On The Docks | A Spot Conlon Love Story

"Please Don't Hurt Them."

The room is cold. Cold and dark. I'm currently curled up in a corner with the thin sheet that's called a blanket. Crutchie came by a couple times today and checked up on me, giving me any extra food he has, keeping me company etc.. He even even updated me on how Jackie's doing. He still doesn't our real names, so he still calls us Ash and Jack, which is good, because I hate my old name. It's the name I used when I was a bad person, when I was hurt, and I'm a different person now, so I need to use my different name.

Sometimes I sing to myself the song that Jackie would sing to me when we were younger, Santa Fe. He would always tell me how he would get enough money after I graduate from highschool and we'd ride all the way to Santa Fe, which hadn't always been my dream, but as long as it got me away from here, it sounds perfect. But now I'm trapped. But on the bright side, I'm not out there with all the boys. I'm alone, which means I can't get hurt again. But even though I can't get hurt here, I can stop thinking about getting out of here.

Sadly, there's no escape from here. The bars aren't the ones that can be easily unscrewed and taken off, they're the impossible kind, the ones that are bolted in and covered up with concrete. I constantly just look out the window, trying to find someone who I know, and every day I'm disappointed.

I pull my blanket over my head and start crying. There's a sound of keys jingling and a lock opening. I look to the door, hoping to see Crutchie breaking me out. But instead, it's a guard who's come bearing handcuffs. He walks up to me and cuffs my hands behind my back. I stay as silent as I can in order to not be hurt, which works. He brings me out of the room and we walk over to Jackie's cell.

Once the door opens, he looks up at me and his face lights up. He runs over to try and see me, but is punched by a guard and handcuffed. As three guards are walking us out of the building and into a carriage, Jackie mouths me a question, "Are you hurt?" He asks, I shake my head.

We're both tossed into the carriage and it starts moving. After about 5 minutes, there's a sudden halt and the carriage stops moving. The officers bring us out of the carriage and I see that we're at a courthouse. We walk in through the side entrance and I can hear the voice of my friends through a closed door.

"Pay the clerk. Move it along," I hear the judge say. The officer who's holding us walks us through the door. My vision is immediately met with all the newsies from Manhattan, they all look shocked. I then notice that Spot Conlon is there too, he looks so worried, so I flash him a small smile to try and make him feel better.

"Hey, fellas!" Jackie yells to them, putting on a facade of confidence, which I don't even try to do.

"Hey, Cowboy! Nice shiner!" I hear Race yell, not being serious about this situation. Most other boys laugh too, knowing that Jackie and I will probably get a bad punishment, but not too bad.

"Hey, Denton. I guess we made all the papes this time. So, how's my picture look?" Jackie asks Denton, who shakes his head in disappointment.

"None of the papers covered the rally. Not even the Sun," Denton says. I gulp down my fears and try to appear confident as we're pushed up to the stands.

"Case of Jack Kelly and Ash Kelly. Inciting a riot. Assault. Resisting arrest," the bailiff says, which confuses me because I didn't do any of that other than resisting arrest. I guess the must have ragged me in because I'm his sister.

Snyder steps up beside us and speaks, "Judge Monahan, I'll speak for these two."

"You two know each other. Isn't that nice," I say, rolling my eyes and dripping with sarcasm.

The judge rolls his eyes too and tries to ignore me. "Just move it along, Warden Snyder," he says.

"This boy's real name is Francis Sullivan and her name is Anna Sullivan. Their mother's deceased. Their father's a convict in the state penitentiary. These two are escapees from the House of Refuge where both of their original sentences for three months was extended to six moths for disruptive behavior," Snyder says, letting everyone in the courtroom know that we're fakes. I start fuming with anger but decide to keep quiet.