Author note: I am very much aware of the fact that I did not update yesterday, but I do have a life ya know. I'd love to sit here and type, type, type, but I have friends and family to talk to, so I have to give them at least some of my free time.

I had to scrub hard at the mud clinging to my body, and scrubbed even harder to get the stench of death away from me. It felt like mere seconds ago I was sobbing beside the grave uncontrollably, leaving my friends stunned.

And now I was in the washroom scrubbing the skin off my flesh. Not purposely, of course, but I had touched a dead body – not that I would've cared if it was someone I didn't know. Even though I was much to blame for murdering many of Ned's men, it was just heinous for him to kill his own wife.

Josephine Neeley was one of the sweetest people I had ever met, and I can assure you: she hated what Ned was doing. She found it unfair and abusive, and I suppose she threatened to turn him in, so he killed her.

I wanted to scream; scream louder than anyone ever has. I wanted to throw a deadly tantrum and just give Ned away. I wanted to run through town, screaming out that Ned was a murderer. I wanted to blurt out everything that has happened these past five years, and finally get this burden off of my chest, because one lonely teenage girl can't handle the weight of reality.

But I couldn't do any of that. Not only would it get my brother killed, but I'd be just as bad as the kids who already tried. The kids who needed mental help just after a week of their arrival. The kids who tried to escape through the front door to tell someone about their terrible lives. The kids who were shot once their foot was beyond the door. It wasn't worth it.

After a long wash, and scrubbing gloomily at my skin, I slumped into my room and lay across my bed. I guess this is what it feels like to be sad. I never felt my heart ache since the day of my mother's death. I hadn't cried since – well, I knew I never cried at my mother's funeral, she wouldn't want that.

Erica looked at me oddly, although I was sure she already knew what happened, the look of confusion never left her face.

"Anomie?" she said, rising from her bed.

The sun shown into the cold room – I never got to sleep. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore Erica's voice.

"Anomie, are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine," I answered in a muffled voice.

"Good!" Erica said in a cheery voice. "Come with me into Brooklyn!"

I looked at her with my cold stare, and I knew I tricked her with my eyes. Deep within I was hurting, but I still managed to keep my coldness in my eyes – either that or Erica was too dim-witted to notice.

"Brooklyn is like a drug," I said, hiding my head in my arms. "Once you enter you can't find the need to leave."

"You sound funny," Erica retorted. "Come on, I promised Blade I'd meet him at the docks."

"Go alone," I said, barely audible. "I'm tired."

"You're like a rock, Anomie, you can't be tired," Erica snapped. She tugged on my arm forcefully and grunted.

"Rocks are lifeless," I mumbled.

"You know what I mean, Nomes, now come one!" Erica pulled once more on my arm and I finally stumbled to my feet.

"Can't you get Stephen to go with you?" I asked as we left the school and walked through Brooklyn.

"Nah, he's with Spot somewhere, probably playing poker," Erica told me.

If I weren't nearly asleep I would've laughed at that. Stephen playing poker? Oh please, the boy can't even keep his cards to himself. If you played with him, you'd know that Stephen was an easy target because he'd accidentally drop his cards or do something else stupid.

I only replied with a weird noise from my throat that sounded like: "Mmm," and then shut my mouth.

By the time we made it to the docks I had sweat trickling down my forehead, and I spotted Blade standing at the end of the docks.

"Hey, Erica," he greeted her, pecking her cheek. Erica blushed slightly and then looked away. "We can't stay here. Gotta go ovah to da lodgin house. Spot's orders," Blade told her.

Erica shrugged and Blade laced his fingers with hers and I followed the two to where I guess was the lodging house. It looked quite old, and a bit ruined.

I merely shrugged from lack of energy and followed Blade and Erica through the door. I instantly smelt cigar smoke and whiskey, and heard laughter and fussing coming from another room.

We turned the corner and I finally found out where the commotion was coming from. There was a big round table in the middle of the floor, and a group of rowdy boys grouped around it. Many were inhaling cigars and gulping down whiskey, and others were just enjoying the poker game.

I walked lazily beside Erica and her and Blade crowded around the table with the others, and I merely sent them a look of disgust. I then spotted Stephen sitting directly opposite Spot, and he seemed to be studying his cards like he was in a trance.

"Do ya fold or what, Cromwell?" I heard Spot ask impatiently. Stephen sighed and nodded, placing his cards down and shaking his head in defeat.

Spot chuckled and looked at the other boys who were also playing. "How 'bout you bums?" he asked.

One, who I didn't recognize – well, I didn't recognize any of them – chewed on his cigar and sent Spot a sly look.

"I don't evah back down from a pokah game, Spot," he said in a deep New York/Italian voice. He had dark brown hair hidden beneath his cap, and seemed to be able to hold a straight face.

Spot sent him an approving look and nodded. "O'course ya don't, Race," he said. "So let's see what ya got."

The boys occupying the seats and holding cards laid their cards down to see who had the stronger deck.

"Well Conlon, looks like I beat ya again," the boy – Race? – said, collecting his winnings.

Spot smirked and leaned back slightly in his chair.

"How 'bout anudder game?" he suggested. "You in, Jack?" he asked a boy who looked like he just came from a rodeo.

"Sure," the boy known as Jack said, taking a seat that a boy pushed towards him.

Some other boys joined, but Stephen stood up. "I'm afraid I have to sit this one out, fellas," he said. "I don't have anything else to give away."

"But then we'll be one guy short," someone whined.

"You idiot, you don't need a certain amount of people ta play!" someone snapped.

Spot looked around. "Anyone else?" he asked.

I hesitated, but found myself slipping into the seat Stephen once sat in and stared straight at Spot.

"I'll play," I said, using my great acting skills and hid my insecurity.

Spot eyed me momentarily but merely shrugged as the cards were dealt. I picked up my hand and studied the cards carefully, and then finally moved my gaze to the leader across the table.

For a moment in time he just stared at me like he was searching for something, and I saw his brows wrinkle in a mess of confusion. I kept my face calm and collective as the game started quickly.

I needed to do anything to get the image of Mrs. Neeley's corpse out of my head. The past was killing me.

Stephen appeared at my side and looked at my cards.

"Killing time for hell?" he asked in a whisper. It was a code question like: "Are you okay?" "How are things going?" "Do you need help?" or "I'm here, tell me what's wrong."

I sent him a deadly glance and then stared awkwardly down at my cards. Nobody ever asked me that, because they never needed to.

"I'm living up to heaven," I whispered, another code which meant: "I'm fine." or "I'm perfectly okay."

Stephen nodded but stayed at my side as we played into the afternoon, and I never even noticed it get dark.

The game was going on forever, and at this pace it'd never end. Spot still gave me that look. What was it? Confusion?

The game finally came down to me, Spot, some guy named Skittery, and that Race guy.

Spot glanced around and then we all finally showed our cards. I wasn't even paying attention to the whole game, and I knew there had to be something wrong when Spot and I showed the exact same hand. Race won, of course, and I knew he would.

I nodded at him and then wobbly rose from the chair and stumbled outside, leaning against the side of the building.

The night air brushed roughly against my skin, and I felt even more regret than ever. I hate Ned! That stupid, unforgiving bastard!

I crossed my arms numbly over my chest and looked up at the moon. It was a giant circle of what? What was on the moon? It was so mysterious and beautiful, that I wish I were free just like it.

My thoughts were crushed once I heard the door open and close, and felt someone stand beside me, leaning against the building.

I glanced over and groaned silently.

"Don't you have better things to do other than to bother me?" I asked Spot rudely.

The Brooklyn leader shrugged and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lazily lit it. "You dyin or somethin Parker?" he asked.

"What?" I asked confusedly.

"You look different," Spot explained. "Somethin wrong?"

What? How would he know if something was wrong, I was a master at disguising the way I felt! How had he noticed?

"Why do you care?" I asked.

"I don't," Spot shrugged. "I was jus' wonderin. I mean, yer weak acting skills might've fooled da udders, but you can't use my own technique against me."

I snorted in disgust and slid down to the ground, Spot following. I looked over at him and he met my eyes. He had that look again, as if searching for something, but too confused to tell.

"You're just too proud of yourself," I told him truthfully, looking away.

"Look back here," Spot said calmly.

I furrowed my eyebrows but looked back over at Spot. He squinted, searching my eyes once more, but a look of failure crossed his face.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"You're sad," Spot said, looking away. "I was jus' tryin ta see why."

"Good luck with that!" I growled. "Quit trying to figure me out."

"Who said I was tryin ta figure you out. Even I can see dat there is no way of ever figuring you out," Spot told me.

"Is it easy to see?" I asked, referring to the sadness dwelling in my eyes.

"Not really," he said. "I'm just good at dis."

I leaned my head against the building and closed my eyes. "If you were to die right now, what is one thing you'd change in your life before doing so?"

I could tell that Spot was looking at my oddly now, and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. "Dat's personal," he finally spoke.

"You know what I would change?" I asked…

Next Chapter: Anomie isn't thinking right while talking to Spot, and doesn't realize that she is about to reveal the secret of her life.

Author note: Hope you liked it!