note: We're gettin there... slowly but surely, we're gettin there. To all the readers (and especially reviewers) that have been sticking to this... THANK YOU. I love you all oh-SO-very-much!

twenty-two: keys.

Dutchy sent me a desperate plea of a look as we left, but I ignored him, set on finding out exactly what Spot had to tell – or show – me. One of Spot's minions had returned and now stationed himself at the door of the shack. I almost grinned in spite of myself, because Dutchy was probably going to go crazy in there alone.

Outside it was raining lightly. Normally this wouldn't bother me, but the rain was so cold and the night so dark that I found myself to be quite uncomfortable, and crossed my arms over my chest, irritated and hoping that whatever Spot was doing wouldn't take long.

Our walk started in silence, so I was surprised when, after we had left the docks, Spot spoke up.

"How was she?" he asked, looking at me as he walked as if his eyes could tell him something that my voice would not. "How does she look?"

"She looks good," I said honestly. Then, carefully, I asked, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Three years," Spot said, no longer meeting my eyes. "Three years, oh, four months."

"She doesn't come here? Not ever?"

"She never wanted to leave Elke alone," he said. I pulled my arms tighter around myself.

"Elke's gone, Spot," I said. He didn't answer. I wondered if he'd known. Three years, I thought, then remembered something, something that had been bothering me. Something that Swifty had been using lately to take a few cheap shots against me. "Spot," I said, trying to figure out the best way to word what I wanted to say. "Do you ever… I mean… three years… don't you find yourself, you know, forgetting?"

I had some fear that he would laugh at the question, but he just shook his head. "No," he said flatly. "Not for a minute." I nodded to myself, feeling a little… well, dumb. It was just one of those things. You spend too much time on this side, you forget about the Dark. Not that it exists, just… what happened. What you've done. Who you know. I hadn't though it was possible. Actually, when I'd left, over a year before, I'd hoped that I'd forget, and forget fast. But it doesn't work that way. It's like someone comes in and messes up your memories one by one, makes them all vague and fuzzy so when you have to use them, they're no good. We called it dismemory.

Swifty wouldn't leave me alone about that. He thought it meant I was too good for him and for the Dark. But really, that was just his own arrogance showing through. He thought that even if he lived on the Other side for the rest of his life, he would never forget a thing. I knew he was wrong, but what could I say? It could never be proved, not if he just hid in the Dark forever. There was only one person I knew of that had never forgotten a thing, and that was Mr. Kloppman, who ran our lodging house. Kloppman, who was paranoid and superstitious and grew all the worse with age, would probably argue that it was a curse rather than a blessing. So how could Spot…

"It's too much a part of me," he said after some reflection. "I guess. I'm not… I mean, this isn't my home, you know? I'm not meant to be here." He gestured around the street down which we walked. "I'm on vacation. Vacation, that's the one that fades from your mind." He stopped, then looked at me again with that same searching gaze. "Why, you having some trouble with dismemory?" he asked.

"Um, not really," I said with a shrug. "I mean, I guess. Swifty likes to harass me about it."

"Ah," he said with a nod, then, "so there's still bad blood between you two, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "What do you know about it?"

"Only what Sofia told me," he said. "She used to write me letters," he explained, and added, "it's been awhile," in a voice so low and grim that I wasn't sure that I was supposed to hear it at all. "Here, stop."

We were in front of a large warehouse. I don't there was one unbroken window in the whole thing. Some of its bricks were missing, too, and there were no doors to speak of. Spot entered without hesitating, and I followed, trying my best to stay calm. It was a spooky place, completely dark and apparently empty. The only sound was the rain outside and on the roof, wherever that was. The silence was eerie, and I was convinced that we weren't alone in the building, but I saw nothing to prove otherwise. I almost jumped out of my skin when a gust of wind blew some of that rain in and on my arm, though.

Spot pulled a cobweb out of his hair and made for a door at the opposite end of the open room. We went down two sets of stairs, touching a wall to feel our way through. The darkness was so complete that I couldn't see my hand if it were right in front of my eyes, and that was more than enough to make me nervous. I just followed the scratching of Spot's shoes against the dirt floor and prayed that I wouldn't somehow be left behind.

I heard the sudden sound of metal being hit. Spot stopped abruptly and struck a match. I shied away from the sudden flare of light, and watched with an arm in front of my face as he held the match in one hand and attempted to pick the lock open with the other before the flame burned his fingertips. Somehow he succeeded, and I had to be a little impressed as the door swung soundlessly open.

"Wait here," he said, his voice surprisingly small in the pressing blackness. I waited with my back against the wall, putting on a brave face that no one could see anyway. I couldn't shake the feeling that bugs were crawling all over my skin, or that there was someone inches away from my face. In an attempt to combat this, I swung one arm around my body. No one there. Not inches away, at least. I shook my head, shuddered. Just when I thought I would probably go crazy in that damn cellar, I heard Spot return and close the door with a bang. Its lock clicked into place automatically, but he still tried the handle a few times. Then he laughed, a short, strange sound that was more disbelief than actual mirth.

"It's not like I'll need it anymore," he said, mostly to himself, I think, then felt his way around me and started back the way we had come. I followed closely behind and almost tripped up the steps once we reached them.

We crossed the ground floor quickly and were back out in the rain before I knew what had hit me. Spot shoved something into my hands, but didn't say a word about it. It was a box, dark, wooden, and flat. There was a lock on the front. I tucked it under my arm and hurried forward with my shoulders hunched against the rain. There would be time to inspect the object later, hopefully with the help of an explanation.

We arrived back at the shack on the docks and Spot burst through the door, almost stepping on Dutchy, who had been dozing on the floor. He jumped up, groggy and more than surprised, and then took a seat. Spot grabbed the other stool and I looked around for a moment, then sat against the wall. I let my head fall back and I closed my eyes briefly. I made myself a promise that once I got home for good, I would do nothing but sleep for a good three or four days straight.

Spot had reclaimed his box and now it balanced on his lap as he untangled something from around his neck. It was a bronze skeleton key on a long, twisted piece of twine, which he used to unlock the box. He flipped its lid open and took a quick glance at its contents, then passed the whole thing to me, key still in the lock. I looked inside. With barely any light in the shack, it was almost impossible to tell what I was looking at. Dutchy was leaning his chair forward, so I passed the box to him before he embarrassed himself by falling right over.

"Okay…" I said when it became evident that Spot wasn't planning on saying anything. "So, what is it?"

"It's a part of him," he said simply, voice and eyes low. "It will work for you, for your… effect."

"And… this isn't important to you?" I asked with a frown, thinking of the lengths we had gone just to get the damn thing.

"Of course it is," he snapped. "Why do you think I've held onto it for all these years, because it's pretty? It's my key to getting back in, at least right now." I reached forward and took the box back from Dutchy.

"Yeah," I said, "but what is it?"

"Does it matter?" he asked with a sharp look. I shrugged nonchalantly and set the box at my feet. I closed its lid as an afterthought.

"When it's destroyed, he should be out of commission for a short time," he explained. "That's when I come in. Anytime other than now, I wouldn't have even told you about this. But I've been stalling for too long. I have what I need here. I have allies on the other side. Why not now?" He stood and started pacing again. "Why not now? I'll move fast, that sorry bastard…" He stopped to light himself a cigarette, and in the process must have forgotten his train of thought, because he turned and spoke to Dutchy directly.

"He must have done something real bad," he said. "Specs, I mean." Dutchy stiffened. "I mean, I dunno what happened. But Fever? That's tough, you know. That's real tough. You don't just do something like that if you're pissed at someone, right?" He paused. "Gotta wonder why he didn't just kill the kid, though." Dutchy said nothing.

"We don't know what happened," I said. Both ignored me. I tried again, wanting to hear what Spot had to say, even if it was just speculation. "Besides, he wasn't there long enough to piss anyone off. I mean, how do you even do that? How do you get close to Brooklyn?"

"You don't get close to Brooklyn," Spot hissed, stepping up real close to me. His words echoed what Swifty had said a few days earlier, but they had been talking about two completely different people. I got the uncomfortable feeling that I'd just crossed some imaginary line, and picked up the box lest he try to take it back. He watched my actions and took a step back, sucking hard on his smoke.

"You should probably get going," he said plainly. "I expect you'll wait until morning to get after Sofia." When neither of us answered, he added an extra "yeah?"

"Yeah," I said dully, "yeah, of course." We would have gone after her anyway, but now we couldn't waste any time, or Spot would be on us in a flash. We didn't even know where she was. We had overstayed our welcome, though, so we made for the door.

Spot, who must have been reading my thoughts, let us out and clapped me on the back as I stepped through. "I'm sure you'll find a way," he said with false cheer. He closed the door at Dutchy's heels and we were left there, soaked to the bone in the darkness of unfriendly territory.

"Let's go then, lads," said a tired voice from my right. Dibs had reappeared and beckoned for us to come with him. I guessed he was our escort, and was a little relieved. I hugged the box tight to my chest and the three of us left the docks without any other words between us. As we walked, I noticed more and more boys going in the opposite direction. He's rallying the troops, I thought. And I realized then that this was about to get a lot bigger than a Fever and a Cure. I guess it already was.

It was near dawn when we emerged on the Manhattan side of the bridge, exhausted and footsore. The city's early birds were just starting to stir, but all I wanted to do was curl up on a comfortable piece of sidewalk and forget about everything for a few wonderful hours. To make matters worse, the box I was carrying seemed to get heavier and heavier with each step. Still, I didn't dare set it down.

I almost dropped it, though, when we came around the next corner and saw that sitting on a stoop enjoying a smoke was none other than… Snoddy?

He jumped to his feet as soon as he saw us, and his demeanor changed completely. He was clearly paranoid about something, and had dark bags under his eyes. I could see that his cigarette trembled in his hands as he walked to meet us.

"Good to see you," I offered with a halfhearted smile. True, it was good to see the kid – by all accounts, he'd gone missing sometime last week – but I had a feeling that Snoddy would be bringing us nothing but bad news. Why else would he just show up like this?

"Yeah," he said dismissively. "Come on, walk with me."

"What's wrong?" I asked after a few beats. I just needed to get straight to it. He seemed relieved that he wouldn't have to engage in any small talk. He didn't bother to ask about the Cure or talk about Specs… he probably didn't really care. Snoddy was always sullen, and a little narcissistic, and probably thought that he'd been tricked into helping, anyway.

"I heard about Sofia," he said, walking quickly. I figured I had to take two strides for his every one, and I wasn't happy about it. Damn his long legs.

"What about her."

"She… Iceman has her, Race."

I stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk, but Snoddy just kept walking. I rolled my eyes and jogged to catch up. "How… oh." I'd completely forgotten – Snoddy had been working for Iceman for years, now, ever since he was even shorter than me. I didn't know where he stood in their hierarchy over there, but it must have been fairly high for him to have information like that.

"I'll be seein ya," he said, and I slowed my pace to allow him to leave us. He turned at the next block, and that was the end of it.

"Shit Race, I'm sorry, but I'm so confused right now," Dutchy said at my side.

"Um, yeah," I said, distracted and staring off in the direction that Snoddy had gone. "Dutch, you got a smoke?"

"…What? No."

"Snoddy works for the Iceman," I explained. "We only have a few blocks to go… anyway, I dunno how he found out, but… we have to trust him. It's the only lead we have."

"So he's still working for that guy?" Dutchy asked.

"What? Yeah, I mean, why not?"

"Well, I thought that Kid Blink had blown your cover. With the whole scar thing."

"Oh, well… I guess that's another thing you don't know."

"About what? About Snoddy?"

"About Snoddy. His… you know, his power or what have you. He can, I don't know, heal himself… like…" I tapped the scar below my ear, which was still pink and quite hard to hide. "He doesn't have this. You probably didn't notice. But… yeah. Just about anything short of death, he deals with it. Who knows how, but… that's the way it is."

I left it at that. I didn't need to get into anything else. Snoddy, he hated it. It had caused all that sullenness, that narcissism, that paranoia. He was used so badly on the other side, he had no faith in anyone. He was eternally being sacrificed for the betterment of someone else, and it had quickly taken its toll on him.

It was the kind of thing that got real depressing if you paused to think about it, so I was glad when I saw the pub I had been looking for and was able to take myself away from my thoughts.

"Come on," I said to Dutchy, "we're getting back through here."

Despite the hour, the door was open. The place was deserted save for a burly man enjoying a mug of coffee at the bar. He gave us a quick once over, then just nodded and went back to his brew. I showed Dutchy to the back of the pub, where there was an innocent looking door with a dull brass knob.

"Ladies first," I said weakly. He ignored me and opened the door, stepping into what appeared to be some sort of small closet. I turned and tipped my hat to the guard at the bar, who just raised an eyebrow. Holding the box tightly, I stepped through and closed the door behind me.

"Ah, fuck me," said Dutchy.