Posting twice in a row, think it's fate?

Nah, just an odd bout of preparation.

Review Responses:

Dylan Quagmir: Listen… I have timelines, I'm just bad at executing them. "Davey was dead" is the only way to start A Christmas Carol. I'm glad you got a kick out of the "good afternoon" bit, I worried it was in there too much. (Side note: I can't take full credit, Mr. Dickens did it first.) TALL LES! Also peep the 92sies Blush instead of Livesies for once. Reacting as you read is so much fun! (But sometimes interrupts the flow of the reading so y'know, whatever you want to do is fine.) Ahhhh I'm glad you're excited!

Huffelpufdraws: IT'S HERE AND JACK'S A HUMBUG! Watch out, Jackie, she might kick your head. LESALLYYYYYYYY! Les appreciates your friendship very much. AND BLUUUUUUUSH! Jack lost cookie privileges a long time ago and he's never been the same since. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU I'M SO GLAD YOU ENJOY! (And thanks for following and favoriting!)

This chapter is largely narration, but as my goal is not to bore you, I promise it gets exciting by the end.

Part Two: Chains

Presently, the hour for closing up the law firm arrived. With it came the entrance of a golden-haired, green-eyed young man whom Jack had known well enough to love, once. He entered the offices without being bade in, standing as straight-backed as he could while leaning on a wooden crutch. Race waved hello to this man as he put away his books, then swapped the comforter around his shoulders for a real jacket and scarf.

The slightly younger newcomer walked closer to the assistant's seat, then made some request in a hushed tone unable to reach Jack's ears. In reply, Race shook his head, cast a furtive glance at his boss, and proceeded to occupy himself with putting out his fire, a task that did not require the level of intense effort he awarded it.

A light rap on the doorframe informed Jack that the man with the crutch had crossed his threshold. "Evening."

"Charlie." Jack did not look up, intent on avoiding the contagious grin no doubt lighting his office with its glow. He could have addressed the man by his nickname, Crutchie, but doing so would have implied that Jack carried a shred of compassion for this person his assistant knew, which he most certainly did not. It had been years since Mr. Kelly had allowed himself to care for anyone.

"I don't s'pose you'll be joinin' us for dinner tomorrow?" asked Charlie, not so hopeful as he should have been.

"No. I'll be working." Jack replied, "So'll Higgins, unless…" he raised his head, eyes traveling past Charlie to Race, who was still tending that fire. "I assume you'll be wantin' the whole day tomorrow?"

Turning around, Race rose. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, forgetting the soot and ink that stained it. "If it's alright with you, sir."

"It is not. How'd ya like it if I cut yer salary for not showin' up?" Race smiled halfheartedly, but did not speak. "Ev'ry year I lose my assistant an' a full day's work!"

"Mr. Kelly, it's Christmas," observed Charlie. "Only comes once a year."

"I know that. I'm givin' him the holiday, aren't I?"

"That wasn't entirely clear-"

"You wouldn't know, as ya don't 'ave a job yerself, but this is how an employer grants his workers an undeserved day off." Standing, Jack slipped on his own coat, buttoned it, and tasked himself with quenching the barely glowing coals in his stove. After he had done so, he swept past Higgins into the front room. "Be here twice as early the next mornin', ya hear?"

"Yes, Mr. Kelly," returned Race, nodding vigorously. "Thank you."

"Good. And you," the man rounded on Charlie before departing. "Get a job. Lousy crip." The last phrase was muttered audibly; what did Jack care if the younger man took offense to it? It was people like him that were the problem, useless people who couldn't look after themselves, who forced the wealthy and well-off to part with their hard-earned cash every holiday season.

Years before, Jack had associated himself with such people. He had been the person looking after a whole load of them, those newsies. David Jacobs had carried the same burden, having an invalid father back then. Often, Jack reminded himself that if Mr. Jacobs hadn't had such a horrible injury, Davey never would have become his friend. As time stretched the present further from his partner's death, it became increasingly difficult to discern whether that friendship had been worthwhile. On one end of the scale, the answer was yes. Davey had given Jack a purpose in the world, a profession that didn't involve silly drawings for a man who held no appreciation for his work. Because of Davey, Jack was somebody, and that was worth everything in his book. Despite this, on occasions such as Christmas Eve, when Jack thought back on his companionship with the Jacobs boy, he questioned its ultimate value. Was it better to be a nobody who had wonderful people in his life than somebody who had no one? What did he have to show now, besides his business?

Shivering from a night wind, Jack banished these questions. He was dwelling on the past, an absurd way to pass one's time. The past had already occurred, and therefore did no one any good to think about at length. He ought to be getting home, anyhow. Finding it much too late to stall time by sitting in a restaurant, Jack passed through the local deli, Jacobi's, to purchase a simple sandwich. This he unwrapped and began to eat as he journeyed back to his residence, hoping the cold and snow would keep the memories associated with the food at bay.

Memories. A nuisance, truly.

The residence now belonging to one Jack Kelly had once been owned by David Jacobs, but in wake of his death had passed to his surviving partner. At the topmost level of the building were Jack's rooms, while the lower floors were let out to other businessmen who never seemed to be about. They were hardworking and antisocial, as Jack was. That was all he cared to know. His building sat in the middle of a collection of similar gloomy buildings, on a street which was so badly lit even someone like Jack, who had lived there for years, was forced to feel his way to the door in the darkness.

Now, it is a fact that there was nothing at all extraordinary about the knocker on this door, except that it took up a great deal of space on the top portion of the wood. It was a shapeless, silver blob that Jack came into contact with roughly twice a day. Never before had it shown signs of anything particular. Though he had, mere minutes ago, been remembering Davey Jacobs, Jack tended to avoid doing so as a general rule, broken only on Christmas. His earlier musings aside, it is not unreasonable to say that Jack was surprised to see not the formless piece of metalwork the knocker should have possessed, but Davey's face.

Davey's face. Twisted into a blank expression, horrifying only because of its resemblance to the real person. The mouth was frozen in a half-open oval, the eyes stared out, looking at nothing. For a face that was quite clearly motionless, it certainly looked as though it were about to move.

Jack blinked, and the image was gone. It must have been a trick of the light. A figment of his imagination. Imagination was one of the only talents Jack had honed as a boy. That power occasionally came back to him, at the worst of times. He fumbled with his key, unlocked the door, and frantically shoved it closed behind him, upon entering. A quick count to three in his head and Jack whirled around, brandishing his key, fearing to see Davey's back, glued to the inside of the door.

Of course, no such thing emerged. Again, that childish imagination was playing games with him. Humbug, thought Jack, lighting a candle. Holding it before him, he made his way through the pitch blackness to the top floor.

Entrance to his rooms brought on the same fearful sensation he had felt in the hall, undoubtedly an after-effect of seeing that face in the knocker. Paranoia seized Jack; he took it upon himself to lock every bolt on his door, then take note of all his possessions, in the event that some phantom had disturbed them.

Everything was as he had left it. The small table with its single chair, the few dishes shut up in their cupboards, the single bed- neither the sheets nor the bed curtains had so much as a stain on them- and in the corner, covered in dust, a rectangular slab of wood, obscured by a piece of cloth. Without looking, Jack knew what he would find if he peeked under that cloth. Yet another memory, that he should have scrapped for firewood years ago, but hadn't had the heart to.

He removed his gaze from that part of the room, focusing instead on the wardrobe, which still contained the same articles of clothing it had that morning. Removing the posh work clothes he wore each day, Jack traded his collared shirt for a sleeveless one and his dress pants for a looser cotton pair. Then he crossed to the window, locked it, and drew the curtains. No city noises would calm him tonight.

From the depths below his bed, Jack procured a rough-edged sheet of paper and a charcoal pencil, items he kept hidden for nights such as these. He took the seat at the table, beginning to draw, letting his mind wander, barely controlling the movements of his hand. It was not until he laid the pencil down- an hour, perhaps two hours later- that he realized what he had drawn.

Davey's face.

Furious with himself, Jack crumpled the paper into a ball and cast it away. Laying his head on the table, he closed his eyes, letting exhaustion take hold of him. Just as he began to doze, a familiar bell chimed.

Jack had spent more than four years of his life waking up at the insistence of that bell. Hearing it, a melody of his own creation floated into his head.

When the circulation bell starts ringing, will we hear it?

"No!" Jack yelled, his head snapping up. He clapped his hands to his ears, attempting to block out the bell's sound. The ringing stopped, but the melody returned, only to fade and exchange places with another melody, a voice unlike his own.

Now is the time to seize the day. Stare down the odds and seize the day. Minute by minute, that's how you win it, we will find a way. But let us seize the day.

"Humbug!" Jack shouted, trying to deafen the song. It seemed to be coming closer, growing stronger.

Courage cannot erase our fear. Courage is when we face our fear. Tell those with power, safe in their tower, we will not obey…

"I said humbug!" He cried, "This ain't real!"

The singing continued, now accompanied by a fainter, more unnerving sound. Was that… chains dragging across the floor?

Behold the brave battalion that stands side by side, too few in number and too proud to hide. Then say to the others, who did not follow through, you're still our brothers, and we will fight for you.

The song grew louder still, as did the scraping of the chains. Jack could no longer try to deny the existence of the noise. At this moment, he only wished for the music to stop.

Now is the time to seize the day. Stare down the odds and seize the day. Once we've begun, if we stand as one, someday becomes somehow… And a prayer becomes a vow…

"Stop!" screeched Jack, "Stop right damn now!" At his insistence, the singing turned to humming, which admittedly, was less eerie. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

Away went the humming.

Silence. Merciful silence. Then:

"You should be asking who I was."

Fast enough to leave his skin behind, Jack twisted sideways in his chair. Before him stood the specter, a shimmering silver figure clad in either rags or a nightgown, depending which way the light hit it. Though ghostly and rather unfocused in appearance, it was unmistakably the form of David Jacobs, except he was wrapped head-to-toe in wrought-iron chains. Money boxes, purses, ledgers, keys, and padlocks made of the same metal caused a stoop in his figure, seeming to weigh him down even as they floated weightless beside him. The sight being so paradoxical, Jack could only gape.

Finally, remembering it was rude to stare, he got out, "D-Davey?"

"Hello, Jack," said the ghost.

"How the hell are you here?"

"Do you believe I am?"

Jack thought this over. "Well… no. Not really."

The specter took offense to this. "And why not?"

"You kidding me? It ain't possible. Dead people don' jus' show up seven years after the fact."

"Hmm."

"If you really were a ghost, you would a' visited me earlier, y'know?"

"You really think the afterlife is such a bore I have nothing better to do than visit you?"

"Aw Dave, I don't mean that, I'm just bein' realistic here." When the spirit looked skeptical, Jack elaborated. "I was two seconds away from sleep before you showed up. This's gotta be a dream."

"That so? Well, I suppose you won't mind if I…" Davey began humming his song again. It spread throughout every corner of the room, filling Jack's home with the intense roar of teenage rebellion. Now is the time to seize the day. Answer the call and don't delay.

He covered his ears at once. "STOP!"

"Make me! It's your dream, isn't it?" Davey went right on singing.

Wrongs will be righted, if we're united, let us seize-

"Alright, I admit it! You're real! Hear ya loud an' clear!" The ghost closed his mouth and drew nearer to Jack. "Do me a favor, Dave, an' keep yer songs outta my head."

The apparition made no such promise. "Do you regret the strike?"

"What?"

"Do you regret it?"

"Why're you-"

"Answer the question."

"No. 'Course I don't."

"Good. That's going to make everything much easier."

"'Everything'? Whaddaya mean?"

"We'll get to that."

"You're pretty chummy for a ghost, I gotta say."

Davey brought a pair of cloudy fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose, which was the same misty shade. "You're pretty chummy for a fella being visited from beyond the grave."

"Oh dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me so…" Jack muttered casually, propping his elbows on the back of his chair. He stared at the phantom with the most terrified expression he could muster, holding it until Davey's serious visage cracked and turned into a laugh.

The ghost shook his head. "You always were a fool."

"Old dog, no new tricks."

"'Bout to be a chained dog," Davey mumbled.

"'Scuse me?"

As an example, the specter lifted some of the links encircling his arm. "I wear the chains I forged in life."

"You mean you're bein' punished?" asked Jack, catching on.

"Correct."

"What for?"

The spirit only sighed.

"C'mon, the organizer of a week-long newsboy strike doesn't go ta hell!" Jack paused, then expanded. "Alright, maybe I do. But not you. You ensured fair wages and workin' conditions for all da kids in New York, tha's gotta count for somethin'."

"You would think." Davey was not so appalled as the mortal listening to him. "Trouble is, I turned my back on the newsies. Left for a career too soon."

"So what, you grew up an' needed a real job," Jack shrugged. "You were a damn good lawyer, ain't nothin' wrong wit that."

"I could've used my skills to help them, Jackie. They even asked, and I turned 'em all down. Pretended they weren't there if they asked fer money."

"Any newsie who got a massive inheritance wouldn't a' shared, neither."

The ghost shook his head. "You're not getting it. I didn't give my family a penny."

Jack recalled the story of Davey's distant deceased uncle, whose vast fortune had funded the beginnings of Kelly and Jacobs. "'Cause they weren't in the will, yer siblings and folks."

"And I pretended I was never part of the strike."

"So?"

"Don't you understand, Jack? I completely forgot where I came from, and became…" Davey shuddered. "Like Pulitzer. Of all the people I could've modeled. And worst of all, I brought you down with me."

Jack rejected this assessment. "I ain't like Pulitzer."

"That, right there, is precisely why I'm here."

"If you's prepared ta make me stop hatin' that bastard, save yer breath. Ain't never gonna happen."

"Every minute of every day, you craft your own chain. Link by link, yard by yard, everything from the way you treat people to the money you hoard. By the time you die, you'll have bondage ten times heavier than mine."

"Oh no, an invisible chain. I'm quaking in my boots."

Proud and defiant, we'll slay the giant, judgement day is here.

"There you go again, tryin' ta scare me."

A frown tugged at the ghost's lips, which were closed, not moving in song. A few of his cash-boxes skittered backwards across the floor, making him drift from Jack's chair. "Aren't you going to take this seriously?"

Now is the time to seize the day.

"I'll see how I feel."

"Jack, this isn't some joke. I'm talkin' about life and death." As he said it, the chains rattled, pulling him back farther.

They're gonna see there's hell to pay.

This time, Jack hardly flinched at the music. "Yeah, you never shut up, do you?"

"Jack, please." Desperation filled the specter's tone. He was tugged another several inches. "It's too late for me, but you still have a chance to destroy your chains."

Nothing can break us, no one can make us quit before we're done.

The clink of keys and padlocks became loud enough to alert Jack to the true severity of Davey's movement. His partner hovered just in front of the door now, straining against whatever otherworldly force was taking hold of him. "Alright Dave, fine. I don't wanna look like a fence for the rest a' eternity."

"Do you want to change?"

"Depends what I'm changin'."

Davey groaned. His legs rose upwards and shot behind him, through the door. "No time to explain. I can't stay much longer. The others will fill you in."

"Others?"

More dragging chains, and all but Davey's head and shoulders remained visible on Jack's side. "You will be visited by three spirits! Whether you like it or not!"

And though the ghost closed his mouth following that statement, lyrics filled the room for a final time.

One for all and all for-

One for all and all for-

One for all and all…

"Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one!"

The specter flew through the door and away, leaving Jack alone to contemplate what on earth, if his senses weren't lying to him entirely, he had just witnessed.

Seize The Day looks a bit different this time around, doesn't it?

Next chapter will come... at some point.

I need to write it, and survive the rest of my finals.

But I shall in good time, so don't fret, just review and I'll see you!