Part II, Chapter XVII
April 15, 1902
Brooklyn, New York
In the early morning of the next day, before the sun had even risen, Spot lay wide awake. He stared above him at the ceiling, his eyebrows cinched, and he was in deep thought. He hadn't slept a wink that night, and he and Emma had hardly spoken, let alone make love. She slept soundly next to him facing the opposite direction. She hadn't moved from that spot since she had fallen asleep. With a sigh, Spot nestled his arms behind his head.
His eyes were tired and his eyelids tried giving in to sleep several times, but his mind wouldn't stay quiet. All he could think about was Brooklyn. And Emma. And how he had royally fucked up both. How had that managed to happen in just a matter of days?
Nevertheless, he knew what he had to do. Brooklyn didn't stand a chance of fighting Crown Heights without a leader. They may have had a better chance had he not shunned Bolt so quickly -- but now, his boys had no leadership at all. Yet there was Emma. What was he to do with her? Somewhere near the five a.m. he had to compromise.
Wearily he arose from the bed and pulled on his pants. The sun had started to come up, finally, and Spot began to feel the effects of no sleep. His head ached and his stomach lurched with hunger. He walked over to Emma's side of the bed and sat down. He didn't want to wake her because he didn't want to upset her. That was one reason why he had spoken barely a word to her -- he didn't want to see her upset anymore. He knew Emma's face all too well when it was sad and distraught, mostly because he had hurt her in the past. He couldn't bare the thought of her unhappiness again, so he refused to speak last night. He knew her all too well to know that was the same reason why she hadn't talked to him either.
Biting his tongue now, though, he nudged her gently awake. He rubbed her back gently as she rolled over, waking up, and his hand slid onto her stomach. He smiled guiltily.
"What's wrong?" she asked, almost alarmed.
He pressed his lips together before responding. "I have to go."
"Where, what's going on?" Emma sat up. Spot's hand moved to hold her hand -- he didn't want a moment to pass that he wasn't at least touching her.
"Em, I gotta go back to the lodging house, at least for today."
The sadness started working its way onto her weary face. Don't cry, thought Spot. Fer the love 'a god, don't cry. To combat this action, Spot quickly added on.
"Or at least fer the morning. I can't ignore Brooklyn. I don't want you leavin' the room though. I checked all the windows and locked 'em. When I leave, please, please, lock the door, and put a chair underneath the doorknob."
Emma sank down into her pillow. Spot could see not a look of sadness anymore, but now fear. Her shockingly green eyes were filled with uneasiness. It sent a shiver up his spine. Emma nodded nervously and exhaled a shaky breath.
"Alright. I'll just, I'll make myself busy. Doing something. I'll find something. I suppose," she answered, her voice trembling.
Spot looked at her deeply for a moment. He watched the emotions in her face become more and more intense, more and more real. She never had been one to mask emotion, and she certainly wasn't fooling anyone at the present time. Before Spot could break down and give up Brooklyn entirely for her, he let her go and walked towards the door.
"Spot."
Just as he reached for the doorknob, he turned around, and Emma jumped out of bed and rushed over. She threw her arms around him and kissed him fiercely. At first Spot's hands grabbed her hips, until a moment later he kissed her back with the same intensity and he wrapped his arms around her as tight as he possibly could.
"You have to come back," she said adamant.y. Her voice was breaking. "Okay? Please say you'll come back."
Spot pushed back the hair from her face quickly and pressed his forehead against hers. It was hard for him to speak. He closed his eyes. "I'll come back. I'm not leavin' you."
Emma nodded, tears pouring from her eyes. "Okay," she breathed, "I believe you."
She broke away, her fingers letting go of his as she backed away. Spot, before he was more inclined to stay, turned around and left the room. Emma sat on the edge of the bed and buried her face into her hands. She tried her best to calm her racing heart, to breathe, to believe herself when she told Spot she believed him. But all that was going through her mind was whether or not she would see Spot again, and if she did, would she be able to be with him?
Suddenly everything became too much for her to handle and she felt nauseous. Panicky, she searched the room for a bucket or anything to throw up in. Finding nothing, she raced out of the room and into the washroom. She vomited into the toilet as soon as she fell into an empty stall, and felt her entire body collapse. Exhausted though she was, she laughed at the gross irony that she had reacted the same way Spot had the day before when faced with tremendous panic.
As Emma reached for the door to the washroom, Spot's cautions about not leaving the room suddenly caused her body to rake with nerves. She felt completely unsafe. Her hands went cold and wet as she grabbed the doorknob, and a strange sensation ran through her back, causing goose bumps to spring up all over her body. She rushed out of the washroom and stopped with her back against the hall of the corridor. It was still somewhat dark out, for there were no windows in the hallway. But out of the corner of her eye the front door of the lobby opened and light spilled inside.
"Mornin' Mr. Crenshaw. No luck this time, eh?" she heard Rosie ask the boy who had just come in.
"No, Rosie, no luck. I'm starting to really, really get worried. It's Peter, remember?"
Emma's body froze. She closed her eyes and didn't want to look because she didn't want to believe it. She pressed her back into the wall and cursed between her gritted teeth.
"I've tried going to the bakery, but they haven't seen her," she heard Peter continue.
"My god. That's just terrible, I'm so sorry Peter."
No, you're not sorry, thought Emma. I can't feel guilty about one more thing. As they continued their conversation, Emma stepped slowly to her side and dropped her face low. She could see her room, it was so close! Fear from her lack of safety and fear of being found by Peter Crenshaw made Emma shake all over. Her body went rigid and her forehead and neck beaded with cold perspiration. Her stomach turned over again but she willed herself to take the steps closer to her room.
"Okay, describe her to me again…" said Rosie.
"She's about this tall, with blonde hair down to here, and she isn't very big, she's quite slender. She's probably wearing green, she usually wears green, that's her eye color. Her name's Emma. Emma Corwell…"
Suddenly one of the boards creaked loudly. Emma shut her eyes.
Peter sighed as he talked with Rosie. Casually he looked down the hallway. He squinted to make out the figure glued to the wall. He looked a little deeper and walked towards it slowly.
"Emma? Emma!"
Emma didn't know why, but she looked directly at Peter. He started walking towards her quickly, and she raced into her room to avoid him. She slammed the door and locked it. She grabbed the chair in the room and shoved it directly under the doorknob. She backed up, staring at the door, and fell backwards onto the bed. Her chest heaved in and out quickly as her body tried to calm down.
"Emma -- that's a pretty name."
Yet her body froze once more at the sound of an unfamiliar, spine-tingling voice. She turned, and before she could see who it was, the boy was on top of her, wrestling with her. He cupped his hand around her mouth so tight that she felt his fingertips digging into her teeth. She closed her eyes and screamed despite it being muffled, but she screamed so hard that her throat went numb. She could hear Peter banging on the door from the outside, and she wished she hadn't locked the door. There was another boy in the room, and as the first one pinned her entire body down with all of his strength, the other one promptly jumped to the bed and tied her wrists together tightly.
As soon as Spot had left the inn he felt vulnerable. He felt completely raw. He didn't feel safe. Even as he had one hand gripping the slingshot in his waistband and the other hand gripped a marble, balled up in a fist, he felt entirely penetrable.
He walked hard and fast. His jaw was clenched so tight that he thought he would lose a few teeth. Among the racing thoughts in his head there was Emma and the burning question as to whether or not she was going to be safe. He felt comfort in the fact that he had given her explicit directions to stay in the room and lock the door. Emma was smart. She wouldn't do anything to put herself in harm's way.
Spot nodded to himself. If Emma had come all the way from Philadelphia by herself, what was one morning? Still, he felt queasy. He thought his body was able to stomach situations like this -- how else could he have risen to power? He was strong. But Emma had a place in him and it tugged at his heart. It weakened his ability to focus, to think clearly. He wasn't cold when he was with Emma, and now that it affected Brooklyn, he almost hated her for it.
The lodging house was near. All he had to do was round the upcoming corner. His pace quickened and he suddenly realized he had no idea what to say when he got there. Hey boys, didja miss me? He was screwed. He saw the lodging house now and his heartbeat jumped. He passed by an alleyway, when suddenly someone stepped out in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. He grabbed his slingshot, but just before he could place the marble in the rubber band, the boy lifted his arms and Spot felt a deafening, skull-shattering blow to the back of his head.
Lights out.
His royal highness, the infamous Spot Conlon -- his knees buckled and he fell to the ground at the feet of one of Jinx's henchman from Crown Heights.
