⭐️ •• "time is slowly tracing his face, but strangely he feels at home in this place." •• ⭐️
In 1894, the only thing on Elizabeth Bownett's mind was getting home. Snow covered streets were her enemy, she could barely see as the snow pelted her numb...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Davey is gone. He was taken and most likely placed in the Refuge. If he wasn't... I don't even want to imagine. Jack never came back, neither did Crutchie. But Racetrack found me, Les in his arms, and we made our way back to the Lodge. I cleaned up Race, kissed him on the forehead, and took Les home. Walking into the home, Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs knew. Right away they knew. Something terrible happened to David Jacobs.
Mrs. Jacobs was kind and she bandaged me up, cleaning my wounds and feeding me warm casserole. I wiped the blood from my hands, but couldn't wipe away the fact that Davey is in a cold bed bleeding without food, or... worse.
Les lays in his bed as I watch him, making sure he's completely out before I get up. Slowly, I move, standing and making my way toward Davey's room. As soon as I get to the doorway, I stand there to look in on a life I barely knew but loved. I take it in, admiring the places where the wall had been scratched and nicked, the tall dresser in the corner next to the door is off white and the drawers are open halfway. The bed hasn't been made the sheets wrinkled and torn. Outside the window is a warm, moist summer night, clouds covering the sky and rain drops popping on the ground.
My feet take me over to Davey's dresser, my hands reaching out and grabbing one of his shirts, a plain black one, way too big for me but just the right size for David Jacobs. I pull it to my chest, taking in the scent of clean laundry and polish.
Hot tears trail down my cheeks, and I forget what I'm doing. All I know is that I let Davey down and I didn't do him any justice at all. I have done nothing to help him. I'm not the tough girl I want to be, I let Spot Colon... I let Spot Colon touch me. Touch me and abuse his power over me until I became nothing but a pile of mush on the Brooklyn bridge.
~
After crying for what seems like hours, I finally wipe my cheeks and decide to move on.
I pull my shirt off, pulling on Davey's and slipping into his bed. I curl up in the sheets, knowing that it will be a cold night without him and without the warmth that he radiates just from his smile.
I need to get to him soon, before he dies of starvation or dehydration or blood loss. I need to get to him.
