Disclaimer: The character Rafe Edwards is the creative property of me, as is Stress, Dice, Switch and various other characters. The character Jack Kelly (among others) is the property of Disney. The words following each chapter heading are from the Bryan McFadden song, "Demons in my Dreams" and are used in order to help create the context in which the plot was conceived.
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DEMONS IN MY DREAMS
Have you ever been lost in a different world?
Rafe Edwards is a leader eager to try his luck out at going straight.
What happens when his gang wasn't what he thought it was?
Or his newfound loyalties are questionable?
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III. ENTER KLOPPMAN
Will I ever break free?
"All my fault? What the hell did I do?"
As Stress opened her mouth to explain her heated words Gypsy cut her off. "Listen, Cowboy, that ain't important right now. What's important is that we get Kloppman and bring him over to Bottle Alley."
When Stress' grip on his arm tightened, Jack allowed himself a gulp. If the girls had raced all the way to Duane Street from Bottle Alley just to get Kloppman, it had to be serious. Only Kloppman, a veteran of the Civil War back in the '60's, near forty years prior, had the skill to fix the worst of wounds whenever one of the newsies got hurt. "Alright, girls. Let's go get Kloppman."
The trio turned and began to run towards the Newsboys' Lodging House. Jack, whose legs was longer and, also, hadn't just sprinted from halfway across the City, broke out in front and was already explaining the situation to Kloppman at his desk by the time Gypsy and Stress entered the building.
"So, a little one has gotten hurt," Kloppman questioned as he reached around his desk drawers and began packing a little black bag with ordinary bandages and tape.
Jack thought of Hope, always thinking she was older than her thirteen years, and grimaced. "Yeah, Kloppman. From what the girls," he said, acknowledging the out of breath pair as they barged into the lobby of the lodging house, "tell me, Hope got hurt real bad tonight."
Quickly recovering her composure, Gypsy nodded. "Me and Stress had just gotten back to Bottle Alley when we found Hope crying on the steps. We brung her inside but there was blood everywhere. We just knew we had to come and get some help, Sir, so we ran."
Stress nodded slowly as Gypsy spoke but when her companion finished, she exploded. "Those damn Wraiths got her. She went to finish selling a few more copies of the evening edition and they got her. I swear, if I ever meet one of them myself, I'll kill 'em. Them lousy scabbers only go after the little ones who ain't done nothing wrong and can't defend themselves, like Snipes and Hope. So help me God, I'll murder the thieving bastards!"
There was a moment of silence as Jack laid his hand comfortingly on her arm. "Don't worry, we'll get them. But first, we gotta take care of Hope."
Stress looked appreciatively at him. Everyone knew that Jack thought of Hope as nothing more than a tagalong, not unlike David's younger brother Les; for him to focus on Hope instead of his own feelings really meant something.
"Yes, let's tend to the little one," agreed Kloppman as he snapped his bag shut, placed his hat on his head of white hair, pushed his wire-rim glasses up his nose and picked his bag up off of the desk.
But, before the four of them could exit the lodging house and make for Bottle Alley, a new voice was heard. "Sorry to interrupt, but us upstairs couldn't help but overhear what was going on," the voice said as he finished coming down the stairs and entered the lobby. Everyone turned and looked as Rafe continued, "And I just thought I'd offer to help some. I've been in a scuffle or two in my time, so I know a bit about bandaging up."
Stress looked curiously at the dark-haired boy, recognizing him but, regardless of the fact that it had only been that afternoon that she had encountered him, she couldn't remember how she knew him. Jack, however, smiled and nodded. "Nice of you to help out, kid," he said before turning to Kloppman. "Ready, Kloppman?"
The old man nodded and proceeded to hurry out of the lodging house, swinging his little black bag as he went. Gypsy had already ran ahead to check on Hope and let her know that help was on the way, while Rafe followed Kloppman so that he found his way to the Girls' Home. Jack made to follow after Rafe but turned to look at Stress in surprise when she grabbed his arm again, this time stopping him from going after the others. Quickly, noticing his expression, she asked, "Who's that kid that went after Kloppman? You seem to know him."
Jack shrugged. "Some new kid that arrived at the lodging house today. Rafe, I think he said his name was. He seemed to be a good guy."
"I ain't too sure, Jack. I get the strange idea that I know that kid for some reason."
"Tell Stress 'howdy' for me." A sneer distorted his face as he remembered, jealously, the words the boy had tossed at him upon entering the lodging house. "Well, now that you mention it, I think he may know you too. After all, he did tell me to tell ya 'howdy' for him."
Stress let her hand slide off of his arm, looking as surprised as Jack had only moments earlier. "What? I just meant that I've seen him on the streets before. I don't really know the kid."
Jack waved her argument away; they could talk about that later. "Look, it don't matter none right now. What matters to me is that Hope is hurt and you seem to think it's my fault. What did I do?"
Stress crossed her arms across her chest. "It is your fault. From what I got out of Hope before me and Gip left to get Kloppman, she was selling her papes when some thug demanded her money. Well, you know Hope is. She forgot she was just a little girl and stepped up to the goon. She told him to back off, that Manhattan was Jack Kelly's territory. And, you know what, the guy took out his knife and sliced her for it. 'Tell Kelly that Manhattan belongs to the Wraiths,' he said before leaving her down on the ground. I tell ya, I don't know how the hell she made it all the way to the steps of Bottle Alley."
Jack awkwardly stepped in front of her and wrapped his arms around her, hoping to comfort her amidst all the confusion. "Hope's one tough cookie. She's gonna come out of this alright. Just you see."
Stress snuggled up close to him, laying her head on his shoulder, ignoring the stale scent of cigarette smoke that clung to his bandana and grey vest. "Thanks, Cowboy," she whispered, hoping he was right. "You're one in a million."
"Right back at ya," he replied, hoping he was right as well.
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"Sorry, buddy, but nothing doing. Boys just ain't allowed in the girls' bunk and I don't need Mrs. Cook coming back here and tossing me out on the street cause I let you in."
Rafe looked over at the petite blonde who had been staring him down ever since he arrived shortly before Kloppman did. Rapidly figuring out where he was and where he was going was a skill that had benefited him more times that not when he was a pickpockets besides Quick. "Listen, doll, you let the old man in," he hissed, not bothering to keep his phony smile in place since it as only the two of them in the lobby. He was annoyed at her defiance and didn't care if she knew it.
Her blue eyes flashed in anger as she held up one finger. "First off, the name ain't doll, its Rae, alright? Second," she continued, raising up another finger, "Kloppman ain't just an old man – he's Kloppman!"
Rafe rolled his eyes at her obvious statement. "Yeah, well, I was sent here by Jack Kelly his self to help out with this Hope girl."
The anger in Rae's eyes melted into an amused twinkle. If Rafe thought that she would be impressed that it had been Jack Kelly who had sent him over, he was wrong. "Cowboy," she snorted, raising an eyebrow. "If you're a friend of his, then there sure as hell ain't no way that I'm letting you take one step past this spot."
For the second time that day Rafe found himself marveling at something a woman had said. How long was I sitting on that crate?, he asked himself silently. None of the gals I've met today are acting anything like they're supposed to.
Rae stared him down one final time before turning her back on him, signaling that she was done with him. Rafe continued to watch her, hoping for a break in her stance. But, when it appeared that she had, indeed, finished speaking with him and was not going to allow him any further access to the Bottle Alley Home, Rafe stuck his hands in the back pockets of his breeches and exited the building.
Once outside, Rafe paused on the second to last step of the building. For a moment he stood there, surrounded by the still that accompanied New York City nights, trying to think of another way to get inside to talk to the latest Wraith victim. His thoughts were interrupted, however, when he felt a single object in the back right pocket of his slacks. Stepping down from the stairs and moving slightly so that he was positioned under the flickering streetlights, Rafe examined the two inch piece of metal he had slipped into his pocket earlier that afternoon. His blade.
Blades were the reason he stood just outside the Bottle Alley Home for Newsgirls'. Blades were the reason he was trying to find another way into the bunkroom of said building. Blades were the reason he needed to speak to Hope. Blades were the reason he needed to hear from her which one of his boys it had been that attacked her. Blades were the reason he needed to find out why.
From what Rafe had overheard while skulking around on the steps back in the Newsboys' Lodging House, a second Manhattan newsie had been attacked by a member of the Wraiths, his own gang, who used some sort of blade to try to get their valuables. That was two of them in one day alone -- the one day he had been out and about instead of holed up and on the crate. But, as any member of his gang knew, blades were not to be used. The Wraiths relied on their stealth and speed, as well as their own sort of cunning, to get their wares; they never resorted to violence. As it had been since Quick's murder, thus ending the reign of the Marks, blades were only to be used as protection. But who needs protection from a little girl?
While he remained standing just outside the Bottle Alley Home for Newsgirls Rafe silently slipped his own blade, never once marred by a speck of blood, back into his pocket. Dicey, what the hell is going on?
