My head felt like it was underwater.
Ugh.
I pried my eyes open and used every muscle in my body to sit up. A wave of nausea hit me and I grimaced. My head rang like a bell.
I heard a splash.
"Oh, God, don't be dead!"
Water crashed over my head. I felt my vision fading.
"Don't die on me, you lousy-" the last words were cut off by another crash of bitter cold water.
"Erin?"
I groaned.
"Erin!"
My eyes flew open and I was shocked to see an electrifying blue grey. Was I still underwater? Am I dead?
Then everything came into focus. I had been staring into Spot's eyes. Maybe we died together. Maybe, I'll see my brothers. Why does it hurt so much to be dead?
"Erin, aw you'se awake?"
"Am I dead?" I asked, my voice was rough.
"Nah."
"Darn."
He didn't looked puzzled by my response.
"You saved me?" I asked in surprise.
"Yeah, I ain't losin' somet'in' as valuable as yaself."
I then remembered the deal on the bridge.
"So am I your slave now?"
"I wasn't going to use dat woid, but that woiks just fine, awl da same."
I groaned again clutching my stomach.
"Water?"
He handed me a small cup of water, which I thirstily drank from.
"So what's the first order, master?" I said sullenly.
"Well, foist, is get bettah."
"What are you talking about, I'm fine!"
He bit his lip as though trying not to tell me something.
"What?!" I asked, my voice getting a bit shrill.
"Well when you fell you hit youh face really hawd on sumtin' an . . ."
"What!? What's wrong with my face!"
"I shouldn't a told ya," he sighed rubbing the back of his neck.
"Spot, I'll kill you if you don't tell me!"
He made no sigh of emotion but handed me a small circular object. It was a shaving mirror. I peered into the cracked glass and gasped. A deep three inch cut trailed down from my bottom left eye lid to the middle of my cheek. It was the kind of cut that left you horribly scarred.
The torn skin was red and swollen from the sea water, I could see spot had cleaned up some of the blood, but it was still oozing. I felt like throwing up again.
I sat mortified.
Spot watched.
"Oh," I choked. Spot watched me not exactly in concern but just in interest. "Oh."
"Well?" His voice broke the silence horribly.
"Well," I sighed, "there's nothing I can do about it."
I poked it cautiously. It stung a bit, but it didn't hurt too badly.
"Is there anything else I'd like to know about? Any missing limbs?" I said the last part with a hint of sarcasm.
He looked uplifted by my humor.
"Nah, your foine. But I'se want ya ta rest. No need for ya ta fall ova' again."
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"I don't need to rest!" I slowly got up, hiding my discomfort. My clothes were still damp; he obviously didn't think to change them, which was a good thing too.
He strutted right in front of me, our noses almost touching.
My heart leapt for just a second. I forced the heat in my face to go down.
He looked me over quickly. "You wouldn't last a day," he whispered in a throaty voice.
I wanted to glare but felt childish, so I stuck to rolling my eyes, and crossing my arms.
"Try me, Conlon."
He flashed a wicked grin, and leaned forward. I raised an eyebrow in confusion leaning back.
I felt his hands at on my shoulders. They gripped me and shoved me back into the bed.
"Hey!" My breath was knocked out of me by the impact of the bed.
Spot showed no mercy.
"You!" I gasped.
"Me." He chuckled. I closed my eyes exasperatedly.
Who did this boy think he was?!
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Spot's Point of View:
I could hear Jack's newsies inside talking in quiet voices. I wonder what they're talking about? I asked sarcastically. Erin had been missing for a whole day, and I wouldn't be surprised if they thought he fell into the sewer and drowned, that boy wasn't as sharp as most New Yorkers. I brushed my hair back and opened the door.
Everyone looked up at me expectantly. I noticed Kid Blink looked most expectant.
"Whaddaya want, Spot?" demanded Jack in a voice of superiority. He was looking strained and impatient.
I couldn't help but smirk. They were all worried and I was the only one that could help them.
"I'se heah ya lost a littul 'Hattan newsie." Everyone tensed, I could feel everyone glare me down.
"You-" Jack's fists were clenched then released, "do . . . do you know wheah he is?"
"I do."
Everyone waited in silent impatience.
"He's in Brooklyn safe an' sound, wheah he will stay fo' da rest a his careah (career) as a newsie."
"Why would he stay dere, Spot?" Race asked as he fingered a pair of dice.
"Because we had a deal, and now he owes me."
Everyone gasped. They all knew what a Spot Conlon deal was like: high benefits with high costs. And most of all, Spot always keeps his word. Always.
"What da hell did ya make a deal wid him for?!" Blink asked standing up. "He's just a kid!"
I narrowed my eyes at him causing him to step back. What did Blink care for? Anyways, Erin is no kid. I remember the way he fought.
"I saved his life. Now he owes me. And don't worry," I flashed them an arrogant smile, "I'll take good care of him, and maybe I'll even let ya visit ev'ry now an' den."
With that, I walked out of the room.
As the door shut behind me I could hear someone say, "dat's Spot for ya."
My lip twitched, almost smiling.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Erin's POV:
Being back out on the streets was nice for a change. Recovering from the fall was horrible. I was introduced to Spot's newsies. All of them were nice, or at least, they didn't try to kill me. It was uncomfortable listening to them, though. They usually swore and spoke about gambling and girls. I mastered, controlling my emotions from listening to their conversations.
Once Spot said I was okay, I was back, selling 10 papes a day. I didn't make as much as most, but it was a start. Spot gave me specific selling grounds (farthest from Manhattan).
No need to ask why.
"Hey, Erin!" I turned quickly and then sighed.
Doc was jogging up to me waving his last few papers. He's been checking on me constantly since the incident. Apparently he knows a lot about medicine so everyone calls him Doc.
He came up panting and looked up at me.
"Are ya feelin'-"
"All right?" I finished tiredly. He looked up apologetically. "Is Spot making you check on me?"
"Maybe. But dat ain't yer business."
"Well, you can tell Spot I am fine! F-i-n-e!"
"I do!" he interjected exasperated. "I do, but he's so paranoid!"
I rolled my eyes. Typical.
"I was already done selling for the day but was not interested in going back yet.
"Hey, whasa' mattah?" he asked cocking his head side ways.
"I don't like Spot."
"Likin' him ain't in da job description." He shrugged.
"I still don't like him." I folded my arms over my chest and sighed loudly.
"Listen, I, uh, know he can be arrogant but give him a chance. Deep down he's really a good guy." I could Doc was being serious otherwise I'd of laughed.
"Thanks, Doc. I'll . . . try to remember that." His green eyes twinkled and he waved good bye.
"Erin!" I turned again and grimaced. Speak of the devil . . .
Spot walked over, his shirt was hardly covering his chest and his cane was resting against his shoulder.
And the devil shall appear.
"What?" I asked.
"What aw you'se doin'?" he asked sounded suspicious.
"Nothing."
"Den come wid me." He walked past me, grabbing my hand.
I raised an eye brow. "Where are we going?"
"Dat's fo' me ta know an' you ta find out."
"You know that makes no sense at all, right?"
He chuckled, but kept walking.
"Please tell me?"
"Awlright. I'se tink you'se ready to come wid me for conferences."
"Conferences?"
He rolled his shoulders, as if they were tense.
"I'se king a Brooklyn, kid, I meet up wid udda leaduh's and discuss secret tings. No one else gets to heah what happens, 'cept you."
"Why me?"
"Because wid you I can discuss ting's wid no one else listening an' if sumtin' should eva happen I tink you can take care a yerself."
I felt pride grown inside.
"Don't get a swelled head." He warned.
"I won't," I promised.
We turned into a nice restaurant. A lone man stood at the counter but it was otherwise, empty.
Spot strolled up to the counter and tapped on it three times. The man looked up with fearful eyes. He jerked his head, indicating we should go through the back. I followed Spot out to the back. We were in a shaded alley, near a box of deserted papers. Standing in the shadows was a single boy. He was stronger looking than Spot, and didn't look any friendlier.
"What do ya want, Spot?" the boy asked in a deep voice.
"I want information, Shadow."
The boy's eyes shifted to me then to Spot.
"Got yerself a second in command, I see."
"He's merely here as an assistant," Spot spoke quietly but dangerously.
"Kinda short, ain't he?"
"You should know betta den ta judge people based on dere height." Spot answered.
"True," he nodded, "so what information do ya want?"
"I wanna know why youh boys aw sneakin' inta Brooklyn every udda night."
Spot was watching Shadow's unperturbed face.
"Just visin' friends, I guess. Why? Do ya think I sent 'em dere?"
Spot starred with cool eyes. "Well I'se tink dey ain' jus' visitin' 'cuz I'se seein' dem walk out wid packages, an I wanna know what dey want in Brooklyn dat dey can't have in da Bronxs?"
Shadow narrowed his eyes. He calmly looked at his finger nails, as if to check for dirt, then looked back up.
"Well, Spot. If I were you'se I would be more concoined about sometin' else besides what me boys aw doing in Brooklyn."
"What should I be worried about?" Spot asked impatiently.
Shadow smiled knowingly, "about what dey're doing now!"
I looked to the end of the alley. "Spot look out!" I yelled. I shoved him over quickly, hearing a silent curse as he fell.
Then I felt something crash into my body, wait, not a crash, but it felt like one. Like a huge crash of pain that was concentrated on one spot. I looked down and saw a stream of red soaking my shirt. I looked up and saw three boys carrying pistols, aimed at me and Spot.
I glanced at Spot, who was back on his feet assessing the situation.
"Wha's dis, Shadow?" He asked angrily.
"I'se don't like snoopy people like you'se, Spot."
I could hear the boys cocking their guns.
"Spot run!" I screamed, this time not talking in english. Somehow we managed to run back into the restaurants and back outside. I could hear the boys coming.
"Come on," Spot urged, pulling my hand. I was being fueled by adrenaline, but at the same time I felt dizzy.
I keeled over and blacked out.
When I woke up the first thing I realized was that my mouth was really dry. It felt like sandpaper. The second thing I realized was that my chest hurt. A lot. Even breathing hurt.
The third thing I realized was Spot and Doc were watching me. Intensely.
Weakly I opened my eyes, trying to sit up. I felt like I would black out again.
"Careful! You'll kill yourself!" Doc warned, grabbing my shoulders and steadying me. I looked down at his touch and saw that they had bandaged my chest up. But that means . . .
"So," Spot spoke in a strange tone, "how do ya feel?"
"Great," I spoke cautiously. My head spun and I almost fell backwards and hit my head, if Doc didn't catch me.
"Yeah, I can tell." I laughed a little, but it came out as a cough. My lips were wet, so I wiped them off and looked at my sleeve. Blood.
"So, how'd we escape?" I wheezed.
"I carried ya back to da lodge house. You were pretty light, with all dat blood outta ya."
I raised my eye brows and felt my eyes almost roll back. How much blood was it? I imagined the streets covered in red.
"I see you fixed me up," I spoke up in a pained voice.
"Um, about dat . . ." Doc sounded regretful. "I couldn't remove da bullet widout killin' ya, so it's still dere. You'll just have to live wid it fo' da rest a yer life."
I choked back my words.
"It's still in me?!" My voice was hysterical.
"Be thankful youh alive, dat's a miracle!" Spot spoke up. "I'se was shuah you'se was dead!"
"Oh . . ."
Spot turned to Doc and told him to leave. Doc exited, giving me one last apologetic glance.
"Now." Spot said once the door closed. "You have some explainin' ta do."
I shifted uncomfortably. "What?"
"I'd like ta know what a goil is doin walkin' around like a boy." Spot looked at me with an unreadable expression.
"Uuuuhhh-"
"Ya don't have ta answer now. But I want one eventually."
"Okay."
"In da meantime, I hope ya knows, you still aw woikin' fo' me, goil or not."
"Yessir." I replied sullenly.
"An, none 'a da boys aw gonna find out about dis, right?"
"Yessir."
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Yesterday's traumatizing events obviously don't mean I couldn't sell. Spot had me and about with ten papes in hand. My wound was wrapped carefully, so it was practically unseen and the blood couldn't seep through.
Spot told me what routes to avoid getting too close to the Bronx wouldn't dare enter Brooklyn territory in the day time it was better safe than sorry.
In addition, Spot ordered Doc to follow me everywhere. Not that he told me, I figured after Doc was trailing behind me suspiciously.
"Doc!" I called as he pretended to look at a bouquet shop. He looked up and was at my side instantly.
"What's the problem?" he asked in concern.
I narrowed my eyes and sighed.
"I'm being stalked by a creepy newsie that was sent by Spot! Do you think you could help me with this?"
He blinked and relaxed his shoulders.
"Erin, Spot said to. I'se gotta."
"What if I disappeared for a while?" I asked.
"Ah, not happenin'."
"Can I ask something, then?"
He looked cautious but nodded.
"What did you think when you first found out . . . what I am?"
He shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably and scratched the back of his head.
"Um, well ta be honest, I really didn't know what ta think. I neva' woulda imagined- I just- I mean, You're so tough an' awl I jus' couldn't believe it, I guess."
I took in his words quietly, looking off to the side.
"But, it's not dat you'se ain't . . . um, pretty or anyt'in' you'se pretty an' tough. Yous'e pretty darn tough. But also pretty, if ya get what I'm sayin' . . .?" he looked unsure if his words made sense and I could tell he was getting nervous.
I couldn't help but laugh. "I think I get what you're tryin' ta say."
He sighed in relief and returned to his normally smiley self.
We walked back to the lodge house quietly. Not the awkward kind of silence, but the serene kind. When I got back Spot was there, in the back, coolly watching us enter.
"I'se gotta tawk wid ya, Erin." He called, his stormy eyes boring into mine.
"Um, sure."
He led me up to his room and closed the door behind us. "Sit," he ordered. I sat on the small bed and waited patiently.
He pulled off his cabbie hat and agitatedly brushed his fingers through his hair. I briefly thought of how cute he looked when he was stressed but then focused again on the situation at hand.
"Am I in trouble?" He looked down at me, his eyes unreadable.
"Nah, well, sorta." He came up to me and pulled off my hat. My oddly colored hair fell down to my shoulders. It was growing and would need to be cut soon.
I looked up at him confused.
He looked at my hair with a calculating expression.
"I think we already know I'm a girl," I said annoyed. I wanted him to talk.
His eyes glared for a second and then calmed.
"I'se wanted ta see again. I jus' can't believe it." His gaze made me feel uncomfortable. I turned my face but he grabbed my chin and forced me forward. "Hold still a second!" He got down on one knee and carefully examined my face.
I raised an eyebrow, to show my confusion. "Ah, now I see it."
"Took you long enough," I remarked.
"No, I see your bravery." I looked at him carefully.
"What are you talking about? You can't see bravery!"
He grinned devilishly at me.
"I can. It's in the face, deep in da lines. I see you 'ave a lot, too. Dat's why you faced me and den took dat bullet."
"I wasn't being brave! That was in the spur of the moment!" I exclaimed.
"Nope, dat's bravery for ya!"
I rolled my eyes, "so what are we supposed to talk about?"
"Listen, I was t'inkin' dat maybe being a goil is a good idea. We could use dat as a disguise or ta fool people. It's actually brilliant, 'cus you can hold yer own.
"I suppose, but what do you want me to do?"
"Nothin' for now, but be prepared for special missions."
"What do you mean by 'special'?"
He smirked, "you'll see!"
Spot Conlon never ceases to surprise me.
