I know, I know - it's about time, right?
But, um, I feel like you guys are all kinda excited for this and so I have to warn you it's not the best. Like, I'm not soooo ridiculously late in posting it because I was working on a masterpiece or anything, just because I couldn't figure out how I wanted to write the ending and because I severely lacked motivation. I mean, I hope you like it . . . but don't get your hopes up too much. Although I think it does the idea justice? I don't know. Let me know ;)
Standard disclaimers apply.
The article is done by nightfall — as he knew it would be — and it's printed less than a week later.
She doesn't speak with her father when she goes to turn it in, and he doesn't so much as congratulate her on its success once it's in the papers. Although, if she's honest with herself, she knows neither of them expected it any other way. He'll forgive her — he always does. But she'd be a fool to think that they could ever be more than civil towards each other again.
Jack is beyond pleased, though, as she knew he would be. It's her second front-page article, and judging by his grin, he's confident there are more on the way. He picks her up and spins her around the room, yet while she smiles and laughs, she can barely feel his fingers digging into her hips. It must be cold in her apartment.
"You did it, Ace," he murmurs against her hair when she's slumped against him, the adrenaline that's been getting her through the days despite not sleeping at night finally used up. "It's over. You saved the world again."
She shakes her head, stubborn and unconvinced now. "It's far too late for some of those girls," she says, her voice suddenly flat, not quite meeting his eyes. The brief spark of happiness that flashed through her eyes only moments before is entirely gone, and he can't tell if it's just due to exhaustion or if something else is wrong.
"You watch what happens next," he tells her, pulling her into his arms and carrying her down the hall to her bed. She doesn't even struggle — she must be more tired than he thought. "Things are gonna get better for everyone, you'll see."
The investigation at Blackwell's Island begins on a Thursday several months after the article is released, and Katherine is there to watch it. From her place at Jack's side on the lawn that's far greener than she remembers, she sees the police go in, the nurses come out, the girls faces appearing at the windows upstairs as they gather to watch as their jailers are taken away. If any of them are crying now, she certainly can't hear it. A few even smile, their faces pale through the glass.
At first she's not sure the nurses being led away for questioning will recognize her, with her hair clean and down around her shoulders and her skirts pressed and her eyes bright and fiery once more. And many of them don't, marching straight past her and the others gathered in the shadow of the asylum without so much as a glance in their direction. They hold their heads high, but they have no power here. Katherine Plumber will never be tortured by them again.
She wishes she could say the same about being haunted by them.
She remembers the nurse that turns back to get a second look at her in an instant, even if she can't quite recall her name. And she knows in a second that she remembers her. "Kitty Parker," the nurse sneers, and Katherine's blood runs cold. "Or should I say, Pulitzer?"
Jack, ever her hero, steps closer to her. His hand on her shoulder steadies her breathing and her heart. "I guess you're familiar with how she pulled this off, then?" he asks in a dangerous voice. Katherine expects to see some measure of fear on the nurse's pasty face — just once, the reversal of roles would be comforting. But she simply smiles.
"I know you think you revealed some big lie here, Miss Pulitzer," she says. "But weren't you living a sort of lie yourself? Yes, this is some victory you've won."
The final diagnosis, harsh truth wrapped in bitter sarcasm, cuts deep. She knows the nurse is referencing her feigned insanity, but she hasn't felt the contrast between the girl who is a writer for the Sun and the girl who is her father's daughter since Jack learned her real name that afternoon in her father's office over a year ago. Is she truly herself for anyone anymore?
In the end the asylum is not shut down, but with new staff, additional funding, and more comprehensive tests to ensure that only the truly insane are sent there, it's almost as if they've won. On the ride home, Katherine tries to focus on Jack's voice and not the echo of the nurse's.
She learns the full repercussions of her article on a Monday morning in the spring. The sky is clear for the first time in a week, and aside from the occasional nightmare dragging her back to that cell, kicking and screaming, Blackwell's is little more than a distant memory.
The comment isn't directed at her, and she almost misses it as she runs down the sidewalk toward the Sun's office. The men speaking are tall and critical and dressed in uncomfortable-looking suits — not the sort of people she would normally pay any mind to. But their voices cut through her jumbled thoughts like a knife and bring her purposeful march to a screeching halt.
"Did you hear about the girls being sent from Blackwell's?"
She flattens herself against the wall around the corner and strains her ears, managing to catch snippets of the conversation. "Thorough examinations . . . Girls turned away . . . Not taken back in by their families . . . So few places for them to go . . . Prostitution . . . Death . . ."
Jack's face when she drags him out of the office looks alarmed, and she can only imagine how much worse her own expression must be, but she manages to wait until they're outside in an alley before she breaks down in tears. He listens as she chokes out what she heard, his face growing paler by the word, and they make the unconscious decision to make their way through the city and burst into her father's office simultaneously.
Joseph Pulitzer looks up from his desk with an expression on his face suggesting someone let a particularly bothersome fly into the room. Katherine doesn't complain. She probably deserves it.
"You can't save everyone," he says calmly once she's explained what she's heard. He adjusts his glasses on his nose, as untouched by it all as ever. She wonders if he understands the guilt, the responsibility on her shoulders, for this misfire. Is he ever affected by what he prints?
She doubts it.
She tries not to cry again, knowing it won't help where her father is concerned. At least he hasn't thrown her out of his office, like he was probably considering initially when she and Jack barged in. But she feels so helpless as she paces back and forth, and she hates it, hates being so powerless that she needs to come crawling to this man. She wants it, needs it to at least count for something.
"Please help them?"
"I'll see what I can do, Katherine," he says shortly. But even if he can fix something short-term with his fortunes and his fame, it's only a matter of time before his generosity runs out like it did with her. In his mind, things have changed, whether for better or for worse. Her article has done it's job.
And she supposes that it has. Her words did reveal a truth, though not necessarily one she was trying to bring light to. She has proved that the world is a chilling place, and she's not sure there's much she can do to change that. But she still doesn't walk away from her typewriter that night, or the next, or the next. There are more stories to bring to light, more justice to seek, and more mistakes to learn from.
Maybe she can't save everyone. But she is damn well going to try.
Is it okay, though? Too choppy, too random? I don't know how I feel about it . . . Or, is there anything else anybody wants to see? Because I can add it . . . Reviews are confidence-boosters :)
Much love,
KnightNight