Ghosts of the Refuge - A Newsies Prequel

Chapter Six

The next morning, as the lively chaos of Brooklyn’s streets surrounded her, Patch expertly navigated the crowd, slipping effortlessly between newsies and pedestrians. She spent the day hustling on street corners and in alleyways, selling her papers with practiced ease. But despite the bustling noise, time dragged for Patch. She couldn't shake the sense that her father might appear at any moment.

With Spot Conlon keeping watch, and Hawk and Sparrow nearby, Patch felt a fleeting sense of safety. But she knew all too well the danger of being caught—not just as a newsie, but as the forbidden daughter of the infamous prison warden. Florrie's face flashed in her mind. Patch couldn’t afford to lose focus now. Snyder’s reach was long, and the consequences of him finding her were too terrifying to contemplate.

"Dewey smashes Spain's fleet!" Patch shouted into the crowd, her voice rising above the hum of the street. It was an unexpected headline, but one that would bring some relief to the newsies. The war with Spain was over, and now the newsies were reaping the benefits. Patch handed out papers by the handful, her movements fluid as she blended into the bustling crowd.

After grabbing more newspapers from the supply wagon, Patch noticed Spot scanning the distance, his gaze fixed on something in the far-off street.

"Is he here?" Patch asked quietly, lowering her voice to ensure only Spot could hear. She paused, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

"No," Spot replied, his voice low. "It’s just Race."

Racetrack, running full speed, skidded to a stop beside Patch. He tipped his hat in her direction before bounding up the fire escape to join Spot. Patch rolled her eyes, amused by the boys’ antics, then turned back to the task at hand.

With Hawk and Sparrow close by, Patch continued to distribute newspapers, her eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of danger. As she reached an intersection, her heart skipped a beat. She spotted a familiar face in the crowd—a face she hadn't seen in years. Snyder. Her father. Their eyes met, and a cold shiver ran down her spine.

Panic surged through Patch’s chest. She couldn’t freeze. She couldn’t let him catch her. With a sharp whistle, she signaled Spot, Hawk, and Sparrow. Within seconds, the two older newsies emerged from the shadows, slingshots drawn, targeting Snyder. The rocks pelted him, giving Patch a chance to flee.

Patch sprinted down a narrow alley, the sound of the commotion fading behind her. Her lungs burned as she pushed herself harder, but her thoughts raced faster. Her father was here. She had to get to the water tower. She couldn’t stop.

But then, the unmistakable pounding of footsteps echoed behind her. Patch spun around, her breath catching in her throat as she locked eyes with Snyder, flanked by several cops. Time seemed to slow. Everything around her blurred as her father’s voice cut through the air.

"Pascale!" Snyder’s voice was full of fury. The sight of him filled her with dread, and before he could say another word, Patch bolted, her feet pounding the pavement as she fled. "Arrest that girl!" Snyder shouted, his command followed by the thunderous rush of officers.

Patch weaved through alleyways, her legs growing weaker with every stride. She needed to find Spot. Where was he? She couldn’t outrun them forever.

The shrill sound of whistles rang behind her. She could feel the cops closing in, her heart racing. She reached the end of a dark alley and stopped short. The officers slowed, and Patch turned to face Snyder, who stepped forward, a triumphant sneer on his face.

"I found you, you little fool!" Snyder’s words stung like a slap. Patch braced herself, fists clenched, ready to fight if it came to that. She had to hold out for Spot. He had to be close.

"Did you really think you could hide from me forever?" Snyder continued, his voice low and dangerous. "You're coming with me. Back to Manhattan, where you belong."

Patch stood her ground, eyes locked with his. "I’m not leaving Brooklyn," she shot back, her voice shaking but firm.

Snyder’s smirk deepened, his eyes cold. "Oh, my dear daughter, you have no choice in the matter. You’ll do as I say."

"I’m not leaving Brooklyn," Patch repeated, her heart pounding. "Why are you doing this?"

Snyder’s gaze hardened. "I know you’ve been harboring that fugitive—Francis Sullivan."

Patch’s eyes widened in surprise. "He’s not here. Why do you care so much about Francis?" she asked, her voice wavering with confusion and fear. She needed Spot. Where was he?

Snyder leaned in, his voice low and menacing. "He’s a nuisance to this city. And he knows more than he's letting on, Pascale. He must be taken back to the refuge."

Patch’s mind raced. "You don’t need me, Father. Francis wouldn't rescue me from that place. I made him promise to never see me again. Your plan won’t work."

Snyder’s eyes darkened with cold resolve. "I know Sullivan better than you think. He’ll try to rescue you if he knows you’re there." He motioned to the cops, signaling them to move closer. "Arrest her."

Patch stepped back, her pulse racing. She needed help. Where was Spot? Where was anyone?

"Spot! Hawk! Somebody help me!" she cried out, pushing against the officers who were closing in. Her hands flailed desperately as she tried to free herself, but it was no use. The cold metal of the cuffs snapped around her wrists, and the weight of her capture hit her like a physical blow.

Snyder watched impassively as his daughter was led away, his gaze hard and unyielding. In his mind, Patch was nothing but an accomplice—a pawn in his pursuit of Francis Sullivan. He turned sharply, following the officers with a determined stride, his eyes set on his next target: the refuge. And nothing, not even his daughter, would stand in his way.