Ghosts of the Refuge - A Newsies Prequel

Chapter Two

The warm late sun cast a golden glow over the bustling streets of Brooklyn as Patch stood behind a paper stand in Prospect Park with Spot. She skillfully folded and arranged the rest of the newspapers, she couldn't shake the feeling of someone's gaze. She looked up and there, standing on the other side of the street, was Jack Kelly.

Time slowed as their eyes locked, memories flooding back with a mix of nostalgia and regret. Jack's eyes widened in surprise, followed by a flicker of hurt. Before she could react, Jack darted across the street, his long strides quickly closing the distance between them. "Patch" he called out. "I need to talk to you."

"Make it quick, Jack. Snyder's probably hot on your trail," she managed to say, her voice barely a whisper.

Jack frowned, "Come on, Patch. I'll just be a few minutes."

Jack's gaze shifted, catching sight of the figure standing a few feet away. Spot Conlon was watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, his posture tense. Patch followed Jack's gaze, realizing that she hadn't introduced Spot to him yet.

"Spot, keep watch and I'll listen to what he has to say," Patch said, motioning towards her fellow newsie leader. "Jack, you remember Spot."

Spot regarded Jack with a mix of curiosity and guardedness. "Nice to see you again, Jacky-boy," he stated, his tone lacking enthusiasm.

Jack extended a hand, hoping to bridge the gap between him and Spot. "Likewise, Spot," he replied, trying to show respect.

Spot glanced at Jack's outstretched hand for a moment before reluctantly shaking it. "Don't take too long, huh?" he asked, his voice tinged with an undercurrent of skepticism.

Jack nodded, a flicker of disappointment flashing in his eyes. "I won't. I'll be out of your hair before you know it." 

Before the duo went towards the trees, Spot made eye contact with Jack, his sharp gaze fixed on him. "You better not be thinking of causing any trouble here, Kelly," he warned, his voice low and steady, a subtle challenge in his eyes.

Jack raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I won't, Spot," he assured Spot. "I got my own problems to deal with."

Spot turned to selling papers to a crowd standing in front of the stand. This left the two friends to themselves. Jack turned his attention back to Patch, his expression a mix of relief and unease. They were momentarily alone, and the burning question that had haunted Jack since they reunited could no longer be suppressed.

"Why didn't you come back for me, Patch? Two years in the Refuge and not a single attempted rescue?" Jack asked, his voice hushed but filled with a raw blend of hurt and confusion. His eyes searched hers, yearning for an explanation that could soothe the ache in his heart.

Patch's gaze dropped slightly, guilt washing over her features. "Jack, I... I wanted to," she confessed, her voice heavy with regret. "I thought about it every day. But things weren't the same anymore. Spot and I had our own battles to fight."

Jack's disappointment was palpable, his voice tinged with sadness. "I get it, Patch," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it hurt, you know? Feeling abandoned, thinking that maybe I wasn't worth it."

Tears glistened in Patch's eyes as she reached out to touch Jack's arm, her voice filled with genuine remorse. "Jack, you were always worth it," she told him, "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you, truly I am."

Jack looked into Patch's eyes, the pain ebbing away as he saw the sincerity in her gaze. Despite the hurt, his heart longed for the bonds of friendship and loyalty they had once shared. "I believe you, Patch," Jack said, his voice filled with renewed hope.

Just as the warmth of reconciliation began to settle between them, the air was pierced by the sound of footsteps approaching. The crowd of customers rushed away from the stand, much to Spot's dismay. The footsteps belonged to Mush, a fellow newsie from Manhattan.

"Spot, Patch," Mush panted, catching his breath. "I gotta tell ya somethin' real important."

Spot walked over to him and arched an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. "Spit it out, Mush. What's so important?"

Mush's eyes darted around cautiously before he spoke in a hushed tone. "Snyder was seen prowlin' 'round Manhattan today. He's real mad."

Spot's face hardened, his jaw clenched tightly. The news of Warden Snyder's presence in Manhattan sent a chill down his spine. The thought of the ruthless man with his iron grip on the Refuge venturing closer to their territory was enough to raise alarm bells in Spot's mind.

As Spot's eyes met Patch's, he could sense the uneasiness that lingered in her gaze. He had known her long enough to read the subtle signs. Spot's hand rubbed his chin, his mind working through the possibilities. "Keep an eye out, Mush. We can't afford to let Snyder's come to Brooklyn," he warned, his voice heavy with determination.

"You can count on me, Spot," Mush vowed, his eyes reflecting a resolute determination.

As Mush dispersed into the bustling streets of Brooklyn, Patch's worry grew. She had always known her father's strict nature and unwavering dedication to his job at the Refuge, but now the fear of his potential arrival in Brooklyn loomed over her.