Perhaps this story should be called "Finding Catherine" or "See Spot Run", or maybe even "That Darn Cat", because he always seems to be one step behind her. Anyhow, we are still nearing the end, I promise, in case you are disappointed at the twist.
Read on:


Chapter 26

Concerning item #2: Gold-Tipped Cane 4 (continued)

-

Spot leaned his back against the train car wall, trying to gain control of his thoughts, to just think clearly at all. He was consumed by his grief, and this unfamiliar sense of hopelessness. He was back to where he had started all those years ago, with some stranger who had taken Cat and him with no idea where she was.

But still, his instinct led him back to New York. Perhaps, with the help of his good ol' boys in New York, he'd have a better chance of finding her again. He'd do whatever it took, even if it meant spending the rest of his life searching… He'd never stop until she was near to him again, blushing wildly at the sigh of him like she always did.

But who in the hell had taken her this time?

It was a question that plagued him the entire trip. What use could one possibly have with a penniless girl like Cat? Besides the fact of her being a beautiful… young… virgin woman…

He quickly shoved that thought aside as best he could manage, but still it lingered in the back of his mind…

-

It was sunny when he stepped off the train at the yards, but the clouds began to set in as he made his way back to Brooklyn.

The bridge had never seemed so long, or the streets so empty. Sprinkles of rain soon fell on his face like a friendly mist, but the overhead thunder rolled with hostility with every beat of his boot hitting the pavement. He walked in large strides, his hand gripping his cane just below the gold tip.

His plan had been to search for Cat in Brooklyn, to ask around if anyone had been sent to retrieve her, on the slight chance that just maybe it had been one of them. Though, he knew that the likelihood was slim, because everyone had still been in his sights as he left in the carriage with Roosevelt, and couldn't possibly have made it to California before him. But still, he figured it was the best place to start.

His eyes fell to the ground as he walked, and began to notice something unusual through the mist.

Red spots.

It didn't take long for him to figure out that it was a trail of blood on the bridge, though the rain was making the boldness of the color fade, it was still evident.

Spot's heart lurched in fear. He was in Brooklyn country now. This blood had to belong to someone he knew.

He squinted ahead, through the mists to look beyond. A dark figure stumbled along the pavement not too distant before him, then fell face foreword to the ground.

Spot ran quickly to him, noticing as he came close that he was a newsie. Spot flipped him to his back, and recognized him immediately.

"Griffin!" he said in surprise.

Griffin smiled at the sight of Spot like a madman, and held his hand over a wound in his stomach. His blood spilled everywhere, drenching his clothing, and out of his mouth. Still, he was smiling.

"You came back," he said with all his breath. "I'm sorry, Spot…"

Spot frowned. His friend wasn't going to make it through this.

"What you sorry for?" he demanded.

"I wasn't half… the leader… you were… I couldn't… even defend myself…"

"Shut up, Griff," Spot said. "You're wasting all your strength on stupid talk."

Griffin just grinned some more, his breath falling short, but Spot's chest was burning in anger.

"Who did this to you?" Spot demanded. "Was it someone from Queens? Harlem?"

Griffin shook his head no.

"WHO?" Spot said again harshly. "Who DID IT?"

Griffin's smile wavered, and then the light in his eyes disappeared. He was dead.

Spot sighed, ran his hands over Griffin's eyelids to close them, and got up.

"Some leader you left behind," a voice behind him said. "Dumb enough to walk the streets of New York alone."

Spot didn't turn toward the voice, just let his head fall in recognition. He didn't need to face him to know who it was. It was so quiet he could hear Griffin's fresh blood dripping from the assailant's knife.

"My ol' friend…" Spot said, turning to face the man. "Shouldn't ya be dead, Dickens?"

"I'm human. Aren't humans supposed to be alive?"

Spot smirked at the naivety of it all. Of himself. Of course. He should have known.

"It was one a' your men who identified the supposed 'body' of you at the morgue," he said decidedly. "Ya wanted everyone to think you were dead. That's what I get for taking the word of the press. Were ya plottin' revenge for all these years?"

"Don't give yourself that much credit, Conlon," Haze replied. "After your little household takeover I wound up in the hospital for months. Then I signed up with a recruiter, and shipped out west. Headed as far away from ya as I could manage. I must admit though, vengeance was definitely on my mind. And fate, it seems, was always on my side. I spend a few years making me a clean livin', when… who do I see in a nice white dress? A familiar face… nice lookin' little tootsie…"

Spot ground his teeth in anger, but Haze went on.

"Spot's girl, I say to myself. One I know he'd cause a tussle for. Got a little special place in your heart now, Conlon?" Haze taunted. "Sure saw that comin'. You always did like the sluts."

Spot was not offended, but was too distracted by something else. He frowned at the man in deep thought, suddenly coming to the realization of something unforeseen.

"This isn't about Brooklyn at all, is it?" he asked. "This is about her…"

He furrowed his brow, trying to remember her name.

"Abigail," he said at last.

Haze glared at him.

"Abby was all I had. You took her from me, just because she was mine."

"She never came back, I presume," Spot guessed mockingly. "Well, she did come rather willingly…"

"Shut up!" Haze shouted. "Now I've taken all you have left too, just because she's yours."

Haze held his hand in the air, and snapped his fingers loudly at lighting split the sky. Out of the mists appeared one of his familiar cronies… and—

"Cat!" Spot said, starting for her. She was being held by a perverted looking man who had his hand over her mouth as she mumbled desperately though it, and the man was smiling evilly at Spot like he had something planned for her later. Well, not if he could help it…

Haze grabbed Spot's arm and shoved him back.

"No, no!" Haze said. "She's mine now. And you have to remember newsie code. Those who have something taken, must fight to get it back."

"You want to get tossed in the river again?" Spot said, pulling out his cane. "Fine."

"Oh, I think you'll see I've learned a thing or two in the military," Haze reassured him. "Like survival of the fittest."

"Yeah, I learned that one too."

"And all is fair in love and war."

Spot smirked.

"That one I haven't learned quite yet."

"Then allow me to educate you."

With that, Haze whirled around and threw the knife toward Cat, letting it fly firmly into her shoulder. The perverted man let her go in surprise, jumping backward in shock, and so Cat fell limply to the ground.

"Cat!" Spot tried again to rush to her, but again was pushed back.

"You know the rules. You have about five minutes before she bleeds to death. You'll have to kill me before then."

Spot was paralyzed in astonishment, stunned at the horrible sight before him. Cat was moaning in pain, clutching her wound with tears in her eyes.

But he didn't have time to regain his composure, because Haze was already upon him, charging at him with murder in his eyes.

Spot naturally whipped out his cane, a similar look for his own expression, swinging his cane like a bat at Haze's face. Haze saw it coming, and caught it in mid-swing, yanking it from his hands.

"Nobody here to help you now, is there?" Haze taunted, throwing the cane aside. "No rebel Brooklinites to come to win the war."

"I didn't need them to beat you last time," Spot reminded him. "Bastard."

"You'd best think of where you're going to be burying her bones…" Haze said. "It'll be a good thing she won't be awake for what I'm going to do to her dead body."

"You're a sick man, and almost as big of a arrogant prick as me," Spot observed. "But I don't have time to compare."

The rain began to pour in buckets now, and the air fell so cold even Haze shivered, still Spot's glare was colder. He did not blink, and his fierce look did not falter for a moment. Vengeance was in both their eyes.

"You're going to really die this time, Dickens," Spot vowed.

"We shall see…" Haze said with a confident smirk.


Intense, eh? Tell me what you think… More very soon.

Signed,
--RedRogue