "I'd t'ought aftah da fiah dat ev'rybody from heah ta Jersey woulda hoid."
"No, I've hoid da rumahs. I jus' don't know what's true."
"Spot, well…" Roxy said helplessly, not quite knowing where to begin. "You know he hasn't been himself lately—disappearing without telling anyone where he's going, being generally not there. Not like himself at all. And last night he left—not just temporarily, like he's been doing, but for good." She nodded to Wager. "He left Wager in charge, but now that the Debler Street newsies know we've been weakened—you know, by the shock of Spot leaving—they attacked us. Only a few people managed to get away from them unharmed." She was speaking swiftly now, for if they did not burst forth from her mouth quickly, she imagined that they would permanently stick in her throat. "And they burned down the distribution office, so even if we wanted to sell papers, we couldn't. And this can't keep up for much longer- either they'll kill us or we'll be out on the streets and die there. And now everyone is fighting- not us and the Debler Street newsies, but all of the Brooklyn newsies, fighting against the people we should care about most of all because we're all we have. Jack, we're losing everything; you have to help us."
Jack was reminded of the time when he, David, and Boots traveled to Spot to ask for Brooklyn's backing during the strike. Da famous Brooklyn newsies dat could make half of Manhattan quake. How could dey have gotten dis way? he wondered at the sight of Roxy's frantic expression. He sighed heavily and unblinkingly studied the newsgirl. "Okay. What do ya wanna know?"
She sighed lightly in relief as though a stack of newspapers had been lifted off of her back. "Do you have any idea where Spot might be?"
Silently scowling, he strove to maintain his stony countenance as he faced answering the one question that he had never dared to ask even himself. Motioning for the Brooklyn newsies to sit on a nearby bunk, he began, "See, Spot ain't originally from Brooklyn."
Roxy and Wager's eyes widened. "What?" Wager asked. "Spot, he's—well, he is Brooklyn."
"Well, I'm tellin' ya he ain't. He's from Manhattan. We grew up tahgeddah, not dat far from dis lodgin' house." Roxy nodded contemplatively, slowly realizing that this explained Spot's friendship with Jack, despite the distance of the boroughs. "His family was poor, of coise, like ev'rybody else. But his faddah…" Jack trailed off, remembering the cold, bitter man with callous, empty eyes. "He was horrible ta Spot. He nevah said so, but I t'ink dat was why Spot left Manhattan when he was so young. He was only five den. Dat's why ev'rybody t'inks he's from Brooklyn."
Roxy's forehead furrowed as she tried to piece together the situation. "So…why do you think Spot came back to Manhattan?"
Jack shook his head helplessly. "I dunno. But if it's anyt'ing, I'm guessin' it has ta do wid his family. Start lookin' deah—if ya even wanna start lookin' at all."
*****
Roxy's heart sunk with each step she took as she ascended the darkened staircase. Her stomach clenched like a fist at the stench of rodent droppings and what smelt like decaying meat. Dust hung in the air like thick velvet curtains, causing Roxy to cough violently. She pressed a hand to her stomach and willed herself not to be sick. She remembered her home in California, where she had been raised, with orange trees and oleander in her backyard, the sweet smell of the ocean wafting into the windows in the morning. She remembered her parents, gentle and intelligent and beautiful. Oh, God, she thought as her heart ached for Spot.
Before she realized it (and, quite honestly, before she was prepared for it) she found herself standing in front of tenement number 43. Her heart raced as she cautiously reached out, as if fearing that the doorknob would bite her hand off, and knocked against the wood.
The sound of footsteps preceded the door opening a crack. A young boy, with cheekbones like Spot's, stared at her suspiciously but did not say anything.
"Hello," Roxy greeted uncertainly, wondering (and half-hoping) that Spot's family no longer lived here. "I'm looking for Spot- er, Ethan Conlon. Is he here?"
The boy raised a distrustful eyebrow. "What do ya want wid him?"
"I just want to talk to him," she promised. "I don't even need to come inside. If he's there, maybe he could come out here and-"
The decrepit door creaked open, revealing Spot and a poor but well-kept apartment. Roxy's eyes widened at Spot's disheveled appearance. The rough stubble that suffused across his cheeks, the smudges of dirt and oil across his hands and face, and the baggy, stained shirt he donned—which Roxy was certain did not belong to him—disguised the former Brooklyn leader's innate confidence and strength. As Roxy had expected, he did not embrace her in greeting, but stared at her petulantly, as though wishing she would turn swiftly on her heel and march away without another word. His countenance masked the gnawing anxiety that had clenched his stomach since he had heard Roxy's voice drifting into the tenement. Even before he marched out of Brooklyn he had recognized that someone would come for him. He woke pale from nightmares or wild eyed newsies demanding explanations for his disappearnace, calling him a coward, and challenging him to a fight to defend the honor of the borough. The floor quaked beneath his feet at the sight of Roxy, whom he had always considered a true friend and whose confused, pained eyes boring into his. Wearily turning his face away from her, he waited for the inevitable rebuke.
"Spot," Roxy exclaimed softly, then felt foolish for stating the obvious. "Jack…said you might be here."
"Jack shoulda kept his mouth shut."
She flinched slightly as though he had raised a hand to strike her. Seeing her reaction, his eyes fell to the floor and he motioned to the tenement. "Come on in," he said as he, pulling his brother back with him, stepped out of her way. He shut the door behind her and murmured to Jesse, "Why don't ya go in da oddah room with Becca and Lily?" His tone implied that this was more than just a suggestion. Jesse rolled his eyes, but disappeared into the next room.
"So..." Roxy mumbled, embarrassed now that they were alone. Why did I come, anyway? she demanded of herself as she studied Spot, who looked just as uncomfortable at the sight of her. Then she thought of Wager waiting patiently outside the tenement building, while the rest of the Brooklyn newsies gathered together in the girls' bunkroom. "What happened, Spot? You…you just left."
"I left a note," he replied defensively. "It wasn't like I had a lot of choices. My faddah is dead, Roxy, what else was I supposed ta do?"
"You could have explained it to us—to me! Even the week before you left, it was like you weren't there."
"What did ya expect of me?" he demanded harshly, voice rising with every word. "Dat I would be deah forevah? Dat I could jus' stick around and nevah be able to get out?"
Roxy's voice was barely a whisper. "I…I didn't know you wanted to leave." Again she thought she would be violently ill.
"Of coise I wanted to leave!" he exclaimed, angry with her for wanting to keep him in Brooklyn and at himself for causing the abandoned glint in her eyes. "All da oddah Brooklyn leadahs—dey moved on, why not me? What am I supposed ta do? Stay deah forever, always a newsie, nevah able ta make somet'ing of myself. I got plans of my own, and people heah dat depend on me now. Ya jus' keep clingin' ta me and ya can't let go. Why? I ain't got not'ing, Roxy. I barely got five cents ta buy food for my youngah siblings. And why? 'Cause I let myself get stuck in Brooklyn for so long, wheah I could nevah get anyt'ing. Brooklyn's shit, Roxy."
Tears stung the newsgirl's eyes, but she willed them to stay put. Instead of crying, she reached back, summoning all the strength she had, and punched Spot in the face.
He staggered, out of surprise more than pain (although he vaguely thought that the Debler Street newsies might not have such an easy time beating her up) and blinked at her. "Ya hit me."
"And I'll do it again, damnit," she cried, face reddening. She felt herself hating and loving all in a single exquisitely painful moment. Her heart seemed to be cracking like ice in her chest.
He tensed, remembering threats his father used to make when in a dangerous mood. "Are ya gonna drag me back ta Brooklyn?" he inquired and glanced mockingly at her trembling body.
"No," she murmured and attempted to appear as cool and controlled as Spot usually did. She drew a deep breath before replying. "No one ever expected you to stay forever, Spot; but we also didn't expect you to just run away like this." He opened his mouth to protest but she smoothly and steadily continued. "I'm going back to Brooklyn now. Come with me if you want to." She paused for a moment. "But if you don't come with me now, don't even think about coming back ever again."
With that, she turned on her heel and walked slowly out of the apartment. She did not turn to see if Spot was following her. When, in the hallway, she heard the door close softly behind her, she knew he had made his decision.
To be continued…please review!