Jack found himself standing outside La Maison. He was supposed to catch the last train for Paris tonight, but he had a few hours to spare before going to the station. He pushed open the heavy wood door and entered the brothel, the familiar layabout atmosphere greeting him in a haze of cigarette smoke and bourbon. It was warm inside, making him feel lethargic.
Across the room, a dark haired, one legged prostitute was leaning over a card game, watching a pair of men place their bets. She caught his eye, her lips parting in a impish smirk. She bounded over to him on precarious footing, looking like a newborn foal.
"Mon ami!" she greeted. "'ow 'ave you been? I 'aven't seen you for some time."
"I know," Jack replied, indicating to his leather bound sketch book. "Do you have an hour to spare?"
"For you? But of course," Sophie said and lead him up the stairs to their usual room. As per their ritual, Sophie slipped out of her dress and pulled herself onto the mattress, while Jack adjusted the lighting and moved the chair closer to the bed. He directed her position, noticing a yellow and brown bruise on the side of her face, before taking a seat.
He sat back with a sigh, tapping the tip of his pencil against his temple. "What happened here?" he asked.
"Ah," Sophie said, "A customer last week was a bit too...ah, what is the word?"
"Excitable?" Jack tried as he drew the sharp angle of her jaw.
"Non, non..." she said, pausing a moment to think. "Vehement?" she asked, looking at Jack for conformation. He nodded his head and she smiled. "Oui, vehement. When 'e grabbed me, my leg..." she tapped her fingers against the leather cinch of her prosthetic, "...collapsed and I fell and 'it my head against the bed post."
"I'm sorry."
She brushed his pity off with a wave of her hand. "You should feel sorry for 'im. Madam does not like her filles to be touched that way. Ruine les marchandises, as madam says; ruins the goods. She tossed 'im out."
Jack chuckled. In the few short weeks he had spent in and out of La Masion, he had found the madam to be a hard pressed woman of singular taste. She mothered her prostitutes, she ran a hard bargain, and she most definitely did not appreciate Jack's presence in her brothel. He was charming to most, but the madam would have none of his nonsense, so he kept his distance.
A beat of silence passed between them before he spoke again.
"I'm leaving for Paris."
"When?"
"Tonight."
He glanced over his drawing at her when she didn't immediately answer. She was frowning at him slightly, a hurt look clouding her gaze. He had been dreading that look of disappointment.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
She hastily blinked, then looked away.
"It is fine," she said quickly. "Everyone leaves eventually."
"Don't say that."
She didn't reply, pouting.
"Come now, Sophie, don't be cross. Not on our last night together."
She looked at him. "I am going to miss you," she said softly.
Jack smiled. "I'll miss you."
They fell silent again, the sound of charcoal scratching against the parchment filling the room. Below them the noise of the pub drifted up through the floorboards. Muffled laughter filled the empty space between them.
After their first meeting, and consequently their first fight, Jack returned the next night. He didn't have much to give as a peace offering to Sophie, only a promise that he would behave himself if she let him draw her. Sophie was not one for holding grudges, and was all too willing to agree. Over the next two weeks, Jack accumulated twelve studies of Sophie, including the first piece he let her keep.
They usually talked-or rather, Sophie talked and Jack listened-while he sketched, but the news of tonight had caused a somber silence to come over them. Instead, she watched him draw her.
A crash came from downstairs. There was shouting. Then the shrill blast of a whistle. Chaos erupted in the floor below them. Sophie shot up from the bed, and wild smile on her face.
"A raid!" she said and staggered off the bed to her dress on the floor. Jack jumped and lunged for the door, the chair toppling over in his haste.
"Raid?" he asked over the noise from downstairs. He threw the bolt on the door "I can't get arrested. I've got a train to make tonight!"
Sophie yanked her dress up and Jack went to her, helping her tie the laces.
"You bought a ticket?" she asked over her shoulder, disbelievingly.
Jack scoffed. "Don't be absurd, but I can't hop a train if I'm in the penitentiary."
Sophie limped towards the window and unlatched it while Jack gathered his supplies. He could hear boots thundering up the wooden stairs, and the madams outraged cries from the bar. The girls down the hall from Sophie and Jack screamed as their doors were flung open by the constables. Jack moved across the room, meeting Sophie at the window.
She climbed out onto the narrow balcony. Someone banged a fist against the door, rattling the hinges. The bolt would stall them, but not for long. Jack stepped out after Sophie. The night was calm, with a warm breeze coming off the water. Jack clutched the wrought iron rail and looked over at the story drop below them.
"We're jumping?" he asked, watching Sophie hike up her skirt and take her wooden leg in both hands, hauling it over the side.
"'ave you a better idea?" she asked, slipping her other leg over. She twisted around and lowered herself slowly, panting from the excitement. She met Jack's uncertain gaze. "Steel yourself, mon ami, it's this or them." She dropped until she was hanging onto the iron bars by only her hands, body dangling over the street below. There was a moment of brief hesitation before she let go, falling with a yelp of surprise.
Her leg cracked against the stone and collapsed under her when she landed. She cried out, catching herself with her hands before meeting the cobblestone completely.
Behind Jack, the door splintered off the threshold and two men in uniform pushed their way into the room. He clambered over the rail and hastily jumped, his knees and ankles jarring from the force of his land. He dropped into a roll then scrambled to his feet.
"Christ," Jack hissed, pulling Sophie to her feet. "Are you alright?"
"Oui," she said breathlessly, wiping her dirtied hands on her dirtied skirt.
Above them, a constable blew his whistle, the high pitched shriek piercing the night. At the front of La Maison, a small crowd had gathered, and handful of businessmen and politicians dispersed into the night, trying to salvage what was left of their dignity and precious reputations.
Jack grinned, taking Sophie's hand and running deeper into the alley, melting into the shadows between the tightly spaced buildings. She stumbled after him, tripping a few times on her bad leg. They loped around a corner, the alley opening up to the docks. Sophie's leg thumped over the salt soaked planks as they ran.
"Wait, wait," she panted, her uneven steps slowing, "Stop."
Jack dropped her hand and she heaved a few deep breaths, massaging her hip on the side of her missing leg. She winced.
"Come on," Jack said, catching his breath. "Let's sit."
He lead her over to the stack of shipping containers and sat down, leaning his back against the damp metal. She settled down next to him, sighing. Jack sighed too, shuffling through his drawings to make sure they were okay. He chuckled, the adrenaline wearing thin in his system and the absurdity of the night setting in. He laughed harder and Sophie's breathless giggles joined in. He dropped his head back against the steel.
They waited for a few minutes, listening for the constables. Jack glanced around their hiding place once, but no one was on the docks this late at night. The waves lapped against the seawall, ships strained against the mooring lines, and a few berths down from them a stray dog barked. The night was unsettled, but quiet.
Jack swallowed, his breath coming easier.
"After the accident," Sophie said, her lungs no longer burning, "I was a burden."
Jack looked at her. Her dark hair melted into the darkness. Her skin was pale in the moonlight. The shadows across her face were long and eerie. She tucked her knees up under her skirt, wrapping the hem of her dress rightly around bare feet.
"I could not walk. I could not work. I tried to 'elp, but I did not know 'ow to navigate without my leg. It was 'ard, and painful," her voice was a whisper, "Mon père told me I 'ad to start pulling my weight again or else we would starve. 'e couldn't afford a useless mouth to feed. I tried...I tried..."
Jack watched her carefully. Typically cheerful and foolhardy, this was a serious side of Sophie he had not seen before. She rested her cheek on her knees, looking at Jack. There was still that smile of hers, tugging at the corner of her mouth, like this pathetic story couldn't touch her. Like it was someone else's burden, not hers. In all their time spent together, during all their long conversations, not once had she mentioned her father, or her life before La Maison.
"'e sold me to La Maison and the madam a few days later. Everyone always leaves; mon père, the customers, and now you. People abandon things they no longer care for. Things that are broken."
Jack's brows pinched together and he frowned. "That's not fair," he said forcefully, "You know that's not how I feel about you."
She shook her head. "It does not matter. I may 'ave only one leg, but I am stronger than most," she brushed her hand through her hair, moving the strands off her face. She looked at Jack and smiled. "I am strong, no?"
"Yes. One of the strongest people I've ever met."
The truth behind his words pained Jack to say them. He understood why she believed her only home was a whore house. Why she thought her only value in life was prostitution. Why she had no semblance of self worth, but every ounce of goodness and humor and life that propelled her through this misery that surrounded her.
"I am strong," she whispered, nodding her head. She glanced at Jack, her lips cracking a smile. "You, you are not so strong."
Jack threw her a contemptuous look. She laughed, pulling herself to her feet. Jack did not follow, remaining where he sat, his forearms resting on his knees.
"Jack, you 'ardly run faster than a gimp," she teased, "At your pace, all those troubles you are trying to run from will soon catch up."
"I'm not running from any troubles," Jack murmured.
"Perhaps not yet, but you will," she said with that devil may care smile of hers. She leaned over and kissed both of Jack's cheeks. "Say bonjour to the Eiffel Tower for me." She straightened and walked off further down the docks, swinging her arms to help propel her stiff wooden leg. Jack watched her go, smiling and shaking his head because he wasn't sure he would ever be able to find a girl more morally skewed, yet as helplessly innocent, as Sophie. He stayed on the docks a little while longer, before he knew he had to move if he wanted to make the last train to Paris.