Of All the Things that I Don't Know (Spot Conlon + OC)

Chapter 13

"A life for a life."

My eyes popped open, my body jolting upright into a panicked wakefulness as I found myself surrounded by darkness. I tried to calm my breathing, the loud gasps sounding from me like a consumptive child, but my fear quickly overpowered my attempts. I turned my head to and fro, frantically searching for the source of the strange voice I had heard moments before. But, as my eyes adjusted more fully to the darkness, realization flooded through me. I was in Mary's spare bedroom, the same place I had resided for nearly the past two weeks. No one else was in here with me, though I heard the soft rustling of Mary adjusting back under her covers in the adjacent room, probably calming herself when she heard no further cries from me. It had just been another terrifying nightmare.

I felt a cold sweat covering me, and as I reached up to my face to wipe my brow, I also became aware of the stray tears lining my cheeks. I sighed as I used the blanket to dry my eyes, exhausted but still reeling with zeal from the terror that had filled me moments before.

Needing some outlet for my overabundance of energy, I quietly stood up, not wishing to disturb Mary any further, and tiptoed to the window next to my bed. I laid my head against the glass, attempting to let the iciness of the pane soothe my panic, but when my heart continued to pound with no intention of slowing, I knew I needed something more. I quickly threw on my dressing robe and pulled on my stockings and shoes, pushing the window open gently enough to avoid the loud creak it habitually emitted. Once wide enough, I slipped through, tiptoeing up the fire escape stairs on my way to the roof.

The wind whipped about me chaotically as I mounted the last steps, but I reveled in the coldness of the air, enjoying the feeling of my long, unrestrained hair being pushed back by the sheer force of it. Although the night was quiet around me, the cold sensation on my limbs captured my focus, allowing my anxiety to slowly subside. There was som ething so visceral and freeing about being outside that I almost felt a smile touch my lips. But, I quickly stifled it, fearful that the simple expression of contentment would lead to an explosion of emotions that I neither wanted nor felt capable of dealing with. I had kept a tight lid on myself, especially for the past week, lest I should again unleash the Pandora's box of chaos that always seemed to be lurking so near to the surface.

"Kate..."

The soft voice momentarily jolted me out of my calm, terror again filling me. But, all too suddenly, an acute annoyance replaced my fear as I deduced who was now behind me.

"Just give me a few minutes, Rummy," I muttered irritably, shooting a harsh glare in the direction of the tall newsboy that slowly separated himself from the enveloping shadows.

I sighed as I watched his slow approach from my periphery, wishing for just a few more moments of solitude. But he seemed to care little about my agitation, as he lazily leaned his back against the ledge beside me, taking great care not to get too close, and calmly stated, "You know you ain't supposed to be out here, doll."

I scoffed angrily, distancing myself further from Rummy in a small gesture of protest, but Rummy only shook his head and chuckled, completely weakening my disgruntled demonstration as he said, "C'mon, Kate, you know I'm right. 'Sides, you'll catch your death out here. I'm surprised you ain't an icicle yet."

"Well, that would certainly solve all of King Conlon's problems," I whispered sourly, feeling a sharp pang of despondency reverberate in my chest at the undeniable truth my words almost certainly held.

Waking up in Brooklyn under Spot Conlon's watchful eye two weeks' prior had been bewildering to say the least. He undoubtedly was not the first person I had expected to see when I became lucid enough to piece together my surroundings, though the dreamlike consciousness I had existed within before that moment had certainly given me no clear indication of what reality I might resurface in either. Truthfully, the last memory I had been able to confidently recall before the strange fog had commenced was Spot's silent but very clear rejection of my professed affection for him, thus finalizing whatever connection we might have had with one another. And with that reality solidly in my mind, the fact that I awoke to find Spot Conlon as my self-professed rescuer had thrown me into more confusion than I knew how to handle. For Spot, at least, our relationship appeared to still be an active, open-ended storyline.