Two bodies. Two painfully familiar bodies, lying as still as stone in their cold cushioned new homes. Alex reached for his father's icy hand. But the deep brown eyes didn't light up with warmth like they used to when Alex sought his comfort. They remained closed. A single tear slid slowly down Alex's cheek as a hand gripped his shoulder, steering him to the next casket.

In this coffin lay his mother, her beautiful blonde hair resting on her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were closed, like her husband's. Alex took her hand and gave it one last squeeze before allowing himself to be led away, whispering a goodbye as he left.

He followed his brother to a towering oak tree. When his brother turned to face him, Alex noticed that his face was tear-stained as well.

"What do we do, Anthony?" Alex asked his sibling.

"What father told us," said Anthony, tears welling up in his deep brown eyes. "We stick together." Alex nodded and asked, "But what about food? And a home?"

"We can live with other families," Anthony said, wincing. The word family seemed to cause him physical pain. "We'll stay with one family for a week and then move to another." Alex whimpered as Anthony pulled him close into a hug. Tears rolled silently down their cheeks as the crisp spring breeze cooled them.

There was a flash of brilliant light and a new scene was taking place.

Now it was the dead of night. Alex and Anthony were creeping along a dusty street when two large, burly men appeared out of nowhere. One carried a knife, and the other, a club.

"Hand it over now street rat," said Club Man, staring straight at Anthony. "Hand it over or you'll regret it."

Alex glanced confusedly at Anthony. What did this man mean? What were they supposed to hand over? He attempted to catch his brother's eye, but Anthony's attention was focused upon the advancing thugs. Alex awaited his brother's instructions.

"I don't have it with me," Anthony said, backing away.

"Then you've chosen to regret it," Club Man growled, and he swung his bat at Alex's only kin.

"Cheese it!" cried Anthony, and he fled with Club Man on his tail. Alex turned to make his escape but a hand grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back. Knife Man pulled Alex's arms behind his back and a sharp blade pricked against his throat.

"Give me one reason," Knife Man hissed in Alex's ear. The blade slid slightly across his throat as the wrist began to apply pressure to sever his jugular vein. He unleashed a scream that tore through his throat.

"Get up! Carry the banner!" cried Smithy, the keeper of the Newsboy's Lodging House. "Thank you Nightclub for getting everyone up, but the yelling wasn't necessary." Nightclub woke with a start and sat up so fast he hit his head on the bunk above. He collapsed back into his pillow, and rolled onto his chest, panting heavily and his heart racing.

Smithy shuffled out of the room, having successfully roused most of the newsies. He was a large, elderly man who had a strange assortment of clothing. He wore a brown vest over his stained hunter green shirt. His pepper gray pants looked several sizes to big for him, for they bunched up around his ankles and were held up by a long piece of frizzy twine that reached his knees. He had a large, hooked nose, beady brown eyes, and his ears stuck out farther than normal. His lips were turtle-like; long, thin, and pointed in the middle. A green top hat with an orange ribbon was perched on top of his long, wiry gray hair. His olive green tie was tied above his shoulder so that it hung down his back rather than down his chest and completed the peculiar picture.

The newsies had begun their preparation for work and many weary groans were heard. Nightclub, however, was not ready to get up; his dream was still fresh in his mind. He had dreams like that often, dreams of his past. He had been six when his parents left him and seven when he was separated from his brother and began his life as a newsie. His dreams forced him to relieve the horrors of his past often, too often. Nightclub gave an inward shudder and buried his face in his pillow.

Spot slid off his bunk and landed with a thud beside him. A moment later he was being prodded sharply in the ribs by Spot's cane.

"Get up Nightclub, you great lazy lump," Spot ordered, stretching.

"No," Nightclub groaned, drawing his thoughts away from his dreams, "leave me alone or your cap gets it." He still had the cap, for Spot hadn't managed to swipe it yet.

"Come on Night, when are you gonna give it back?" Spot grumbled.

"The day I give it back is the day I need your help," Nightclub said with a smile. Spot sighed, taking this statement to mean, as Nightclub intended, that he wouldn't be getting it back. He knew very well that Nightclub was highly independent and would never seek or accept his help. He wandered towards the washroom shaking his head.

After everyone had washed and dressed they streamed into the streets as usual to wait for the circulation bell. When it rang, Nightclub fell into line, bought his papes, and sat on the queue platform. He read the headline and groaned.

"Trolley Strike Drags on for Third Week," said a voice, quoting the front page's title. Nightclub looked up as Jitter sat down beside him. "People don't want to hear about the strike anymore. Don't they have anything better to write about?"

Nightclub nodded and said "Apparently not," as Marbles came to sit on Nightclub's other side.

"I heard you come in late last night," he said. "Where had you been?" Nightclub was surprised by his question. Everyone knew he visited the nightclub every evening. It was, after all, how he came to be christened "Nightclub." Of course he went swimming at the river front as well, but only he himself knew about that.

He was about to reply when Jitter spoke.

"J and J's Nightclub, where else, stupid?" Nightclub nodded his head, confirming Jitter's statement.

"Did you go anywhere else?" Marbles questioned further. Nightclub was becoming nervous; Marbles was obviously aware that he went somewhere else every night. But how could he?

"No," he said firmly. "Just J and J's and the Lodging House."

"Are you sure?" Although his tone was light and teasing, there was something about his would-be-casual voice that made Nightclub uneasy.

"I think Nightclub knows where he's been," said Jitter mildly, "unless he's been hit over the head with a rock and developed a serious case of amnesia."

"Why were your shoes wet?" Marbles inquired, ignoring Jitter. Nightclub's heart skipped a beat. He'd swam with his shoes on last night so that if trouble came he could get away quickly. His shoes were always dry by morning. Marbles had to have been watching him, waiting for him. Nightclub couldn't tell whether he was just curious or if he was . . .

"Did you go for a swim? I thought you said you couldn't."

Nightclub took a deep, calming breath.

"I went to the docks and dipped my feet in the water, but I didn't swim." He gave a shudder to support his next statement. "Water scares those of us that aren't good swimmers. One wrong move and you're drowning. Are you done giving me the Third Degree?"

Marbles opened his mouth to say something but Jitter cut him off. "Come on fellas, we'd better get selling."

Nightclub nodded and stood quickly, glad for a reason for the conversation to end. When he was a good distance away, he cast a glance behind him and saw Marble's watching him through eyes narrowed in suspicion. Nightclub shivered despite the heat of the July sun and hurried to his selling spot.

XXX

Nightclub strode toward the docks humming a jazzy tune. He left J and J's Nightclub in high spirits, having spent the past hour or so being tantalized by the music he loved so much. It was dark now, around eleven o'clock, and the streets of Brooklyn were virtually deserted. As he made his way towards the docks, Nightclub stopped dead. He was being watched; he could feel it. His eyes shifted from shadow to shadow. He eventually concluded that he was imagining things and continued towards the docks.

When he came to the end of the dock he shed his vest so it wouldn't weigh him down as it would if he swam with it on. He then kicked off his shoes and took his (well, Spot's) cap off and shook out his hair. He placed these items near the edge of the dock on a crate. He glanced at his surroundings. He just couldn't shake the feeling that a pair of unseen eyes were upon him. Once again pushing the feeling aside, Nightclub shoved the heavy crate to the end of the pier so he had room to dive off the end. As he did so, he heard a surprised yell and a splash. He realized with a jolt that his observer had been behind the wooden crate; Nightclub had just pushed them into the river's dark, icy depths.

Author's Note: Much love to Cinnamon Spice, mushlover4ever, and reject187! Now all the rest of you get up off your lazy bums and review, or the Authoress and her official story typer upper will be forced to bite your legs off!