Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes.
--
The Sparrow
When Sarah disappears, it's up to David to go looking for her.
With only a simple clue to where she could have gone, and the understanding that he's in over his head,
it won't take him too long to discover that his sister wasn't the only one with a secret.
--
I think I entertained the idea of following Jack across the Brooklyn Bridge for maybe a half a second before I shook my head and started my walk uptown again. I didn't know why Jack was heading into Spot Conlon's territory when Sarah's note had expressively given him the Madison Avenue address, but that's what Snipeshooter had said.
Of course, that was assuming that Jack had been able to read Sarah's penmanship, and that Rachel had been honest with me when she told me what she saw. I didn't know what exactly to believe but I really didn't have the time to dwell on it.
Let Jack do whatever he needed to do in Brooklyn. I needed to head on over to 460 Madison Avenue and see whatever it was that Sarah wanted Jack to see.
Not that I was really looking forward to the hike. Though I wasn't all that familiar with the specifics of Madison Avenue, I knew that it wasn't part of the Lower East Side. It would take a couple of hours, depending on how fast I could make the trek, and I'd be out of my element for most of the walk. Someone like me—someone like Sarah—didn't really belong on Madison Avenue.
What, then, was she doing there?
I just hoped that the answer to that question would be obvious when I finally made it to where I was going.
--
I've never really been one for directions. Before I started selling newspapers as one of Jack's partners, I never went more than a few blocks away from my apartment. It was a Jewish tenement and everything a good Jewish family needed could be found in the vicinity of our neighborhood—there'd never been a need to go off and explore.
And there I was, wandering around 6th Avenue, trying to find a street that I'd only ever read about in the papers. Madison Avenue, the center of all sorts of the City's advertisements. It wasn't a place for a boy like me, but I was determined to arrive there, no matter what it took. I couldn't help but be afraid that Sarah depended on someone making their way there.
Jack wasn't, that much was clear. He was off, going to Brooklyn for some unknown reason.
Well, good luck to him. I have a funny feeling that one of us will need it.
It wasn't hard to tell when I was out of my league. Though 6th Avenue was as busy as any of the streets I was used to, the people seemed… stiffer, almost. They barely brushed shoulders, every one of them keeping a few inches away from the closest person to them—even if they were walking together.
There weren't as many stalls or carts cluttering the way, either. Instead, there were shops along the avenue, fancy boutiques that I could barely afford to look at, let alone buy from. These were the stores where the fancy, rich citizens of the City—the Hearsts and the Pulitzers of the world—did their shopping. I was right when I said this wasn't a place where I belonged.
It only got worse, the further I made it midtown, and I knew I would be even further out of my league the more I walked. If it wasn't for Sarah's note and Rachel's obvious idea that I should help her, that I should save my sister from the Sparrow, I might've just turned around and gone back home.
This whole undertaking wasn't for the David Jacobs's of the world—this was tailor-made for people like Jack Kelly, people who knew what they were talking about and, if they didn't, for those who were able to bluff their way through everything else. The persuasive ones, the charming ones…
But, wait. Why couldn't it be for me? Jack was always the one that everyone looked up to, but why? Back during the strike, it'd been me who gave him those words. I was the wordsmith, he was just the mouth. Then again, wasn't I the 'Mouth'? The 'Walking Mouth', that's what Spot Conlon called me.
I could do it.
I just needed a bit of help first.
According to my watch, I'd been walking for almost two hours when I finally begrudgingly admitted to myself that I was lost. I knew I was going in the right direction but, apart from continually walking up 6th Avenue, I didn't have a clue where I was going. I didn't want to ask anyone for help, especially since I doubted any of those hoity toity people would even stop to listen to anything I had to say, but I was getting desperate.
My imagination was still running and all I could imagine was that Sarah was in trouble somewhere. I hadn't been able to let go of the image of some great brown bird swooping down, picking her up in its talons, pecking at her with its sharpened beak. It frightened me, probably more than I could ever say. If Rachel was convinced that the Sparrow was a bad guy, what could he be doing to Sarah—if, of course, he really did have her…
I couldn't wait to get to Madison Avenue. I only wished I knew how to.
There were no signs along 6th Avenue to tell me where to go, not that I'd expected to see any—but it would have been extremely helpful. Anyone purposely striding across midtown at this time of day probably had a good reason to be there and, as such, more than likely knew where exactly they were going.
I didn't and I was getting more and more frustrated about that with every step. My curiosity, and my sinking stomach, told me that, if I kept walking, I'd get there eventually but my common sense was having a hard time believing that. Instead, my common sense was saying that I should just turn back already. I was lost and Mama probably thought I was missing like Sarah was.
At the very least, I knew it would have been much smarter to find Jack and ask for his help. He owed me, and his knowledge of the city was impressive. Besides, he must know what there was to find at 460 Madison Avenue—or how to get there—if Sarah had offered him that address in her note.
Though my nagging common sense was coming up with every reason why I should just give up, my legs were playing dumb. They continued walking determinedly straight down 6th Avenue; I'd gone another three blocks before I realized that I was only going further and further away from the Lower East Side.
I stopped then, and I was just about to turn around in frustration when I saw someone sitting on the next corner. Just like me, he didn't belong on that fancy street and it was his obvious awkward placement that caught my attention. That, or the fact that he was slouched on the corner, his head staring upwards at the sky.
Maybe it was because he looked as out of place as me, but I felt an immediate connection with the strange boy. I don't know how I knew it or why exactly I thought it, but I was suddenly convinced that if anyone in this part of town could help me, it would be him.
If I would have seen him down on Newspaper Row or over at Tibby's I don't think I would've given him a second thought. But, seeing as how I was in a territory so different from the one I knew, it was so easy to spot someone who was much more like me than the nearest business man on 6th Avenue.
He looked tall enough, and he was probably closer to my age than he was to Les's. As I walked toward him, I could see that his fair hair was plastered to his head, his face was dust covered and his eyes were closed. He was wearing old black clothes, dusty and dirty with a hole in the knee. There was a small stack of newspapers sitting beside him—maybe it was that, the fact that he was a newsie like me, that made me feel so inclined to ask him for help.
"Hey, uh, excuse me?"
I sounded hesitant and I guess I was. He hadn't moved from his spot, despite all the people that came and went, and if he noticed that I'd stood in front of him, he didn't act like it.
In fact, after I spoke, the only thing I noticed was that his right eyebrow seemed to rise. Slowly, his eyes opened. "You need something?"
He didn't sound too happy that I'd bothered him, but his face remained calm even with his dark eyes wide open. His voice was low and it surprised me to hear that each word this boy said was said slowly and deliberately, as if he was thinking about each word he said.
I shrugged. "Actually, yes. I'm looking for Madison Avenue—"
"Madison Avenue, ya say?" he said, interrupting me in that same dull, slow voice.
I nodded. "Yeah. I'm trying to find 460 Madison Avenue but I can't find the cross street." I felt like an idiot admitting that I was lost but it didn't really matter. I wasn't doing this for me, anyway. I was doing this for Sarah. "Do you know where it is?"
"460 on Madison?" he asked, suddenly alert. His head was tilted to look up at me but he didn't stay in that position for long. He nodded to himself as I watched him gather his newspapers and stand up. His hands, I saw, were as filthy as mine ever were after a hard day of selling papes. "What you goin' to a place like that for?"
The way he suddenly seemed a lot more interested in what I had to say unnerved me. I took one step away, turning slightly so that I wasn't looking at him in his dirt-smudged face.
"It's nothing important. My… my friend," I improvised, "told me that there was something there that I'd like to see. And—"
"And your friend couldn't tell ya how to get there?"
I didn't like the way he said that. Maybe I was wrong in assuming that I could get a straight answer off of someone who spent his time sitting on a street corner midtown. After all, there was a stack of unsold Journals sitting next to him—why wasn't he selling them to all the passersby instead of staring at the sky?
"If you didn't know how to get there, you could have just said so," I sniffed, aware of the fact that I sounded childish. Nothing was going my way, was it?
I think I struck a nerve with him because his calm face slowly stretched and widened until he was wearing a knowing smile.
"Hold your horses… I was just kiddin' with ya, pal. No worries, eh? Here," he said, pointing with one of his dirty hands down the street, "you're almost there. Just keep on goin' down this street until you hit 48th. Then you're gonna want to make a right and keep walkin' until ya hit Madison Avenue. Go left for a couple of blocks until ya make it to 460. Trust me, ya ain't gonna be able to miss it."
It never even struck me as odd that this street kid could tell me exact directions to Madison Avenue; I was just so pleased that someone could.
"Really? Thanks!" I said, feeling strangely glad that finally I was getting somewhere. It had been so long since I left Les alone in the apartment and it had been frustrating that, apart from Rachel Harpen's information and Snipes' gossip, I knew precious little more than I did when I started out. I felt like I was so close to finding out what happened to Sarah that I could almost taste it.
The boy just nodded his response back it me before letting his newspapers drop back to the corner. He waited until they had settled before resuming his lounging seat beside them.
I took that as my cue to leave, so I did. Running the directions he had given to me through my head, I hurried on down 6th Avenue, keeping an eye out for 48th Street. I found it—surprisingly, admittedly—and there was no trouble finding Madison Avenue not much farther away.
I was almost there, and it felt exhilarating.
I don't what I was expecting to find when I arrived at 460 Madison Avenue but it sure wasn't what I found.
St. Patrick's Cathedral was massive, looming over me as I stood in front of it. I'd never been this close to the church before and it was awe-inspiring. It was made of this beautiful white marble, so bright that it made the rest of the City look dirty in comparison to it; the spires were so tall that the tips seemed to disappear into the clouds.
It seemed to dominate the street and there were so many people hovering around the church that I felt my stomach sink. How was I supposed to find Sarah in this crowd? Not only did I not know how she was dressed or how she wore her hair, but I wouldn't have been surprised to know that Sarah was trying her best to hide within the throngs of people. I wasn't Jack, after all, and she wasn't expecting me.
I scratched my head as I looked back and forth before heading up the few steps that led to the cathedral's entrance. It wasn't much higher than the street but I thought it might make it easier to spot Sarah if she really was stranding on Madison Avenue.
Countless people passed me by, either continuing on their way or visiting the cathedral to offer a quick prayer. I wasn't a Roman Catholic and it made me a little uncomfortable to be standing at the foot of this impressive church. I couldn't help but wonder again just why Sarah had chosen this place for Jack—she was no Catholic either.
I grew antsy, and my hands were back in my pocket. I tried to keep my head down while looking for a glimpse of my sister at the same time. It was difficult and it came as no surprise when, after close to an hour of fervently searching for her, I still had not seen Sarah.
There was a chance, I figured, that she could have already been to St. Patrick's and left when Jack failed to show up. If Jack really had gone to Brooklyn, like Snipeshooter said, then how long would Sarah have waited for him?
Of course, I was making assumption after assumption here. I'd assumed that something bad had happened to Sarah. I'd assumed that Jack was lying to me. And now… now I was assuming that Sarah had sent that note so that she could get Jack to meet her at the church. Was I right?
I don't know. But I think so. After all, why was I standing there if not to follow my hunches? My gut feeling had never steered me wrong before, whether it was telling me that Jack Kelly could be trusted or not or that an open door meant something more.
Then again, if Sarah had been to the church, maybe she'd never left. I hadn't actually gone inside the cathedral. For all I knew, she could be hiding out inside.
As soon as I thought that, I felt like an idiot for taking so long to realize that. I'd waited outside for almost an hour when there was that same chance that she could have been waiting inside all along. If Sarah felt comfortable walking around this part of town, and she felt comfortable meeting at a Catholic cathedral, why wouldn't she go inside to wait?
Turning around, I faced the big brown doors of St. Patrick's. They were eerily decorated and their color was very different from the rest of the cathedral. Just like the rest of the church, they were intimidating, yet welcoming in their own way.
I never had the chance to go inside and check to see if Sarah was inside. I was just about to pull on the heavy door handle when something else caught my attention.
"David, David, David… I didn't expect to find you here."
My hand fell to my side, my intent immediately forgotten. That voice had all my attention.
Someone was talking to me—and it sure wasn't Sarah.
Author's Note: Ah, can I just say how much I love leaving chapters with a cliffhanger. I wonder who that voice belongs to, hmm? But, hey, at least we know what was at the address, right? Now only a hundred other questions to go ;)
-- stress, 05.09.08