Note: Well, here's the next bit. Any of the historical and cultural bases in this chapter is taken from an entry on Wikipedia so, if something is incorrect, you can blame them. Other than that, enjoy this chapter – maybe you guys will begin to figure out what's going on…
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.
--
These Brutal Streets
--
PART FIVE
--
Cecilia had not gotten that great of a reception when she stopped by the Newsboys Lodging House the day of Sarah Jacobs's death. After leaving her afternoon companion alone in the bar, she had hurried straight there only to find that the House was all but empty. Most of the boys were either out trying to earn whatever they could, or hawking the afternoon edition of the World, or attempting to convince Jack to crawl out of his bunk.
In fact, she only was able to tell two people about what she had overheard: Snipeshooter and Boots. Not two of the most trustworthy boys in the House but, Cecilia figured, it was better to get the news out. And if there was one thing she could trust those two to do, it was spread the word on this strange new gang.
Brushing her hands in a gesture of a job well done, Cecilia left the Lodging House behind her. She had no idea just how fast word would spread, nor did she care.
Almost immediately after Cecilia disappeared down Duane Street, a tall, thin boy wearing a bowler hat and glasses headed up to the Lodging House. Snipeshooter saw him first and gestured for him to come over to converse with the two younger boys.
"Hey, Specs," he said, greeting the confused newcomer, "You'll never believe what me and Boots just heard…"
--
That first day following the burial, the Jacobs family began the religious week-long period of mourning known as shiva. David was glad that the tradition dictated that none of the immediate family had to speak; he was unsure of what he would have said to his grief-stricken parents. As it was, just one glance at his mother, tears constantly trickling down her cheeks, was enough to make his stomach turn. And his father…
Mayer seemed to be beyond such outward displays of emotion. From the moment Sarah's lifeless body had been discovered at the foot of the stairs, Mayer had only cried but once and that was as he stood over her sprawled form. After that, he just closed up, saying nothing. Even Les was quiet, his eyes cast downward permanently, as if he had nothing to look forward to. Sarah's death had changed them all.
There were no close kin nearby for the Jacobs's but many of their neighbors felt the need to offer their condolences. Sarah had been a well-respected young woman, as well as a talented seamstress. They all agreed that her accidental death – none could believe that it was anything but an accident – was a tragedy.
Adele Hirsh, an elderly Jewish woman who lived on the floor below David's family, prepared a dish of eggs and lentils for them to eat. It was part of the ritual that the mourners sitting shiva – the avel – did not cook for themselves that first day. Esther was so appreciative of Mrs. Hirsh's gesture that she broke into a fresh wave of sobs. She was only comforted when the old woman sat with her in the kitchen, holding tightly to her hand as they recited a prayer for Sarah in Hebrew.
After Mrs. Hirsh finally left that night, David did not expect to see anyone else come and sit with the family during the mourning period. Yes, there were various callers who came to the front door but they left just as quickly; it was a heavy environment to subject oneself to, and David was not surprised that none of the neighbors chose to actually do more than apologize for his family's loss.
Perhaps that was why, on the second day of shiva, David was in awe to find Jack Kelly, clad in the same black clothes he had worn to Sarah's burial, standing at his front door. His look was almost sheepish when David answered the door. "Hey Dave," he said, nervously running his hands through his shaggy, greasy hair. "I'm here to… uh… pray with you guys, I guess."
If he hadn't been so numb at that moment – in his own way, David, too, was grieving for his sister – he might have thought it was somewhat amusing the way that Jack had stumbled over his words. It was strange to see the great strike leader falter, as if he had no idea to make his words sound important.
David couldn't figure out just how Jack knew to come to the apartment but he didn't waste time thinking about it. He just stepped aside and gestured for the other boy to come into the apartment. He led him into the kitchen where Mayer and Esther were once again sitting at the table in silence. They sat not on a pair of regular chairs but, rather, a set of stools; Les and David had been sitting on the floor beside the table.
Esther looked up as Jack followed her elder son into the small room. She appeared as if she had aged ten years since Sarah's funeral but there was no denying the slight, gracious smile that flittered across her exhausted face. "Thank you for respecting my daughter enough to come," she spoke, as her voice thickened with emotion. Mayer just jerked his head once, affirming his wife's sentiments.
Jack nodded. "I had to, Mrs. Jacobs. For Sarah," he replied gravely as he knelt down to sit beside Les. He patted the younger boy on the shoulder once before resting his backside against the floor. Jack looked entirely out of place but, taking his cue from the adults, he said nothing more after that.
Well, David mused wryly as he resumed his place on the floor, beside Jack, I wonder what that was all about. Maybe Jack liked Sarah more than I thought.
--
"Yeah, well I heard that the reason the Crimson Gang got Sarah was because they knew she was seeing Jack and they want to send a message," said the golden-toned girl with long black hair that was perched on the arm of a chair. She turned to look at the young man that was currently occupying the chair. "What did you think, Mush?"
Mush smiled as he glanced up at Pegasus before answering her question. "I heard that, too. Specs told Gip who told Hair who told Jake," he continued, ticking off all of the people in the chain of the rumor he had heard, "who told me that Sarah didn't fall down them stairs. She was pushed."
Kid Blink sat unmoving in the chair opposite of Mush. He nodded in agreement, holding the hand of the curly-haired girl that stood behind him. "Zippy told me something like that, too. Can you believe it? Sarah, murdered? It just don't sound right to me."
Zippy leaned forward and patted him comfortingly on his shoulder. "Where did this damn Gang come from anyway?"
"I don't know," Pegasus commented, shaking her head. "But I hope that they leave us the hell alone."
Jack came down the stairs, his hair plastered to the side of his face. Having been trying to, he found that with all of the noise coming from the lobby of the Lodging House it was damn near impossible. There were dark circles under his brown eyes, illustrating just how little sleep he had been getting since hearing of Sarah's death. He attempted to shoot a fierce glare at the group but the look was ruined when he yawned in the middle of it. "Hey, fellas? I'm trying to get some shut eye, here. Can you try to keep it down?"
They all seemed to notice Jack's appearance at the same time. The conversation abruptly stopped; Mush kicked Blink in the shin. "Has anyone told Jack yet?"
Before Blink could answer, Jack cut in, his eyes suddenly alert, "Tell me what?"
Pegasus tried to appear cheery, as if their topic of conversation was not as depressing as it was. "Well, Cowboy, someone found out just how your little girlfriend bit it."
He was still two steps away from reaching the floor of the lobby; when he heard Pegasus's response, he stumbled and actually ended up jumping down those steps. "What?" he cried, reaching for the railing to steady himself. "What does that mean?"
Blink glared over at Pegasus, who turned her head away; even with only one good eye, his glare was frightening. He sighed; this was not the way that he wanted to tell Jack – hence the reason why he had kept it from him since hearing the rumor from Skittery and Johnny.
At first he had thought it to be a simple tale, passed along due to the sensationalism of the news. But, when more and more of them began to believe in the arrival of this gang, Blink wondered if he should let the boy in on the gossip. He eventually decided not to. Jack was still too distraught to even speak of Sarah; to even suggest that her death was not an accident was not something he wanted to do.
"Jack," Kid Blink began, not entirely sure how he should approach the topic. "A bunch of kids around here have been talking lately about Sarah and the way she died." He removed his brown hat from his head and scratched his head. "There's some new gang floating around… the Crimson's. Some believe that they might have been behind her death." He jammed his hat back onto his head. "Jack, it's going around that this dumb ass gang pushed Sarah down those steps just to get at you."
"Me?" His voice sounded almost distant but, strangely, he was able to choke out a weak chuckle. "Why would they kill Sarah Jacobs to get me?"
"I don't know, Jack," Blink said, wishing like hell he had a cigarette. It did not go by unnoticed that, as soon as Blink glared at Pegasus to shut her up, none of the others in the room had spoken up. It seemed like he was the unofficially elected spokesperson for their quartet just then. "Something about getting this territory. I mean… I don't know."
Rubbing his eyes and shaking his head, Jack groaned. "And let me guess. No one's told Dave or his family about this, right?"
"No, Jack," Mush said innocently as he finally took the initiative to jump in and join the conversation. He had expected Jack to take the news much worse; he did not know how he would react if he found out that Pegasus died because of him. "Couldn't. We ain't seen Davey or Les since they buried their sister."
Jack waved his hand absently. "Yeah, I know. They got that sitting there, saying nothing, praying thing they got to do for a week. Dave hasn't left the house since then." He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side in an act of defeat. "I guess I gotta be the one to tell him. He needs to know it if Sarah's death wasn't as simple as we all thought."
--
Jack didn't come back to the Jacobs' apartment until the last day of shiva. He came to the apartment and was surprised that, when David opened the door, the other boy looked exactly the same as he had five days prior: same clothes, same vacant expression, everything the same.
David led Jack into the apartment again, right to the kitchen. The only differences this time were the refuse and half-eaten plates that littered the table, and the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs had swapped stools. Les, like before, was sitting on the floor. The older boys took their seats right beside him.
With something as important as what he had been told by the others weighing on his mind, Jack was not comfortable sitting with the Jacobs family – but he knew he could not wait another day to talk to his pal. He figured he would feel a lot better about the whole thing, not to mention less guilty, if David knew about the stories. David was a brain; he would tell Jack that it wasn't his fault, wouldn't he?
David could tell that something was wrong. As he stared straight ahead into the empty bedding area, he could feel the heat of Jack's gaze on his profile. In the silence of the apartment, he could hear the heel of Jack's shoe tapping against the floor.
He was just about to turn to Jack and ask him what was wrong when Jack cleared his throat and stood up. "Uh… Mr. Jacobs, Mrs. Jacobs? I hate to leave so soon but I have to go. I promised the Lodging House supervisor I'd help him out but… Dave? Do you mind walking me out?"
David's head jerked up at the mention of his name. Jack had spoken with that fake-polite voice he had that he used when addressing his parents. It was that voice that had helped to achieve Sarah's parents' trust when they first met him and he, obviously, thought it would work again – that they would agree to let David leave the apartment for just a quick moment.
When neither Esther nor Mayer responded to Jack's request, the boy reached down and wrapped his hand around David's arm. He pulled David to his feet quickly, ignoring his resistance.
As quickly as he could, Jack pushed David out of the front door. They headed straight down the building's steps, both trying their best to ignore that these were the steps that had caused Sarah's death. Jack halted them right outside the entrance of the apartment.
By the expression plastered across his face, Jack seemed relieved that they were no longer in the stuffy, eerily quiet apartment. He inhaled deeply before patting David on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, Dave. How have you been?"
"Fine. I'm fine, Jack," David offered back, a bit confused. "Now, is there a reason why you needed to interrupt my family and me to bring me down here?"
There was a hint of a smirk on Jack's handsome face. "I can't hide it from you, can I?" A great exhale followed the question, signaling that David need not respond. "I found something out yesterday, Davey. Mush and Blink? They told me about this new gang in town and they… a bunch of the others, really… think that this gang might have murdered Sarah…"
Jack's words ran through David's head, on repeat. Sarah… murdered? A bit more violently than he ever had before, David pushed at Jack's chest. He shook his head roughly. "You're crazy, Jack! Sarah wasn't murdered! It was an accident! Got that?" He was breathing heavily, his hands visibly trembling. But, when he spoke again, it was a bit calmer than before. "Just an accident – don't tell me that someone hurt my sister, Jack. It was an accident. No one murdered Sarah."
And, with that, David spun around and re-entered the apartment; he still had some grieving to do.
--
It felt good to be clean again. Because of tradition, Esther had firmly enforced the belief that the family did not bathe for the entire seven days that they grieved for Sarah. As soon as the sun had set that night, David had been the first to wash up. Despite doing nothing but sitting and, sometimes, playing host to the visitors that called on the family, David felt unreasonably dirty. By the third day, his skin had begun to crawl, and by the time he had been able to actually bathe again, he was desperate.
However, though the water had washed away his feeling of being extremely unclean, it did nothing to help with his continued numbness. His lips had not once strayed from their set expression, and his blue eyes were still wide and staring unblinking in open accusation. David was not sure when he would begin to feel normal again; he didn't know if he ever would.
Hoisting his pack of school books over his shoulder, David's emotionless mask cracked just a bit as he yawned. He did not bother covering his mouth with his hand for the yawn did not last. Nevertheless, it only served to remind him just how tired he was.
He shook his head once, trying to wake himself up. His mother had pressed for him to remain in the apartment – she was terrified that, if she took her eye off of either of her children, they would meet the same fate as Sarah – but he had declined her pleas. School, he had told her, was far too important to risk missing unnecessary hours.
Before Esther could try to convince him otherwise, Mayer had placed his hands over hers. Without a word, he told his wife to let their son go. And David, knowing he was only attending school again to avoid his parents and their palpable grief, simply picked up his books and left the apartment.
David continued on his walk to the schoolhouse, his fingers idly rubbing against the leather strap of his book carrier. His body was almost moving along on its own; his feet knew the steps to the brick building without his mind telling him which direction to take. In fact, he was so consumed with his thoughts and his preoccupation with staying awake, that he did not realize that he had made it to the building until he heard a sweet voice call out to him.
"Morning, David."
He glanced up. There, standing in front of the building, her hands crossed demurely in front of her as she held her own pack of books, was Amalia Palmer. David's heart began to beat a bit faster; he felt a warmth start stirring below. She really was beautiful.
"Good morning, Amalia," he replied, politely bowing his head in her direction as he walked over to her.
"I'm really glad to see that you're back at school. I missed you all last week," Amalia cooed, batting her eyelashes coyly at the boy. She took a tentative step closer to him, walking slowly so that skirt of her pale dress swished slightly. It was a sly attempt to show him a bit of her flesh, and, as a particular strong gust of wind chose to move past them both at that moment, it worked.
For the first time in more than a week, David actually smiled.
