Eep, this one's even shorter. Eh, it was just the perfect spot to end it though.

This story is officially dedicated to NewsieGoil1899. Because she's cool.

Chapter 3: Emily

Halfway across the bridge, Spot stopped running. He wasn't sure why until he noticed Whistler sitting fifteen feet off the road, perched in the cross-bracing of the bridge.

"Goin' somewhere?" he asked Spot.

"How the hell did you get up there?"

Whistler grinned. If he'd been on the ground, Spot would have punched him in the face.

"Climbed," he said simply. "I sit up here sometimes when I'm thinkin'."

Whistler thinking… for some reason the thought was frightening.

"Anyway, I been thinkin' that it's time you turned around and marched back there to explain to that little girl why she never met her big brother."

"Damn you," Spot said, then turned on his heel and started back the way he'd just come.

"Was that him, Mama? Was that him?" Emily asked, tugging on her mother's skirt.

"Yes, it was, Emmy. You must be my good luck charm."

"But why did he run away?"

Mrs. Conlon sighed. "I don't know, dear. I don't know."

Just then, the boy was back, skidding to a stop and falling in a heap at his mother's feet. Mrs. Conlon winced, then helped him up.

"Thanks, ma'am," the boy said, adjusting his cap.

"Don't call me that, Patrick. I'm your mother."

The boy looked almost afraid for a bit, and would have bolted if another boy, the one with the green cap, hadn't suddenly appeared.

"Spot, you never cease to amaze me," Whistler said, holding onto Spot's arm to keep him from getting away.

"I ain't even going to ask how you got here so fast," Spot growled. "Now leggo o' me before I soak ya."

Mrs. Conlon watched the proceedings with alarm, clutching Emily's hand as if to protect her.

"Please don't fight, boys," she pleaded. "I just wanted to see my son."

The two seemingly ignored her, Spot throwing a punch at Whistler, who dodged it, never loosening his hold on the younger boy's arm. Then, too quick for anyone to see, Whistler's left fist slammed into Spot's gut, knocking the wind out of him.

"Sorry 'bout this," he told Spot, handing the dazed boy over to Mrs. Conlon. "But it's for your own good." Then to Mrs. Conlon: "You kin have him for a day or two, but we sorta need him back after that. Your son's a pretty important man now, Mrs. Conlon."

She nodded.

"Do you need any help getting him home?"

"No, I think I'll be okay," Mrs. Conlon said. "Come along, Emily."

Spot woke up in a bed. It wasn't his bed in the lodging house, and for a few moments he couldn't figure out where he was. Then a small voice spoke.

"Patrick!" it said. The happenings of the past two days came slamming back into Spot's head—the article in the paper, finding his mother, and Whistler's betrayal.

Dammit Wiss, when I get hold of you…

But that would have to wait, because the small girl who was apparently his sister was currently climbing onto the bed and trying to sit on his chest.

"Oof," he grunted as her weight squashed the air out of his lungs. "Geddoffame, ya shrimp." The girl all but fell off the bed and rushed out of the room, howling for her mother. Mrs. Conlon came into the room.

"What did you say to Emily?" she asked. "She seems upset."

Belatedly, Spot realized that his usual rough manners wouldn't fly in his new situation. He'd have to be nice to the kid.

Then Mrs. Conlon proceeded to say the one phrase that would haunt Spot's dreams for the rest of his life.

"I need to go to the market. Will you watch Emily for me?"

Spot said the only thing he could say, not knowing when he'd be able to go back to the lodging house.

"Sure."