Disclaimer: I do not own newsies or any of its characters, Disney does. I own Patrick Sullivan, Lillian aka Lily, Lucinda AKA Pretty AKA Amanda, and Arthur. Sheriff belongs to Lilyanatos. The Artful Dodger belongs to Charles Dickons. The New York-ified Dodger belongs to Lilyanatos. The Quote "If you were any blinder, you'd run into a wall" was said originally by Buck in the Magnificent Seven TV Show.

(A/N: Lucinda will be revealing her true identity and her true past to Lily in the next chapter. :) )

Lucinda sniffled and let out a choked sob. Her eyes were red from crying; her cheeks wet and shiny from tears; and the pain in her heart was not physical -- but hurt just as much, if not more.

"Lucinda...What happened?" Lillian asked softly. Lucinda was vaguely aware of the question, or the other girl gently wiping her tears away with a white handkerchief.

"Arthur....Francis Sullivan's father....He...He killed....He killed my father..."

"Wh...What? Who....Who is your father, Lucinda?"

The detective came to the realization she was blurting out everything to a child of 17 who was not yet an official detective.

"My father was a good man, is all," she forced herself to sit straight and to square her shoulders. However the show of bravado did nothing to impress the young girl in front of her. She blinked in confusion, whenever she made herself straighten and push her emotions aside many simply did the same. Instead, Lillian crossed her arms and lowered her head slightly. The look she was giving reminded Lucinda of the way her mother would stare at her when she was disbelieving; it also reminded her of the Brooklyn Newsboy Leader, Spot Conlon.

"How is it you are only 17 but are as mature as a grown woman?" Lucinda sniffled, "You were not this way when we first met."

"I had to grow up," Lily shrugged, "Everyone, including yourself, told me so. I finally agreed, besides I want my father behind bars where he can do no harm....The way he treated those poor boys at the refuge yesterday....It was terrible!"

Lucinda paused, "Arthur was my father."

"I know."

The older woman looked at Lily in surprise, "How?"

"It was not that hard to figure out. You both have....Had..." She paused when Lucinda winced, "I'm sorry...You both have the same eye color."

"Had..." Lucinda whispered, "Now I despise that word." She looked at Lillian's bedroom door.

"My father never returns home until the early morning hours. However, since the strike he's not home much....Which is alright with me."

"He could be standing on the other side of the door," Lucinda replied.

"No, we'd notice if he was. His breathing is very heavy when he is attempting to be sneaky."

"Ah, I see." She gazed over at the costume she had been wearing when she knocked on Lillian's front door. A black gown, hat and veil, and a large damp handkerchief. She had wrapped a rosary around her wrist, and wore a large St. Mary pendant on a long chain. The disguise had worked out perfectly, even Lily had not recognized her.

"I....I've come here in need of your help," Lucinda finally admitted.

"Of course, I'll do all I can to help you..."

"Patrick Sullivan, Francis...Jack's father, has been following Jack and I around for sometime now. I didn't become aware of this until yesterday afternoon," her breath caught in her throat, "Before I escaped my father requested that I....Retrieve certain and important information for him. But seeing that Patrick is following me, when I am not in a good disguise, I could not possibly retrieve it. Would you? You must not tell anyone where you are going or what your business is."

"Of course, just tell me where it is. I will not tell anyone my true reasons."

Lucinda nodded, "I am counting on you.....You....Do not believe in ghosts, do you?"

--------------------------------

How had she let herself be talked into this? Oh yes, Lucinda's father was murdered and Jack's father was the culprit. Lily pulled her shawl closer around her, Jack....She had seen him coming out of Tibby's as she was passing by. She thought about saying hello to the handsome newsboy, but recalled the brown haired girl and decided against the greeting. Which was good, since he ignored her very existence when he brushed by her.

His actions had spoken louder than words: Stay away from me. Don't look at me. Don't talk to me. Just stay away.

It had broken her heart and during the entire walk to Bronx she had fought back tears of hurt. Then she decided if that was the way he wanted it, then that was just fine. He had no idea what he was missing out on. Also, she figured, she had an important duty and after it was finished she would have an important job. Heartbreak could not interfere when she had to focus on pretending to be someone else, then and now.

She glanced down at her costume, which was really an old pair of her older sister's clothing. An ankle length light brown skirt, old and scuffed boots, a blouse with stains all over it and a light blue shawl with small holes from moths eating it. Lucinda had done her hair so it looked frayed and hassled as if she had been working in a factory all day.

'Now remember, when someone talks to you, speak with a Manhattan accent. No proper English!' Lucinda had said before Lily took her leave.

Lily had been so lost in thought she nearly fell head over heels to the ground. After stumbling and regaining her balance she glanced down at the grand. Her heart almost stopped for a moment. She had tripped over a tombstone. But it wasn't any tombstone. 'Amanda Hearst.' Lucinda's sister's name was Amanda.

Lily looked around, high and low. Everything seemed silent. She gazed over to the far left, the Bronx Lodging House seemed quiet, except for a light in the third story upper right hand corner. Lucinda had told her not to worry about that. It was the Bronx Leaders' personal bunkroom; her name was Sheriff. Half the time she wasn't even there. Lately she was helping a sick friend in Queens.

Lillian took a deep breath before kneeling down and shoving her hands into the moist earth. She dug through the ground and pushed her finishing school's training behind her. As long as she didn't run into any corpses, she would be alright. Lucinda had told her to dig around the area of the tombstone. She grabbed handfuls of dirt and placed it into a pile beside her. When she came up with a handful of dirt and earth worms she bit back a cry of terror. She hated bugs!

She threw the dirt into the rest of the pile, after almost an hour of digging her fingernails scraped something hard and wooden. Please God do not let that be Amanda's coffin! The thought made shivers run up and down her spine. She grabbed hold of the lantern and lowered it into the hole. A small wooden box, barely larger than a book, stared back at her. In capital letters that seemed to be hastily carved into the top was the name "Amanda."

Lily grabbed hold of the box and pulled it to the surface. She shrugged her shawl off and laid the box in middle of it, then wrapped the tough but soft fabric around it. She stood and kicked the dirt back into the hole before walking and stomping over the area with her feet to pack in the dirt once again. She stooped down and grabbed handfuls of grass she had plucked from the soil and laid it atop the dirt. Then did the same with fallen leaves from a nearby tree. She grabbed hold of the box and turned to leave and gasped in surprise.

A tall boy wearing a gray top hat stood behind her. He was leaning against the tall iron fence that surrounded the cemetery. His blue jacket was tattered and torn in some places; his corduroy trousers were almost too large for him; his green suspenders held the pants up; and his boots were scuffed and seemed ready to fall apart. His face was heart shaped, his eyes large and blue, his lips thin.

"What were youse diggin up?"

"None of youse business," Lily replied, "Now get outta me way!"

"I'se t'ink not," the boy stood in her way.

"I'se said-"
"Dat's a fake accent. Youse in some kind of trouble?"

Lily froze and shook her head.

"A friend den," he stated, his eyes looked sleepy but yet he looked wide awake. This boy was much too odd for Lily.

"I'se said-"

"Youse a friend of Lucinda's?"

She froze.

"Youse ah. Why didn't ya say so?"

"You know....Pretty?"

"Lucinda, yeah," the boy shrugged, "I'se known heh since we'se were kids. Da names 'The Artful Dodger', but everyone cawlls me Dodgah."

"Lily," she replied with a quick nod, "I need to go now."

"Awright, nice meetin' youse."

"Likewise, I suppose," Lily muttered before she walked quickly out of the cemetery.

-----------------------------------

It had become habit for him to look over his shoulder constantly, since he learned of his father's presence. Jack wished he knew where his father was, he needed something solid for him to attack if the insane man every attempted to harm him or another one of his newsies. Yet, his father had not yet made an appearance to him.

"You're worried about your father finding you," Sheriff drawled in her western accent.

Jack looked over at the Bronx newsie leader. She was a few inches shorter than himself; she wore a fringed jacket, buckskin pants; a white blouse; and hidden under her jacket was a pistol in its holster. He knew she had a gun around her waist, which the jacket concealed; and another tucked into her boot. The newsgirl leader was considered just as dangerous as Spot Conlon (many mistook her guns and pistols for toys).

"Maybe," he replied with a shrug before he placed his black cowboy hat atop his head. He glanced at Sheriff's hat, which was currently against her back as it hung from its light brown cord.

"You are," she replied, "I know you, Jack. Don't forget just how well I know you."

Jack chuckled, three years ago he and Sheriff had been a couple. The relationship ended a year later when they both found they'd be better off as friends.

"Yeah, youse do know me."

"That I do," Sheriff agreed, "Want me to have some of my newsies come out here-"

"No." Jack replied, "Spot offered da same t'ing, I'se toined him down too. I'se don't need a baby sittah or nuthin' like dat. I'se just need to be careful."

"More than careful," Sheriff replied, "From what Spot tells me your father is as batty as they come."

"Yeah, he is, and not in a funny sorta way."

"He used ta hit you?"

"When 'e was mad."

"I'm sorry," Sheriff said softly as she leaned against the bunkroom's door.

"Nuthin' youse did," Jack sat down on an empty bunk and rubbed his eyes. The strike had gained more power in the last few hours. Brooklyn had joined; and following Brooklyn came Bronx, Harlem, Queens, Long Island; Midtown; and Little Italy. The Leaders' meeting took nearly four hours; the time went by quickly though as they planned. Tomorrow night all newsies from all Buroughs would meet at Irving Hall. They'd have a large meeting, then they'd listen to Medda sing and have a good time. Jack had spoken to the singer an hour ago; after agreeing to the newsies meeting she surprised him by announcing every Thursday night to be Newsie Night. It would be free admission; drinks and food would only cost a penny; and only newsies would be permitted into Irving Hall that night.

When Jack had thanked her, she had smiled and laughed, 'How else vill I see you? You rarely come by anymore!' She gave him a quick hug before returning to her show.

"I hear your sweet on Warden Snyder's daughter."

"Why is it dat news spreads fastah dan da news about da strike?" Jack questioned in amazement. He stared at Sheriff in confusion.

Sheriff laughed, "When it involves a newsie leader being attracted to someone some dangerous, like the Warden's daughter, that news will spread like wildfire."

"Youse ain't kiddin'," Jack replied.

"How come you're ignoring her?"

"Who told youse dat?"

"Dodger," Sheriff shrugged, "He was here the last few days checking on Tumbler."

"Good big brother," Jack observed.

Sheriff nodded, "The best."

"I'se....She distracts me from da strike, from awll me thoughts, from everythin'. And more importantly, she's Snyder's daughter!"

"So what if she is? She's human and from what I see nothing like her father."

"Maybe not, but she ain't interested in me."

"If you were any blinder, Cowboy, you'd run into a wall!" Sheriff scoffed while she shook her head. She stood and turned for the door.

"It's late, why don't ya stay heah tanight?"

"No, I don't want my newsies worrying about me. Besides, Dodger's probably waiting outside."

"But he went back ta da Bronx," Jack frowned.

"Yes, and he's back now."

"How do youse know?"

"He's not called the Artful Dodger for nothing," Sheriff laughed, "Not only is he the world's greatest pick pocket. He's also the fastest runner in all of New York."

"No, dat would be Floaty," Spot interrupted with a smirk.

"We'll see," Sheriff chuckled before she walked out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patrick Sullivan paced back and forth. Where the hell had that blasted box gone?! Lucinda had run off, only God knows where too. But she'd be too afraid to get that box. Who had it? He walked into Manhattan, anger making his blood boil. That box had been in the damned Earth and someone had dug it up. But who?

He had to find it before he returned out west. That box contained the evidence of Emmaline Snyder's murder. It contained the picture of him killing the innocent woman; her blood soaked handkerchief; the dagger he used; and even the neck kerchief he had been wearing at the time. Damn! whoever had that box was going to have a dear, dear price to pay: their lives for interfering with his!

-------------------------------------------

"Thank you, Lillian!" Lucinda beamed as she hurriedly took the box, "This will provide us with the evidence to catch another criminal."

"Who?"

"The man who murdered your mother," the detective replied softly as she reached under her blouse and pulled out a long golden colored key. "Patrick Sullivan."

"Was Amanda Hearst your sister?" Lily asked.

Lucinda tensed, "Yes. Twin sister, actually."

"How did she wind up being with my parents?"

Lucinda stared at Lily, "Lillian. Amanda and I were born to my father, Arthur, he was in a relationship with Mr. Hearst's wife. As a result of their love behind her husband's back, she had two children, myself and Amanda. When we were born Mrs. Hearst told her husband we were his. A week later she said we had died, really she had given us to your parents. Then our mother gave me to your parents as well. They raised us for two weeks before our birth father came to get us. 15 years later Amanda died, but I survived."

"I'm so sorry....What happened to her?"

"Scarlet fever. Now I really must look at this evidence. You are not yet an official detective so you cannot be in the room when I open this box, I am sorry."

"But....It deals with my mother's murder and I brought the box to you!"

"I know and I apologize, I really am sorry, but you must go out of the room no," Lucinda began pushing Lily from her own room.

"This is my room!"

"And you shall have it back soon. In an hour or so I will return to the newsies. Right now they think I am visiting a friend in Queens."

"Lucinda!"

"I swear, when you are an official detective I will show you the contents of this box. I promise." The detective replied as she shut the door.

Lily began to kneel down to peep through the keyhole (may her mother, wherever she may be in the great beyond, never hear of this) to try to see. But Lucinda had stuffed something into the keyhole. Darn it. One day, by heck or high water, she would see the contents of that box.