I didn't remember much, my injuries told much more than I could recall. The pain was paralyzing. There wasn't a part of me that felt okay. Francesca had done her best to patch me up, but I knew there wasn't anything she could do that could undo what had happened. I had bruises on my lips, my neck, my chest, my hips. I could guess what had happened- what the Reaper had done. I knew, and she knew too. The knife on my leg had been stripped away, my Saint Francis medal hung on my neck, blood flecked on the saintly inscription.

I didn't think I could hurt anymore until I saw Bumlet's face and then my heart broke. His eyes said it all. He saw my hair, and my mangled face. He saw the blood and the bruises and the cuts on my shoulder and neck and arms- he saw everything the white bed sheet failed to cover. His mouth fell open, and he was silent.

"I'm sorry," I croaked. It was all I could think to say.

"All this time? You-"

"Yeah," I responded, cutting him off. He looked away. He said nothing, turned around, and left. My tears came immediately. They didn't stop for hours, Francesca and Sal held me as I cried. I think my heart hurt worse than any of the injuries. I drifted away into numbness. Flashbacks of the things that had been done to me came in my sleep. The nightmares were vivid.

2 Weeks Later

It's a terrible thing to know that you've been the cause of someone's unbecoming. And I knew I was to blame. It was a fact. Francesca and Sal vehemently denied it, but I knew the truth. Sal sold his bakery to a mafia boss at no profit to make up for his and my sins against them. They took his offering, but banished us to Connecticut.

It wasn't too bad- at least that what Francesca said. Sal found a cheap house to rent and he was beginning to use the bottom level for the bakery. He had begun handing out free pastries to well off families, and he had enticed five families who had begun to spread the word.

The house had a huge backyard, and a clothesline that Francesca would use. She spent most of her time walking around outside happily, and Sal spent most of his time watching her smile. They had enough rooms in the house that I had just begun helping her paint the baby's room. I know that Sal was sad about leaving his bakery, and I knew they were both worried about me losing everything.

I thought about Bumlets and Owl everyday. I couldn't not think about them. The pain and the regret I felt would fill up my chest, and I couldn't breathe. I cried every night. I just wanted to leave, to quit being a burden.

I read the newspaper that Sal had left in the kitchen one morning, and I read that the strike had ended and the newsies had won. I smiled sadly. I felt out of place, like a damaged puzzle piece that couldn't quite fit in anywhere. I didn't know what I was going to do. I began to wish that I had died by being hit by the car, or by the torture that ensued from Umberto and his posse.

I didn't belong in my own time, and I didn't belong in the past. I just wanted it all to end.

Bumlet's Perspective

"Look, kid," Crutchy demanded. "I know something is wrong with you, and I know it has something to do with Prize. You have to tell me what's going on."

"Nothing is going on," I spat back at him, angry because he had me cornered on the roof. "Mind your own business."

"This is my business. That Owl kid cries to me all the time and follows me around because Prize is missing. Everyone thinks he's either dead or a traitor. You were his best friend, and you're acting like he's the least important person to you. You can't fool me, kid."

"Oh yeah?" I spat back. "I think you're wrong."

"Oh really? You don't think I can see right through you?"

"No, I don't think you can," I said through clenched teeth, trying not to push him.

"Yeah? Then how would I know that you and Racetrack are brothers who go to Little Italy to be with your family every Sunday?"

"How do you know that?" I gasped, my mouth wide open.

"You don't give a lot of credit to the cripple, huh? I know lots of things, Bum. I need you to tell me what's going on."

"Fine, I give up," I sighed. The story was itching to get out of my chest anyways. We sat down, and I told him everything, in much more graphic detail than I had even told to Race. He was silent for a few minutes after I finished the recounting.

"Let me get this straight," Crutchy began, I nodded him on. "Prize, who was your best friend, is actually a girl. A girl who was attacked and probably violated by the biggest jerk leader in the four boroughs. She was attacked and left for dead- you rescued her. When you went in to see if Prize was okay, you realized he was actually a girl, and even though you guys were best friends and she almost died- you walked out on her."

"Okay, that's not fair-" I began angrily.

"Hey, life isn't fair, buddy. You've made a huge mistake." Crutchy got up to leave.

"Where are you going?" I cried.

"Someone has gotta fix your mistake for you. And this kid Owl has got to leave me alone."

"Her uncle sold the bakery. They left." I answered. I had walked back a few days ago to see if there was any change in the situation. I had seen a mob boss on the street who nodded at me as if I had done nothing wrong,. Sal had done something to appease them.

"You don't think I didn't know that? Sheesh, gimme some credit kid." Crutchy walked out, and I sat back down on the roof. That kid was a lot smarter than I gave him credit for.

I wonder where she was.