Note: And, yes, it's time for the fourth chapter. I must say that we totally adored the reviews left for the last chapter. I guess none of you guys were expecting poor Sarah to bite it but, trust us, it had to happen (and not just for the lame "now-Jack-isn't-taken" reason either). Here's the next bit of the story – enjoy it and, yes, go ahead and continue making predictions and whatnot. Who knows? You might actually stumble onto something close to the truth :)

Disclaimer: The movie characters highlighted in this awesome piece of work, unfortunately, do not belong to us. They are owned by Disney (© 1992-) and appear here because we made them. But we're not making any money off of them, so it's all good. The original characters included were donated generously because their creator's had no idea what they were in for.

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These Brutal Streets

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PART FOUR

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The girl wiped the blood from her lip off onto the back of her hand before transferring it onto her dusty slacks. Her face stung as she let her fingers travel across it lightly, searching for bruises. The cap she never went without sat in her other hand, her fingertips working the roundness of it around in her hand.

She was leaning against the wall of an alley – but not the alley she had bloodied herself and two boys in just minutes earlier. No, this alley was close to a favorite bar of hers: the place she would be going to after she ascertained that she looked half-way decent to the naked eye.

Not ever having owned a mirror, she withdrew her dagger from beneath her pants leg and twisted it to catch a bit of light from the streetlamp. Catching a glimpse of her hazy, green eyes, she angled it slightly lower. Her lip was busted open, the last bit of blood seeping from it caught against her tongue as she wisped the redness of it across her lips. There was a large bruise forming slowly on her left cheek and, as she angled the dagger lower, she found her chin was scraped open as well.

She remembered how she had received that one, her face scraping against the harsh brick wall, a hand entangled in her hair, trying to knock her unconscious. Her free hand had saved her, twisting it away from the boy's hold at the last minute to push against the wall.

The girl sighed, done looking at her dirty, bloodied face. The rest of her was simply covered in unseen bruises; she had a slight limp to her right leg as she staggered out into the street. But, beyond the promise of the relief the liquor would award her, there was nothing else she could do.

Placing her cap back onto her crown, she shoved her short hair up into the sides of it. She walked slowly as she adjusted the cap over her eyes, praying that it would overshadow a good portion of her face. Stepping inside the bar, the girl inhaled the familiar aroma of cigarettes, alcohol and potent body odor emanating from the bar's customers. For some strange reason, it made her feel just a bit better.

Taking a table in a dark corner, she tapped her fingers against its jagged edge. If the table hadn't been a good few inches thick of wood, it would have fallen apart years ago. There were chunks taken out of most of the tabletop, and much of the side, from one brawl or another. The girl ran her fingers along those nearest to her, losing herself in thought.

The few waitresses left at the bar were fairly plain women with thin curves exemplified by their corsets and worn, flowing skirts. Not looking up at the woman before her, she ordered a whiskey in a gruff voice. Being a frequenter of that particular establishment, the woman did not question her; instead, she just scurried off towards the bar without a word.

The only reason she did look up was when every other mug in the place turned their eyes toward the door. There stood Stress, looking around with a concerned look plastered on her face, her hands entwined in each other, resting in front of her. They locked eyes for just a second before the girl, Bittah, glanced away scowling.

Her friend was before her in mere seconds, sitting down in the chair next to her with an exasperated sigh. "I knew I'd find you here."

Those words normally would have prompted some sort of response, but not today. Bittah was not in the mood to talk. Maybe it was her stinging, puffy lip or just the fact that she was tired, but she made no movement whatsoever.

Stress knew that her friend was brooding something awful, and, being used to the silent treatment, began talking. "So things are just crazy, with you up and leaving and with Jack's Sarah kicking the bucket randomly in the middle of the night. Speaking of night, where the hell were you all night? Sleeping in some alley? I looked all over for you until near midnight and you didn't turn up…"

When Bittah didn't respond, Stress simply went on talking. "So Sarah… they found her this morning at the bottom of the stairs, ice cold. David's all blank stares and gloomy and Jack was bawling on the crapper for hours and holed up in his room after that."

Stress's dramatic sigh sounded long and wearily from her throat, her hand on her forehead and her body slumped forward. Bittah's scowl only deepened as her eyes flashed to her friend. Of course Stress was fully aware of that quick glance and scrutinized her friend more thoroughly.

"Been fighting again Bits?" she questioned with a touch of motherly concern, her hand slowly gravitating towards her swollen cheek. Stress's fingertips twitched inches away from the bruise, the back of Bittah's hand slapping against her wrist as she brushed her arm away easily. "Hey!"

"Nothing I can't handle," Bittah's voice finally rose gruffly, her eyes a searing grey as they slid to gaze at her friend. Seeing her friend's face light up in painful concern, she let out a breath of air and forced a smile. "Who knows? Maybe the Delancey brothers' murdered Sarah?" she joked.

Stress grinned in reply, shaking her head. "The Delancey's are gone, genius. They're out of New York, or did you miss that news flash too?" she berated her friend with humor in her tone.

The girl shrugged. "Then maybe it was that new gang?" her smile twisted slowly into a smirk, a brilliance of mischief glinting in her eyes.

"Gang?" Stress's eyes were widening slowly, an effect that made Bittah chuckle lowly. "Some new gang?"

"Yeah… I just trounced two of them in some alley. Of course when I asked what gang they were from, one of the boys whispered 'Crimson'. Though, he may have been talking about all that blood getting into his eyes from me cracking his skull into the nearest wall," Bittah looked deep in thought, replaying the scene in her mind. "Yeah, well anyways, never heard neither hide nor hair of them, so I figured they're new to town."

Again she shrugged, as if gangs did not matter, as if she could care less, which was probably true of Bittah. Not being the type to be scared of much of anything, at least nothing that she would openly admit to; fighting gangs just seemed to fit in with her everyday life.

Finally looking down, Bittah realized the ice in her whiskey was nearly fully melted; the tiny splinters of ice glistening in the orange-brown liquid. She picked it up – unaware of the expression on Stress's face as the glass was lifted – and swirled the ice cubes around in it until they were melted. She then shot it down her throat in one gulp.

Slamming the glass back down onto the table, Bittah closed her eyes and smiled at the warmth and pain relief it brought her, slowly sinking back into the chair. "Horrible stuff," she grinned as she caught sight of the concern wrought across her friend's face.

"Bittah… What am I going to do with you?" Stress sighed, shaking her head slowly.

"Don't worry Stress. I plan on skipping town anyways. Maybe keep out of trouble for once and go somewhere else." Her reply was weary and without humor, full of a serious demeanor that Stress wasn't used to. It kept her silent, gazing at the girl next to her in astonishment.

"Don't look at me like that Stress," Bittah continued. "I ain't going far, maybe Harlem, or the Bronx, or god only knows Brooklyn."

Stress just shook her head slowly, trying to grasp what she was saying. "I suppose Jack really meant it huh?" she questioned her friend, wanting her opinion on the previous situation at the Manhattan Lodging House. All she received though was a solemn nod and then they were both on their feet, Bittah first, then Stress.

"I'll drop by in a few days, so don't worry okay Stress?" Bittah spoke without sentiment, without really asking, just letting her friend know that she wasn't about to disappear forever.

It was Stress's turn to nod, letting her friend walk past without following her. Not until Bittah had departed from the bar did she notice that there was no change next to the empty glass. "Bittah…" she groaned as she dug around in her pocket for her spare change. "That girl is going to be the death of me!"

Going through a handful of pennies, she counted enough that would cover the cost of Bittah's drink. Not one for drinking herself – it was only when she remembered that she was looking for Bittah that she thought to look in a bar – she wasn't too sure how much it was. Shaking her head, she dropped the money down before turning to leave the bar. Maybe Jack was finally over his sudden grief; it's not like anyone thought that he really fancied Sarah Jacobs anyway. He was too much of a flirt.

As Stress made her way out of the dark establishment, one set of blue eyes watched her go. They were crinkled in amusement and were attached to a fair face that was currently grinning widely. The girl had been sharing a drink with a young man she had met over in Central Park but, as soon as she heard Stress's distinctive voice, she had kept one ear on the conversation coming from behind her. The way Cecilia saw it, you never knew when you could learn something worth learning, if only you kept your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut.

Like most of the people who either lived at or frequently haunted the Newsboys Lodging House – Cecilia Rayner was part of the latter – she had heard the news: that the Jacobs girl had been found dead. And, though she had only just been found, rumors had already been abound that it was foul play.

She turned her head back and smiled coyly at the man sitting across from her. He had done nothing but ogle her since they arrived and, while that normally did not bother her, Cecilia found his stare bothersome. Without a word, she daintily lifted her glass and finished it. Then, when there was nothing else keeping her tethered to his side, she slowly rose. "Thanks for the drink, darlin'," she said, batting her eyelashes seductively. "Make sure to look me up some time." She reached out and ran her finger down the side of his stubbly cheek.

Then, before he could try to convince her to remain in his company, Cecilia smiled again and followed the open path towards the bar's exit. Her head was running through the brief conversation that Bittah and Stress had shared; when she got to the part where Bittah had mentioned a gang, her lips curved again.

Cecilia could not wait to go back to the Lodging House and tell them all who she thought was responsible for Sarah's death.

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True to the Jewish faith, Sarah Jacobs' funeral was held as soon as possible. Though her father had wanted her buried the very same day that she was found, Esther Jacobs could not part with her only daughter's body straight away; instead, it was decided that the funeral would be early the next morning.

There was a torrent of young men at the actual gravesite. The strong, lean figure of Jack Kelly was quite a picture, dressed all in black and tears lining his eyes. After finally recovering from the shock of Sarah's death the eve before, he had sat with the Jacobs' family overnight as they made the funeral preparations and performed the funeral rites. Now, though, David stared at him from the other side of his sister's grave blankly, remembering how just two days ago he seemed not to care for her at all.

But today Jack had pulled everyone he could from the Lodging House to grieve with her family. David couldn't grasp the gravity of the situation; he couldn't even cry for his dearly departed sister. All he could do was stare blankly at everyone.

Her body had been placed in a wooden coffin that had been nailed shut before the carriage brought it to the burial site. David couldn't help but think that half of the boys that followed Jack to the funeral came because they wanted to see Sarah's dead body. Though his face remained emotionless, as if there was a plaster mask in its place, David was angered to see these boys pretending to mourn Sarah. Hadn't they all seen death before? Why did they need to be there?

The funeral service itself passed David by in a blur. To him, it felt as if this whole occurrence was nothing more than an elaborate dream. That, any moment now, Sarah was going to come into his room, her voice laughing as she told him to get up and get ready for school.

At least until the casket was placed inside the waiting, vacant grave. There was a pull inside of him – a strange sense of reality settled over him and the truth finally reached his consciousness. Sarah was dead. She had fallen down the steps inside of the apartment building, twisted her neck and died. She would not be coming back.

The rabbi set the spade down in the dirt and gestured to it. David watched as Jack approached the spade and, lifting a shovelful of earth, tossed it on top of the casket. He did this twice more before placing the spade back into the dirt and taking his place back beside the grave. The rabbi then pointed at the boy standing next to Jack – Kid Blink – and Blink did the same thing that Jack did.

David knew that this act of letting the mourners – excluding immediate family, of course – cover the casket with the dirt was done in order for them to receive closure… but, just then, he felt as if it was all a farce. Maybe of them all, Jack was the only one who was sorry that Sarah had died, but why should the others take part in the ceremony?

Clenching his fists tightly, he did not say a word, nor did he shed a single tear. He just watched. Almost as if he was not the deceased's brother but, instead a mere spectator, David just watched as his only sister was swallowed up the earth.