Trapped Where There Ain't No Future

2

A/N:  Nobody asked, I delivered; I have decided to post the chapters I have already written in one giant load. Please please please comment!!!

"A slightly salty, briny smell filled the air, and I remembered where I was. And more importantly, who had captured me. My target. The one I was supposed to kill. The King of Brooklyn himself. Spot Conlon."

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A couple minutes after I had woken up, the door opened. Spot Conlon strode into the room. He set a mug of water down on the floor next to me and tossed a hunk of bread into my lap.

"Who ah ya?" He asked.

I didn't respond, more concerned with getting the bread to my mouth. I hadn't eaten since lunchtime yesterday. Spot noticed my predicament and said, "Heah's da deal, doll. I untie yoah hands enough ta eat, you answah me questions."

I nodded, but couldn't resist adding, "Don't. Call. Me. Doll."

Spot smirked and came around behind me, holding my wrists firmly while unknotting the rope that bound my hands. Despite myself I sighed a little with relief. Spot retied the rope around my right wrist before coming back in front.

"Now. Who sent ya?"

I chewed on my bottom lip. I had never been caught before. I didn't know what to say. I subconsciously glanced at my sleeve. Spot followed my gaze and his eyes narrowed. "Queens." he muttered. "Shoulda known."

I looked away. What was I supposed to do? The only thing I could think of was escape. But how? There was a spare knife in my boot; I wasn't searched last night. But I couldn't very well grab it with Conlon right there.

"So." Spot looked at me with a glimmer in his eyes. "Does youse know who I am?"

"I'm assuming you're Spot Conlon. Unless I found the wrong house?" I couldn't help myself. This boy was so arrogant, he rubbed me completely the wrong way.

Spot smirked. "King of Brooklyn, at yoah service."

"Huh. Thought you'd be older. And... taller."

Spot's smirk disappeared and was replaced by a scowl. "Enough o' dat. Who ah ya?"

"Mary Bateman." I said, saying the first name that came to mind.

Spot's eyes narrowed. I could tell he didn't fully believe me.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I was here last night?" I said quickly, changing the subject.

"I think I knows perfectly well, doll." Spot leaned forward. "Now, the question is, what do I do wit' you?"

10 HOURS LATER:

I sat in the room in the same position I was when Spot left. There wasn't much I could do. After he had left, tying my hands behind me again, I had managed to pull the spare knife out of my boot and saw my hands free. But the door was locked. I had tried to reach the windows, stacking crates on each other, but most of them fell apart when I tried to move them. Who knows how long they had been there.

Now I had nothing left to do but wait. Wait, with nothing more than a vague plan. My plan was to wait until Spot came back, then, run past him and out the door. It was a horrible plan. But it was the only one I could think of. The only advantages I had were that I was pretty fast, and also that he wouldn't be expecting me to be free. I banged my head softly up and down on the crates, trying to keep the memories from coming.

Memories of my brother, my parents, my old life. Even now, 4 years later, they still haunted me. In every spare moment they haunted me, especially at night. That was why I did my best work at night. Anything to avoid the nightmares. I had had the same one, every night for 4 years. 1,487 times. By now I knew it by heart. I could recall every detail of that night. My brother's face as he lay peacefully sleeping when I got up to use the bathroom. The flames flickering from the townhouse's bottom window, then spreading, spreading throughout the whole house. The firefighters, making their report. I had overheard them after Calico had brought me away, as we were leaving. They hadn't found my brother's body. But they had found my parents'. That was what haunted me most.

Suddenly voices, in the hallway. I scrambled into position, kneeling with my hands behind my back, clutching the rope behind me. The door opened.

Spot Conlon swaggered in, followed by 2 other boys. Wonderful, I thought. Come to gawk at the captured girl. Until I saw his face. Older now. Taller. Handsomer. But still, there was no doubt in my mind. Or in my heart. I rose from the ground, dropping the rope in one swift motion. I took a step forward. Then another, ignoring the startled noises from Spot and the other boy. I saw understanding and awe dawn on his face, and he ran, and I ran, and I grabbed him tight in my arms. He was solid. He was real. It was him.

"Liam." I whispered.

"Eva." He whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. I looked up at his face. A single tear slid down my face, the first I had shed in years. I reached up and touched the brown leather eye patch that wound around his head, covering his left eye. "Was it..."

"In da fire. Yeah." he nodded slowly. I embraced him again, and his chin rested on my head as his strong arms wrapped around me. My twin brother was almost a full head taller than me.

"Blink? Youse name's Liam?" The other new boy said.

"Say anythin' about it, Higgins, and youse in fer a good soakin'." My brother growled, not letting go of me. His accent was almost as thick as the other boys'. 4 years is an awfully long time.

"Liam." I whispered again. His arms tightened around me. We stood like that for a full minute or more, until finally a Brooklyn accent broke the silence.

"Is youse two gonna 'xplain ta me an' Race what's goin' on heah, or..."

I ignored him, pulling back a little so I could see 'Blink'. "Where have you been all these years?" I asked him, just as he said, "What happened ta yoah haih?"

"I became a Newsie." he answered, at the same time I said, "I dyed it."

"Why'd ya dye yoah hair?" he asked, fingering the streaks of my natural hair that were beginning to show through my shoddy dye job, as I said "With what borough?"

"'Hattan." he said.

"To blend in." I said.

"Is youse two gonna 'xplain ta me an' Race what's goin' on heah?" Spot repeated. "An' why you two is so friendly?"

"Spaht. Race." My brother said, turning me to face the other two boys with his arm wrapped around my shoulders. "Dis is me twin sistah, Eva."

Their jaws nearly hit the ground, but Spot recovered fast. "I see. And mebbe you'd like ta tell me why yoah sistah tried ta kill me?"

"What?" Liam's arm slipped from my shoulders and he looked at me, confusion on his face. I couldn't meet his gaze. The moral implications of my job had stopped bothering me long ago. I did what I had to do, and in return I was safe. Safer then most of the girls on the street. Granted, I nearly never left Queens, except on assignment, but it was fine. Calico practically had adopted me after the fire.

There were times though, usually late at night, when I wondered how I had gotten into the whole mess of murder and thievery that spread like a net under my feet, a net that with one wrong move would tighten, and then I would be trapped. Those times I would remember, remember how quickly Calico grew angry, and what happened to those who crossed him. And I would try to think, think of a way out of the web I was trapped in. But no opportunities presented themselves. Until now.

I didn't realize I was shaking until my brother wrapped me into a hug again, calming my shivers and drawing me out of my thoughts. "Shhh, it's okay Eva." he whispered.

I pulled away. It was time to come clean.