Chapter Eighteen – Reflections & A Runaway
The den, on the morning following Jeremy's impromptu funeral, even when everyone was up and about, was as silent as the grave. The usually rowdy gang was quiet as new fallen snow; hardly a word was spoken, the usual laughter and noisy cheer dispersed and scattered.
Fagin didn't care that any of the lads, or even Nancy, went out on the job as they ought. None of them were even sure he noticed. Norman and Frankie would normally have used Fagin's inattentive state as fuel for a fun prank, but not today.
Not now.
Bulls Eye stuck to Bill's side, as if he knew he was the one in most need of comfort, as he'd seen the deed done. This wasn't a wise move on the dog's part; Bill's grief was now more furious than melancholic and no-one dared to stop him as he attacked the defenseless animal. Naturally Bulls-Eye put up a fight; the flat soon was filled with the sound of snarls and furious curses.
"Bill, for gawd's sake, stop it! Wot did the dog do to you?"
Nancy somehow managed to drag the now whining Bulls-Eye away from Bill, the latter of whom did not look pleased at all at her intervention. The dog soon wriggled free from Nancy's grip and scarpered to the opposite side of the loft; Nancy and Bill heard the boy's intakes of breath as they saw the bruises Bill had left him with.
He was clearly not in the temper to be crossed, and yet Nancy had stood up to him…
Bill glowered at Nancy but said nothing. What was there to be said? What he'd just done was pointless and pathetic, even he knew that, and yet he wasn't about to justify it, especially not to her. She wouldn't understand; she would never know the pain he felt...
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As the day wore on things didn't improve. It was as if time had slowed down and was grinding to a standstill, to give everyone longer to wallow in grief. Tempers were running high (not just in the case of a certain Mister Sykes) and levels of tolerance were low, so much so that Fagin had no choice but to lock the gin cupboard and take Bulls-Eye outside to keep him away from Bill. Ezra's stuffed owl wasn't as comforting as usual, however, and Fagin was forced to let the dog back in, making sure that Bill was well out of the way lest he fly into a temper and attack him again.
Eventually, Bill had had enough of the flat for the day; he felt trapped and confined, stuck in a time of sorrow and pain with no way out, no escape. He wasn't used to this feeling of confinement, and it made him uneasy. He got to his feet and headed for the door, donning his hat as he did so. Bulls-Eye thought better than to hurry to his side.
"Where are you headed, my dear?" asked Fagin, looking up from the handkerchief he was picking the marks from, his brow furrowed. He tried to sound friendly but failed miserably, managing only to sound shrewd and more than a little suspicious.
Bill didn't reply, simply opening the door and leaving it to slam shut behind him, hurrying down the wooden steps, hands thrust deep in his pockets. The cold, crisp air served to relax him a little, reliving some of the tension and stress that he still felt from the previous night. But he knew, even though his heart felt a little lighter, that this burden would never be lifted.
He was a changed man; now more than ever.
He needed time to think, time to be alone, away from the gang, far from the suffocating, choking sadness and anger that had the den in an iron grip…he didn't know where he was going, he didn't care.
It was getting late by this time, the sun already beginning its descent, and yet the young housebreaker was still having trouble piecing together the fragments of his thoughts, coming to terms with a reality he would have never thought possible, a reality he'd never imagined, even in his wildest dreams or most haunting nightmares…
Jeremy was gone, he knew that. But how could he go housebreaking without him? How could he continue as he had done, without his faithful companion at his side? Although he'd never admitted it, Jeremy was his best friend in the gang, although the name Bill Sykes didn't readily loan itself to such sentimental terms.
And then, of course, there was Nancy; feisty, quick witted and brave in the face of adversary, such as himself. When it came to her, Bill wasn't sure how he felt. She had been the bane of his life when she first came to the gang and yet…there was something about her, he wasn't exactly sure what, that made him feel…
Bill shook his head, abruptly throwing that train of thought off its tracks. What was he thinking? He must be mad! Not as mad as Fagin, but mad enough to even suppose-
Fagin.
Something clicked into place in Bill's mind; at last he had found the answer to all his questions, the reason for Jeremy's demise. It had been Fagin who'd forced them into housebreaking, Fagin who'd found that house, Fagin who'd insisted they do the job together…Bill didn't stop to take into account the role he'd played; how it had been he who'd forced Jeremy to join him although the latter was scared senseless at the very idea, how it had been his enthusiasm and vigour for such a dangerous job had inspired similar feelings in his friend, how he'd hated Jeremy for allowing his old insecurities to resurface…
He was running now, running back to the den…it wasn't the dog who deserved to be battered and bruised, it was Fagin; a more cruel, heartless and mad old man Bill had never known… Up the steps, across the bridge, he could almost hear Fagin's panicked voice as he tried to feign innocence…
The door to the den burst open just as Bill reached it, and who should emerge but Fagin himself, a grubby bottle of gin clutched tight in one knarled hand. Bill stopped in his tracks at the sight of him; in the light of the dying sun, Fagin ceased to look vulnerable and instead looked threatening, with his wild hair and beard, the crazed look of old back in his eye.
Something was wrong, something new.
Before Bill could gather his thoughts enough to form the appropriate verbal assault he had planned, Fagin noticed him and hurried over, hurriedly stuffing the gin bottle in his pocket.
"You wouldn't happen to have seen Nancy in your travels would you, my dear?"
Bill hated the way his heart leapt at the sound of her name.
"No, I haven't," he said flatly. "Why? Where'd she go?"
"That's the thing, my dear. She went off at about three, to find you, I think, and she hasn't been back since! And now you're here without her…"
Bill was surprised; Nancy had gone to find him? Why? And where could she be, where could have gone? She hadn't been initiated to the Cripples yet, so she wouldn't be there…could she have gone late afternoon pickpocketing? No, that would have been foolish, with the weather this bad, no toffs would be about!
Why did Bill feel so worried, so apprehensive? He'd been all set to beat Fagin's brains out, and yet the mention that Nancy had disappeared had changed his fury to fear…
Fagin bit his lip.
"I was just about to go and-"
Bill shook his head. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt a sense of obligation; Nancy had gone after him, hadn't she? Gawd knows why…
"I'll go Fagin."
"As you wish, my dear…"
Fagin stared worriedly after Bill as he ran back the way he'd come.
The old man did wonder however, albeit momentarily, why his young ward had been in such a hurry to return to the den in the first place.
Surely there was nothing he wanted there.
Not now.
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A/N: Spur of the moments plot twist which will lead, methinks, to some interesting character development. ^^
Hurray!
Please R&R!
