7 December 2006

Author's Note: You've made it to Part II! Congratulations! lol, ok, so there wasn't much to Part I, but as I told you before, it was just a brief introduction. Hopefully this chapter will be much more satisfactory, at least in the length department. For this story, I think you can expect updates from me once or twice a week, depending on how much free time I have. Lately, I've been able to write a lot during my study hall period in school, but when the next semester starts, I won't have study hall anymore. Nevertheless, I will do my best to update at least every week.

Anyways, if you didn't guess already, Part II is the beginning of Lead's story and takes place before the events of Part I. It tells about Lead's experience in the refuge and of the first time he met our beloved Racetrack! Snyder, the naughty warden of the refuge, has a small role in this chapter, but, as always, Lead (known as Ray in this chapter) is the main focus of this story! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from Newsies or claim to own them.

--

From Beginning to End

II

Race asked him to tell their story, beginning to end. Lead has an empty notepad and a sharp pencil, and that's all he needs.

--

Ray Osbourne stared down at his feet as he sat in a hard, straight-backed chair outside of Snyder's office. From inside the room he could hear Snyder and Vincent, the refuge's head chef, talking together. The two men were talking in sharp, hostile voices, so Ray was able to make out every word they uttered quite clearly.

"The boy always has his head in the clouds! Countless times I have found him hidden in the bunkroom doing nothing but staring out the window." In a lower, conspiratol voice, the robust chef added, "If you ask me, the boy is more than a little daft."

"Raymond is quite bright, I can assure you. His records prove that," Snyder retorted stiffly. The warden had never been fond of the refuge's chef and would gladly take the side of one of the boys if it was against Vincent. Vincent was known for the ruthless way in which he ordered about the boys, boxing them on the ears or threatening them with his horse whip when they said or did the wrong thing. Snyder believed that he should be the sole person privileged enough to punish the boys and resented anyone who tried to do his job. Vincent was not a favorite of Snyder's, and it showed in the chef's meager salary.

"Now I suggest, sir, that you spend more time cooking and less time terrorizing these boys," Snyder said, disgust evident in his voice.

Vince's face reddened noticeably and he clenched his jaw in frustration. The hatred Snyder had of Vince was returned back to the warden tenfold.

"What of the boy, Snyder? Surely you will not leave him undisciplined?"

Snyder held back the urge to roll his eyes and instead said, "Send him into me before you go back to the kitchen."

Vince bowed as well as his large build would allow, more out of necessity than respect, and hastily departed from Snyder's office. Not even sparing Ray a glance, the chef said, "Your turn kid." And with that, he clambered down the stairs back to his duties in the kitchen, grumbling all the way.

Ray said a silent prayer before slowly opening the door to Snyder's office and stepping inside.

"Close the door, Raymond, and come sit," Snyder said, gesturing towards a chair placed in front of his desk. This chair, unlike the one outside, was made of black leather. Looking around him, Lead noticed that the walls of the office were bare save for a large, elaborately painted portrait of a Hispanic woman. The woman wore a dress of green velvet, and her hair, midnight black, framed her small, delicate face and fell past her shoulders in a wave of ebony beauty. Lead thought the woman to be very elegant in appearance and wondered if the warden actually knew her. That was something he would have to ask the others boys in the bunkroom that night... that is, if he ever got out of the office alive.

Ray brought himself out of his thoughts and did as he was instructed before he had to be told again. He stiffly sat down on the edge of the chair, unwilling to let his guard down. Ray was fairly new to the refuge and so had no way of knowing what was in store for him, although he had heard many stories from some of the older boys about Snyder, none of them being very pleasant.

Ray waited in painstaking silence as Snyder shuffled around papers on his desk before the warden finally clasped his hands in front of him and proceeded to stare Ray down with his piercing, unwavering gaze.

"Mr. Fieldman has informed me of your failure to report to the kitchen before dinner today," Snyder said, his face robbed of all emotion. Ray said nothing. The warden allowed the silence between them to thicken before continuing. "Have you forgotten the work schedule, Raymond?" Silence from Ray.

Snyder opened a drawer of his desk and took out a sheet of paper. He looked over it before saying, "According to the work schedule, you were to help in the kitchen during dinnertime and then proceed to serve the faculty their meals. Is that not correct?"

Ray nodded his head ever so slightly

"Then why, Raymond, did you not report to the kitchens as you were instructed?"

Ray silently debated whether he should remain mute or if he should simply confess to why he hadn't gone to the kitchen. Deciding on the latter, Ray mumbled in a barely audible voice, "I was on the roof, sir."

Snyder raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. He hadn't been expecting a confession from the small boy. Honesty was not a common attribute of the boys of the refuge. As he wrote a few brief words on the paper in front of him, Snyder asked of Ray, "Are you not aware of the rule forbidding anyone who's not faculty on the rooftop?"

Ray nodded slightly, and suddenly, with a jerk of his head, looked Snyder square in the eye. "Yes sir, I knew I wasn't supposed to be up there. But you see, sir, the view from the roof is so much better than that of the windows inside. You can see the whole city from the rooftop, and the air is so refreshing up there! One can really breathe!" Ray exclaimed in a sudden outburst. His eyes took on a dreamy look as he recalled how pleasant the rooftop had been. The warm sun and slight breeze coupled with the outstanding view he had witnessed of the city had been the reason Ray had stayed up there for so long, completely forgetting his duties.

Snyder, not to be outdone, held Ray's gaze until the boy was forced to look away.

"Do you consider that to be a legitimate excuse, Raymond?"

Ray shook his head. "No sir, it's not an excuse. It's just my explanation."

Snyder shook his head at the boy in disbelief. Back-talking and smart-alec remarks he was used to, but this boy was different than the others. Raymond didn't have the defiant gleam in his eye that most of the refuge boys had, but he also was seemingly unafraid of Snyder, something unheard of in boys of Raymond's age. Snyder had been looking over Raymond's file and had noticed that the boy was not in the refuge for theft or some other punishable crime, as was the case with most of the boys. Raymond had been placed in the refuge only two weeks before because his parents had been killed in a bank robbery. The boy had no other family and therefore was sent to the refuge until he reached the age of twenty-one, was adopted, or escaped. Most boys attempted to escape the refuge at least once in their time there, but Snyder doubted that Raymond would try anything like that. He was too smart and too obedient, "despite some people's opinions", thought Snyder, his mood soured by the thought of Vincent. What a repulsive, foul. . .

"Excuse me, sir, but it's almost time for lights out in the bunkroom. May I be dismissed?" inquired Ray, his boyish voice interrupting Snyder's thoughts.

Snyder nodded absently and gestured towards the door with his hand. "You may go, Raymond. But I do not wish to hear another complaint about your daydreaming again, is that clear?"

Ray nodded, said a quick, "Yes sir," and left the office as quickly as possible. As soon as he had closed the door behind him, Ray let out a sigh of relief. He had survived his first encounter with Snyder and had left with barely a warning. Suddenly remembering that it was almost lights out, Ray made a mad-dash for the bunkroom. There was no way he was going to risk another trip to Snyder's office for dawdling in the hallway.

--

Ray sat on his bunk surrounded by all of the other boys in his bunkroom. (The bunkroom Ray had been placed in was for boys ranging from ten to sixteen.) The boys around him listened to his story in silence. Word had quickly gotten out about Ray's visit to Snyder's office, and Ray had been bombarded with questions the moment he had burst into the bunkroom. Some of the older boys rolled their eyes when they learned Ray had gotten off scott-free, but they were secretly just as eager as the younger boys were to hear Ray's story. When Ray came to the part in his story about the portrait of the stunning woman, a faint chuckle was heard from across the room. All heads turned towards the source of the sound, their attention no longer focused on Ray.

A boy about fifteen or sixteen years old sat on one of the top bunks, surveying the boys of the refuge one by one. He looked down at the boys gathered around Ray in amusement before he jumped down onto the floor and gently pushed some other boys aside in order to get to Ray. Upon closer inspection, Ray noticed that the boy was not much taller than himself, although he was a good two years Ray's senior. The boy's hair was dark, his skin tan. Ray suddenly found himself eager to know everything about the boy; his name, where he had come from, why he was in the refuge. . .

"Da goil you saw on da wall was Clara, Snyder's wife, before she died. Snyder loved her so much, he paid a small fortune just ta have a portrait painted of her. Goddamn waste of money, if ya ask me. He could've just taken a photograph of her. Would've been a hell of a lot cheaper," the boy informed Ray, sitting down on the bunk beside Ray's.

"So is that why he's so mean? Because his wife died?" asked one of the younger boys.

The older boy shrugged. "Could be. Some folks say he was a decent guy before Clara died. Guess he wasn't always da monster he is now," the boy added, sitting back on the bunk with his hands clasped behind his head. He sighed contentedly, and it seemed to Ray as if the boy was very comfortable as the center of attention.

"Lights out!" yelled one of the faculty from the bunkroom doorway. All of the boys went back to their own bunks and crawled under the covers. The man at the door, after seeing that all of the boys were settled down, blew out the candles illuminating the room and walked back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. The room was left in darkness.

"Dis your foist time in da refuge, kid?" whispered a voice besides Ray.

Ray was caught off guard, having thought that the older boy had gone back to his bunk, but recognized the voice and replied, "Yes it is. I was sent here two weeks ago." Ray could hear the bunk groan as the older boy shifted into a different position.

"So whatcha in for?" the boy asked.

Ray inwardly flinched at the question but knew that it had been coming. "My parents were killed a month ago. I don't have any other family, so I was sent here."

Silence settled between the two before the boy said, "That's rough, kid. I'm sorry about your family."

Ray smiled slightly to himself. He had a feeling that he and this boy would get along well.

"I don't think I caught your name, kid," the boy said.

"Oh right," said Ray, wondering how they had gone through a whole conversation without knowing the other's identity. "I'm Ray... Raymond Osbourne. How about you?"

Hidden from the sight of Ray in the thick darkness, the boy let a smirk work its way onto his face. "My name? Most of me chums call me Racetrack Higgins."