Chapter 11

When I woke, I was immediately hit by a splitting headache that left me wishing that I was still asleep. But once I’m up, I’m up and there was no way around that fact. I sat up, finding myself in a bed, wrapped in makeshift blankets. I groaned at the headache; it felt like a million tiny people were hammering away at my skull. I was surprised to find a rag wrapped around my head as a bandage and I could feel the prick of stitches above my eyebrow.

I heard a boy call out, “Ey Spot! Da broad’s awake!”

Spot shoved the boy, saying in that frightening voice of his, “Fish, if I’se told ya once, I’se told ya twice- don’t call her a broad! She don’t loike it! If all o’ ya know whats good for ya, cheese it!”

As the others disappeared, Spot sat on the edge of the bed where I was stationed. We seemed to be in a lodging house that was much like the one in Manhattan, but this one was a little smaller and more run down.

Spot’s eyes were amazingly non-terrifying. He looked concerned and maybe a little worried. Was it possible for him to be worried about me? “How do ya feels?”

I stretched, which brought a painful protest from my bruised limbs. “Everything hurts. What happened?” I yawned, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes.

“I hoird ya screamin, and when I’se came, I founds ya being beat bloody by dose men.”

I tried to wrestle my way out of the cocoon of blankets, trying to be gentle on my bruised arms. “That must have been when I blacked out.”

He nodded. “So’s I told em ta scram, an when theys didn’t, I soaked one o’ em real good. Dey ran, but I took dere cane.” He held up the gold tipped cane and I could feel my breath come faster out of fear. He must have understood the horrified look that I gave him, because he reassured me, “I’se won’t use it on nobody who don’t desoive it.”

I nodded and decided to change the subject. “How long was I out?”

He shrugged. “Few days. It’s Saturday.”

I chuckled and propped myself up straighter on the bed. “So much for my job then. I guess I’ve been fired.”

He laughed as well and that was when a thought hit me. I sprang up from the bed, ignoring the painful protest from my legs. I muttered to myself in Gaelic. Since I had learned English as a second language, whenever I got agitated, I spoke in Gaelic. Mostly I was putting the worst curses on myself for being so stupid. I was yelling at myself, throwing my hands everywhere in wild gestures as I paced the room.

Spot brought me back to English with a raised eyebrow. I yelled, “Spot, I need to go back to the Hawkins’ house! I left things there that I need to get back. Please, I need to go back!”

He walked swiftly over to me, grabbing the tops of my arms and shaking, as if to shake some sense into me. “Are ya daft? I’se left dem alive! If day sees ya, dey’ll kill ya! An so’ll Mister Hawkins, if he sees ya. He’s a known violent drunk. He’ll have his “people” lookin for ya too. Da police are real serious bout runaways. As long as you’se in New Yawk, you’se a target. I t’ink ya needs ta leave.”

I shook my head, muttering in Gaelic for a while before I answered him. “No Spot. I can’t leave. The things that I left behind are much more important than just a change of clothes. I left a photo of my dead family and an heirloom that my Mama gave me as she was dying. I refuse to leave without them. Besides, I don’t have the money to leave.”

I fumbled with the pockets of my stained and torn dress, pulling out my last nickel. I held it right in front of his nose, so that he had to cross those terrifying eyes of his to see it. He glanced at it and stared into my eyes, the color burning into mine. “This is all the money that I have to my name. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but a nickel isn’t enough to buy me a train ticket.”

As the terrifying look in his eyes shocked into mine, he swallowed and answered, “You’se right. It ain’t enough.”

I nodded, continuing my rant, although I didn’t move from my spot that was so close to him. “So I thought. I also thought that I had made good friends in New York, ones that could replace my dead family and help me when I needed it. I guess that I was wrong about one. Maybe Kid Blink will be willing to help me.”

I tried to walk away, but I didn’t get far before Spot’s rough, calloused hand caught my wrist. He stared down at me. “Ya nevah asked if I would help you’se. I woulda if ya asked. I didn’t know dat ya had ta get dat photo and da hairloom or somet’in back. I thought dat you’se just wanted ya clothes, which you’se can live without.”

I sighed. “Spot, will you help me steal my belonging from the Hawkins’ house?”

He nodded, a hint of amusement touching his eyes. “I’se can arrange a break in tomorra noight. In da mean times, we needs ta find ya a disgoiuse so dat ya don’t have ta hide out here all day.”

I nodded, gently freeing my wrist from his hand and I looked around the room for inspiration. My eyes landed on a cracked, dirty mirror that was leaning against a wall on a dresser of drawers. I let my auburn hair out of the half bun, letting it cascade down my back. I held a lock of my hair up between two fingers, smiling as I asked Spot, “Do you have a pair of scissors?”

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