Shades of Grey

Chapter 2-Time to Meet the Doctor

This time, Racetrack had to struggle even harder to regain consciousness.  His head was still spinning, his ribs ached from the blow he had taken from the nightstick, and it was extremely difficult for him to move at all.  Everything he did was taking such a long time, and he barely was able to open his eyes.

"Welcome back to the world of the waking, Mr. Higgins," that same voice called.  Straining, Racetrack managed to open his eyes and lift his head off the pillow.

"Wha-" he managed to croak out, before his voice failed him completely.

"Perhaps you will be more cooperative this morning, Mr. Higgins.  We assuredly do not want a repeat of last night.  We would prefer that you would volunteer the information we desire, without the aid of drugs."

"I ain't.." he began, still fighting off the effects of the drugs.

"Yes, Mr. Higgins you are.  We have dealt with more uncooperative patients than a homeless boy from the streets of Brooklyn, who tries to make himself feel important by believing he has a job that died out years ago.  More difficult people than one who takes the persona of a Newsboy in an attempt to steal from unsuspecting old women.  You will cooperate with us now, and when you are cured, we will assure you are returned to society.  If you do not cooperate, then it will be prison for you."

Racetrack was by this point, incredibly confused.  The sedative that they had given him the night before, or was it the day before, was interfering with his thoughts.  But he was still a Newsie, and he'd be damned if he was going to lose this easily.  Struggling against the side effects of the drug, he sat up.

"I ain't gotta tell you nothing," he told the voice defiantly.

"That, Mr. Higgins, is where you're wrong."  It paused.  "Bring him to me.  It is time to begin his first real session."

Racetrack definitely didn't like the sound of that one.

The door opened, and the two smirking orderlies walked in.

"I hope you'll enjoy your stay here, Mr. Higgins," one of them said in a way that made it clear that he was trying to sound pleasant, but really just wanted to hit Racetrack with that nightstick again.

"Get up," the other said cruelly, no trace of false pleasantries in his tone.  At least he was honest about his feelings towards Racetrack.

"Time to see the Doctor now," he was informed harshly.  "Consider it a privilege; most new patients don't get to see him for weeks."

The other grabbed him roughly around the waist, yanking him out of bed.  Race's legs were still unsteady, and he unfortunately had to depend on the orderly for support.  Not a good situation to be in, by anyone's standards.  Escape at this point was definitely out of the question.  There was no way that Racetrack could gain control of himself quickly enough to make a run for it, without being caught.  But that didn't mean he had to go quietly at all. 

The two goons, who Race was now mentally referring to as an uglier version of the Delancey Brothers, each took an arm and dragged him out the door, Racetrack still struggling to the best of his ability to break free of their grip.

Unfortunately, in his current state, the best of his ability really wasn't very much.  The two goons managed to drag him out the door and down the hall before he managed to get his footing back.  He barely managed to bring his foot stomping down onto goon number one's foot, trying desperately to trip him up.  All this managed to do was lead to Race taking another blow from the nightstick, this time in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.  He screamed in pain and outrage, and continued to shout as he was led down the hall.

The hall itself was stone, painted in an ugly shade of grey.  There was a seemingly infinite number of doorways, all of which were bolted from the outside.  From a few, faces peaked out, seemingly curious as to the identity of the captive making such a fuss. 

The walk seemed to go on forever, and the harsh lighting was causing Race to blink in pain.  This was supposed to be a hospital, from what he remembered the voice telling him the night before.  It sure didn't treat him like he was sick.  No, this was like the Refuge.  He was a prisoner here, and he had no idea why he was being held.  Or how long he would be stuck here.  At least with the Refuge, you knew how long your sentence was.  And you could usually count on the other Newsies popping by the windows to keep your spirits up, or maybe try to break you out.  Here, there were no Newsies.  Here, he was alone.  All alone.

For the first time in a very long while, Racetrack Higgins was afraid.  The Refuge he could cope with.  Being broke all the time he could cope with.  Worrying about being soaked, or if he was going to have enough money to eat that day was nothing.  But he had no idea what he was up against here.  And that worried him more than he could ever explain.

Finally, the two orderlies halted in front of a large door.  A tall, thin woman in a white uniform stood there, arms crossed over her chest.

"So this is the new patient that the Doctor was telling me about?" she asked, glancing down at Racetrack.  She was much taller than he was, although that wasn't that unusual.  Her voice was low, and smooth, almost pleasing to hear.  But there was something about her eyes that showed that this was not a person that you wished to cross.  The glare she was giving Racetrack rivaled a look that you would get if you crossed one of the Brooklyn Newsies.  Hell, she could probably scare Spot Conlon. 

"Yes Ma'am," the orderly to Race's left replied.

The nurse sneered at him.  "Well, bring him inside.  The doctor doesn't like to be kept waiting.  And you're already late."

"He gave us a bit of trouble, ma'am.  Doesn't quite seem to understand the rules of the house yet."

"We'll have to make sure that he's educated then boys, won't we?" she practically purred.  "Bring him in."  Stepping aside, she turned to Racetrack, offering him a tight smile.  "The doctor will see you now."

The door behind her opened, and Race was shoved through it.  He was in a large hallway, filled with an almost blinding white light.

"Keep walking," the same mechanical voice boomed at him.  Race, having nowhere else to go, as the door had slammed shut behind him, began to walk forward.  He lifted a hand to shade his eyes, as the light seemed to be increasing in intensity the farther along the hall he walked.

Finally, Racetrack reached another doorway.  He hesitated.  If he went through the doorway, then what was happening to him, what he was experiencing was real.  He was about to discover who was in charge of this crazy house.  He was about to meet the man who was responsible for his imprisonment.  And whoever could do this, in such a short period of time, was definitely not someone to be trifled with.

"You will enter," the voice ordered.  "I will not be kept waiting any longer.  You are already proving to be difficult, Mr. Higgins, and in this hospital, you do not want to be considered difficult."

Racetrack reached out and grabbed the doorknob.  Opening the door shouldn't be that difficult.  After all, he was a Manhattan Newsie.  He sold papers on the streets every day, rain or shine, sick or well, 365 days a year.  He'd helped organize the strike against Joseph Pulitzer.  He'd won the respect of some of the toughest Newsies in Manhattan.  He'd gotten Spot Conlon to fall in love with him.  Well, if not love, then at least lust.  And that was enough.

If he could manage that, he could manage anything.

Gathering his confidence, he turned the handle, and walked through the door.

"Good evening, Mr. Higgins," the voice said to him as he entered the room.  This time, it didn't come from one of the speakers that had been mounted on the walls.  This time, it emanated from the old man sitting behind the desk in the center of the room.

This, Racetrack thought to himself, is the guy behind all this? He doesn't look that dangerous.  Not at all.

It didn't take Racetrack very long to remember a very simple lesson. Appearances can be very deceiving.

~*~

Disclaimer: Luckily for Racetrack, I don't own the Newsies.

Author's Note- Right. So, this chapter definitely did not work out the way I wanted it to.  For one thing, it was going to be about twice as long as it is now.  But see, my muses were mutinying, so one of my friends stripped them out of their pirate clothes, and when nakedspot!muse met up with nakedrace!muse, they got a bit distracted…

For another thing, the whole "Spot is in love with me" thing was NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN yet.  But Race refused to walk through the damn door until I wrote it in.  I think he just likes screwing with my plot so I can't torture him as much.

Also, I've decreased the rating from R to PG-13, because it really won't be R rated for a while yet.  But it will eventually get back up there.  I enjoy torturing Race too much. :-D

I'm still accepting profiles for my casting call, so please feel free to send some my way.  thesecondbatgirl@yahoo.com

Now, shout-outs!

Lizzie – You are not allowed to read this fic until you see Newsies. You're banned from reading it until you go out and rent the movie.   33333 you.

Dreamer110- I'm glad you like the story so far! I've got big plans for it. J

Shot Hunter- *blush* I'm glad you're enjoying so far.  Although honestly, this story is completely the fault of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  I really shouldn't have finished that book right before watching Newsies.  Caused a bit of trouble you see…

Chicken Hater- I am writing! Slowly, but I'm writing. When my muses will cooperate, anyway.  Spot seems determined to get into the story early.

Sock Free- This really is more a One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest thing, but there are definite tones of Orwell in here too.  And you'll be pleasantly surprised by some of the inmates I'm writing in…. *big evil grin*

One of Henry's Exes- I'm sorry you're confused, but at this point you're supposed to be. And I won't be clearing up the confusion for a while. MWAHAHAHAHAHA.  And if you have any character suggestions, please send them in. J

Til chapter 3-

~TSB