Heya. Yikes! I didn't realize you all like the story so much! Good thing I have one more chapter, and then it's done. I promise I'll write something else, soon, 'kay? And I swear I was gonna post this right after the last one, so I didn't keep you all in suspense, but I didn't have time to write it, because I went to go see Ian Hunter play in Hollywood. Anyone nerdy enough to know who that is? Oh well…

Disclaimer: Alas, no.

The darkness slowly faded from around me. It was damp, and still dark, but the darkness wasn't me. I could hear dripping water, somewhere in the distance. Was I in purgatory? Far above me, there was a circle of light. Metal rungs ascending towards it. No, I was in a manhole.

I crawled out into the muggy New York night, lit by halogen lamps and neon. I continued on my journey home like nothing had happened. Zombie-like, I climbed the seemingly endless stairs to my apartment, and unlocked the door. I stepped in.

I heard my mother scream. She launched herself at me, sobbing into my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her, rocking slowly back and forth.

"Where were you? It's been seven months since you disappeared! What happened?"

I just shook my head. "Mom? C'n I'se go take a showah?"

"Sure, sure." She mumbled, but didn't let me go. I gently pried her off and lead her to the couch before going and showering.

I looked at myself for a while in the bathroom mirror. My face had changed from the last time I looked in this mirror. My nose was still broken. I had scars. I pulled off my shirt. My ribs still showed through, with all their breaks. In the middle of my chest, there was a long thin scar. The knife.

I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water nearly scald me. I broke down sobbing. After all I had been through, no one would blame me. I stayed curled up in a ball on the shower floor, warm water pouring down in my head, until the water turned cold. Weakly, I turned it off and crawled out. I pulled on my warm pajamas, putting a hand over the knife scar. It ached. My heart felt broken. Everything I loved had ended, all because of that knife. But I was home now. I could continue on with my life.

I curled up next to my mom on the couch, letting her hold me and rock me. She started to softly sing my lullaby.

"Mom? Wheah'd you'se leahn dat?" I interrupted her. She gave me a little squeeze and answered,

"From my Great Grandpa Sean. He was Irish. And so was my Great Grandma Vienne. You know, he named you, too. He never got to meet you, but said that if I ever had a little girl, I should name her Charlotte."

"Really? Why Charlotte?" I asked, even though I thought I knew why.

"Well, see when he was a young man, he was part of the newsboy strike in 1899. It was always one of my favorite stories he would tell. He met this girl newsie when there was no such thing as girl newsies, and she dressed like a little boy. Really, she was about your age. Her name was Charley, but all the boys called her Hambone, because she was a good liar. She saved Grandpa Sean's life, too."

"How?" I wanted to know what had happened to me.

"She took a knife in the chest for him. Right here." She touched my shirt, right over the scar. "But the funny thing was, when he would tell the story, he always swore that her body just disappeared after she died."

"Like it was taken?"

"No, he always said she just faded away to nothing, right in front of his eyes. I think he was losing it a little towards the end."

"Maybe so." I sighed.

As the weeks slowly ticked past, I learned more of what had happened while I was gone. My mom had reported me missing, and police assumed I had been kidnapped. They never found a trace of me, though. Like I had disappeared. My mom never had me declared dead, though. She couldn't bear to. The theatre company that I had worked for before I disappeared folded. The owners couldn't take the press anymore after it had been rumored that they had something to do with my disappearance.

My mom decided to keep me close to her, and was thinking about home schooling me in the fall. She said she couldn't bear to lose me again. She knew that she had forever lost the me that she knew. I could tell by the sideways looks she gave me when I was reading, or eating breakfast. The way she tried to correct my heavy Brooklyn accent. She knew something had happened, something that I refused to share, during those months. Her baby came home battered and scarred. I spoke differently. I acted differently. I didn't respond to "Charlotte" anymore, only "Charley." I had a faraway look in my eyes.

I tried to continue on with my life. I tried to hang out with my friends, but their calls came less and less often now. Even they couldn't stand being around me anymore. I spent more and more time alone, walking through the city. It was on these walks that I found I was haunted.

At first I thought it was just in my head. So much of the city looked the same, that I thought it was just my mind supplying the familiar sounds. I noticed it more often when I was in Manhattan, though. That's when I could clearly hear them. The newsies. They were just echoes in the beginning. But they grew louder and clearer with each day.

One morning, I made my way back to Duane Street. I was standing in front of the lodging house. Or what had been the lodging house. The widows were boarded up. I stood, looking at what had been my home, when I clearly heard a voice coming down from the second floor window.

"Roll you'se for it. Doubl' or nuddin'."

"Racetrack?" I whispered. No, it couldn't be. Racetrack had to be dead for at least thirty years. It was just my head.

As I continued my prowling around the city, things got more and more difficult to explain away.

I was standing in the plaza in front of the old "World" building, looking up at it. Thinking of how many hours I spent shouting out our chants. I heard a voice crying out,

"Extry! Extry! Fiah breaks out on da docks! Halfa' Brooklyn in flames!"

I turned to find the source of the noise. Then I saw him, clear as day. Kid Blink was standing across the street from me. I shook my head and blinked, but he was gone. I needed to go lay down. I turned and headed back to Brooklyn.

It happened again. This time I was out running errands with my mom. We had gone to visit one of her friends in Manhattan, and drop off some groceries for her, because she was recovering from a sprained ankle. My mom and I were waiting on a corner for the crossing signal, when I heard another voice.

"Stop the 'World'! No more papes!"

I looked over my shoulder to find Skittery leaning against the wall of a building behind me. Just then, my mom took my hand and started pulling me across the street. I looked at her in annoyance, and then looked back. Skittery had disappeared.

The next time it happened, I was alone. It was growing dark, and I was late coming home from my walk. I cut through an alleyway that I used to use when I was a newsie. Again, I heard the call of "Doubl' or nuddin'!" from behind me. I quickly turned to see a smirking Racetrack tip his cap to me, and vanish around a corner. I ran after him, only to find that he was out of sight by the time I had rounded the corner. I nearly ran home.

I didn't belong to my world anymore. I realized that now. 1899 had molded me into something that only fit in there. It took me in, made me belong.

The final straw was when I was beyond caring what other people thought of me. I saw Mush before I heard him. He winked at me and asked,

"Buy a pape, sweetheaht?"

I ran to him, before he could go. But before I could reach him, he faded from view. I broke down sobbing. No one came to help me. They just hurried past. I forced myself to stop. I was going to do something about this. I would not let them haunt me. I would find them. I headed off to the library.

It took me years, but eventually I learned what had happened to most of my friends. It was difficult, especially since I didn't know many of their true names. But I did it. I found each and every one. Except for a single boy. I never did find Jack. I scoured records, manifests, obituaries. But he seemed to have just disappeared. I did find, much to my amusement, though, that picture that had been taken after the Circulation Center fight. You could see my face between Jack's feet. I guess I didn't make it out of the picture after all.

I started to ask around the internet for any clues about his whereabouts. I posted on ancestry and history discussion forums, put ads up anywhere I could and contacted countless genealogists and historical societies. Still, nothing. It had been months since I stopped searching, when I received an email, regarding a post I had made on a forum.

Dear Charley, it read. My grandson recently found a post that you had left on a forum. He didn't tell me which one, but he said that you were looking for a man named Jack Kelly, or Francis Sullivan. You also said that he was from Manhattan, but you lost track of him right around 1900. I might have known the man that you are looking for.

The Jack Kelly I knew was from Manhattan, and had come west in 1901, looking for a ranch. He worked as a ranch hand on my grandfather's ranch just outside Santa Fe, New Mexico. He's buried here in town. If you are still looking for Jack, and think that this could be him, please contact me.

Sincerely,

Joseph Baum

I immediately wrote back.

Dear Mr. Baum.

I do believe that the Jack Kelly you knew could very well be the one I'm seeking. When is the earliest that I could come see you?

-Charley

I was about to get up from my computer and go get a drink when my computer made a notification sound. I looked down to find an email waiting from Joseph Baum. I sat back down and opened it.

Charley,

You are welcome to come out at any time. Please call me when you wish to come, and we can arrange to meet.

At the bottom of the message was a phone number. I saved it in my phone and typed my reply.

I'm flying out tonight.

I stood up and went to my room to begin packing. I was nearly finished when my mom asked,

"Aaannddd where do you think you're going?"

"I'se flying out ta Santa Fe. Please move, I'se got a flight ta catch."

Her mouth pulled into a thin line. She hated my speech now, but she had stopped correcting me long ago.

"No, dear. You're not."

"Muddah, I'se nineteen yeahs old. I'se'll go wheahevah I'se damn well please, 'nd you'se ain't gonna stop me."

She knew she was losing. She had one parting remark, before storming off. "Make sure you have somewhere else to come home to."

I nervously knocked on the door of a small, dusty little home. It opened a minute later, and I found myself looking at an old man. He had the air of someone who was ancient, but he didn't look that way. A life of hard work had kept him in shape. His leathery face stretched into a smile.

"You must be Charley." He greeted me. "Come in, come in!"

"Danks." I followed him through the house to a cheery little kitchen. He motioned for me to take a seat.

"Would you like anything? A drink, or a sandwich?" He offered.

"No, dank you. I'se fine."

Mr. Baum sat across from me and studied my face for a minute. I removed my cabbie cap and twisted it nervously through my fingers. His eyes lingered on my short black hair, my scars, my broken nose.

"You're even more beautiful than he said you would be."

"Pahdon?" I asked, startled.

"He knew you were coming. He told me to watch for you. See, when I was a little boy, Jack told me his secret, well, I guess it's more your secret than his. He told me that he had met a beautiful girl before he left, but she was from the future. He said that she would look for him, sometime around 2009."

"And you believed him?"

"I've never met a more honest man in my life." He stated. I snorted.

"Dat's not da Jack I knew."

"He left this for you." Mr. Baum pulled out a worn envelope, sliding it across the table to me. I recognized the hasty, crooked writing. It could only be him. I opened it quickly.

Dear Charley, I read. I could hear Jack's voice, reading to me.

First, I wanted to say that I love you. I said it, on that day so long ago, but you didn't wait to hear it…

Tear blurred the words and I carefully folded the paper and tucked it back in its envelope before I could stain it with my tears. Mr. Baum passed me a tissue.

"Would you like to go see him?" he asked softly. I nodded yes, and he helped me to my feet, linking his arm through mine.

He led me to the cemetery and up the hill in the center. On the backside of the hill, there was a secluded grave, shaded by a grove of twisted, ancient trees. We stopped a few feet away.

"Charley? I'll give you some time to be alone with him." Mr. Baum carefully unlinked his arm from mine, leaving me.

I sat carefully next to the grave, brushing the dirt from the headstone with my finger tips. His name—Francis "Jack Kelly" Sullivan. His dates—August 4, 1882 and May 21, 1971. A single line of words—I made it, Charley.

"I'se missed you'se." I said quietly to Jack. "I'se looked for you'se, but you'se weahn't dere. All da uddahs weah, but not you'se. I'se almost couldn live widout you'se. It's been hahd. But you'se managed ta live a long life widout me. I'm glad. I'se hope it was happy."

I felt his arm around my shoulders. I leaned into his side and rested my head on his shoulder.

"I'se dunno how you'se did it. It's only been dree yeahs for me, and I'se felt like me heart was bein' crushed evahy second a' it."

A sympathetic smile.

"I'se loves you'se, Jack."

I know. I'se loves you'se, too.

He was pulling away from me.

"Wait."

I'se has ta go, Charley.

"You'se can' stay?"

No. I'm sorry.

"Den c'n I'se go wid you'se?"

He reached out a hand towards me. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me.

He kissed me gently, pulling away to look at me and smile. We linked arms and he led me away through the cemetery, away from the small, once broken body that was curled in the grass beside the grave.

He kissed me again, and I heard the newsies catcalling.

Okay, we're done, now! See, it's not all bad! A little sad yes, but everything works out. Thank you so much, each and every one of you who favorited, reviewed, added me to your alerts. I love you all, and I look forward to writing more for you! *sniffle*

Also, Spot did marry Dove, but Dove's real name is Vivienne, or Vienne. Thanks, Butterflywritter for letting me use her!