8 Days, 8 Letters; Spot Conlon

No Longer Home

Songs: The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives

If You Love Her by Forest Blakk

A/N:  Hi everyone! Please enjoy this chapter of 8 Days, 8 Letters.

Present Day: July 1899

Jaime's POV

As I walked away from my newsies, thoughts began racing in my mind.

How could this happen? How was I going to live without Jack? Would Jack be okay? Would I be okay? But more importantly, would my newsies forgive us?

I didn't want to lie to them. Truly I didn't. There were a million times where I just wanted to just tell them everything. They would've understood if I had done it then. But now I'm not so sure. I'd like to believe they would. They would understand the situation we were in. I mean they risked their lives to try and save Jack just a couple days ago and they covered for us the day before that.

They'd understand, right? Maybe I should just give them time to process. It would probably be easier if I wasn't there. Of course I'll tell them everything and answer all their questions. I'll do whatever it takes to earn their trust or at the very least help them. They deserve that.

They deserve that and 100x more.

As the thoughts slowed I realized my feet had taken me to a very familiar place.

I looked around at the old building and climbed up the rickety staircase.

I climbed through the window into a dusty room.

Nothing had changed since I used to live here.

I mean it makes sense considering the place remained abandoned when my father was arrested a few weeks after I had become a Brookie.

I think it was something to do with a robbery that resulted in a murder. I'm not quite sure.

Once I saw the name William Sullivan, I flipped the page. I didn't want to know anything about what happened to him.

As far as I was concerned I was an orphan. My mother had died of tuberculosis and my father died not long after her due to heartbreak.

I looked around the room. Everything was the same. The kitchen still held the smell of ärtsoppa (pea soup) and pancakes my mother often made . The window seat on the window I had climbed through felt just as soft as it used to.

It was a good reading and drawing spot.
My mom and I would sit together and read for hours and Jack and Dad used to sit there and sketch what was outside the window. They've always had a way of romanizing the sights of the rundown buildings we saw.

I suppose that's how Jack fell in love with Santa Fe. It looked more like the romanticized pictures he'd sketch.

I suppose it's also how I fell in love with the Brooklyn Bridge. You could see most of the structure from the window. Besides good things always seemed to start on that bridge, even if I didn't know it at the time.

The phonautograph still sat in the shelf. I remember when dad brought it home.

We were amazed by how it worked.