The bird of Manhatten

Chapter 12 - in which a bird meets a king

Trigger warning: !violence and mention of rape!

January 1899
At many places in New York City
Magpies P.O.V.

I's runnin' like da devil's on my heels. Well, he kinda is. In form of two very unfriendly blond men, who is chasin' me through New York. Manhattan to be exact.
Once they had been three, but I knocked one of 'em out. But unfortunately, da other two are stronger than their, now unconscious in an alley way layin', companion.
My lung's burnin', but if I stop now, they'se gonna catch me an' I really don't wanna know, what they'll doin' ta me then.
I slip on da wet cobblestone an' realise I have reached da Brooklyn bridge. I turn ta see da two men still comin' closer. I take a deep breath, or as deep as I can, without stop runnin', an' step on da bridge.
Jack will kill me if he ever finds out I was in Brooklyn. And that I was alone, but... I have no other choice at da moment. An' maybe da men won't follow me ta Brooklyn.
They follow.
Damn it!
I try ta run faster. My legs is hurtin'.
I only ran like this once before. It was when da bulls chased me ta get me ta da Refuge... And they caught me.

I leave da bridge behind me an' enter Brooklyn. I jus' run, turnin' as often as possible, an' end up in a small alley way, hopin' they didn't saw me turnin' in.
I hide behind some trash cans an' try ta catch my breath.
My sides is hurtin'. My mouth's dry.
Then I hear footsteps an' try ta breath silently.
"Where is ya, rat? Where did ya little snitch go?", one of da men says. "I don't... Look! That hat!"
Scared I pad my head. No hat.
I fell my blood freezin'.
I's sittin' there, behind da trash cans, my hands over mouth an' nose, not darin' ta move an' knowin', I's definitely screwed.
I hear da men steppin' in my direction. They'se comin' into da alley.
"Where is ya? We know ya here! Come out. Ya can't hide from us."
Suddenly Claire lands on my shoulder.
I almost die from da shock, but then I's unbelievable happy ta see her.
"Jack.", I whisper. She opens her wings an' sets up. I watch her as she flies into da sky an' remember somethin'.
Da nuns always say that god protects 'em. Maybe he'll do it foa me too.
So, I close my eyes an' begin ta pray. "Please dear god", I silently pray. "Please help me."
I open my eyes when I hear 'em move again. Now one of da men, da bigger one, is standin' right in front of da trash can, I's hidin' behind. I hold my breath. Dare not ta move. And then all of da sudden, my stomach grumbles. I forgot ta eat again, this mornin'.
I hear da man stop an' close my eyes once again, knowin' I's super dead.
Da man garbs my shirt collar an' I lose da ground beneath my feet. I try ta hit him. Somewhere. Da stomach or da head, da legs or where it really hurts, but I's too slow. Da man shoves me against da wall an' presses his body against mine, makin' it impossible for me ta move. Somewhere in my body I hear a crack.
Da man looks at me an' a suprisin' expression washes over his face. Unfortunately, his grip doesn't loose.
"It's a goil!", he says cheerly ta his friend, after her got himself again.
Both men grin really scary.
'Don't show, ya frightened', I tell myself. 'Don't show 'em. Jack will come any moment.'
Da one dat's holdin' me begins ta kiss me roughly on da lips, while da other one runs his hand up my legs. I try kick him, but they hold me too tight.
I feel their hands everywhere. At my face, my legs, my stomach, my chest.
An' then, without wantin' it, I begin ta cry.
I's scared an' helpless. An' da worst thin': I can't even fight back.
Hot tears is streamin' down my face, blindin' me.
I hear da men laugh.
Suddenly da grip loses causin' me ta fall hard on da ground. I look up an' see, through a vein of tears, a boy with a sling shot.
An angel.

Spots P.O.V.

I had been goin' foa a walk. Alone. Through my kingdom. My Brooklyn. When I saw da runnin' Newsie. But I hadn't mind him then. I thought it had been one of mine, playin' or somethin'.
Only now when I's already about three alleys away, I realise it. I don't know this Newsie.
I head back an' about ta enter da alley way, da Newsie turned in before, when I hear laughin'. Dirty, male laughin' of two men. Carefully I climb up on da wall an' look down into da darkness beneath.
I spot two blonde men an' a dark haired, kinda small Newsie.
No wait, it's a goil. A goil Newsie? Who has goil Newsies? Bronx got one... oh, an' Staten Island. But they'se both blonde. Who else? Of course! Manhattan! Dat's Jacky's Newsie.
One man's kissin' her hard on da lips an' da other's touchin' her. She's cryin'.
I take out my sling shot, aim skilfully an' shoot. I hit da kissin' man at da temple an' he goes down unconscious. Da goil falls on da ground an' our eyes meet foa a second before da other man grabs her, takes out a knife an' holds it against her throat. I sigh, as I hear her quietly cry out.
'Louder!', I think. 'Ya have ta scream louder. No one will hear ya, if ya don't.'
"Come out, little rat.", da man says, adessin' ta me. "Come out or I'll kill her."
I can hear her sob.
I aim once again.
"I's not bluffin'.", da man grins, and as to proof his point, he takes da knife from her throat an' cuts her cheek. Blood starts runnin' over her face, as the knife wanders back ta her throat.
I shoot, hit again an' da man goes down, pullin' da knife over her throat. My eyes wide in shock, I jump down ta her. She raises her hand ta touch da cut, lookin' at me, also in shock.
"I's so sorry. I's-", I want ta apologise, but she just backs up against da wall, one hand at her throat, da other raised against me.
"Hey, I's really sorry. I'll fix ya. Come." I hold out my hand, realisin' how dumb dat is. She doesn't know me. "I's Spot. Spot Colon. From Brooklyn. Remember me? We saw each other on Christmas."
She seems ta remember because she looks up ta me.
"Come.", I try again. "I get ya outta here."
This time she takes my hand.
I pick up her hat, dat's layin' on da ground an' give it ta her. She takes it and puts it on.
I lead her ta da Brooklyn Lodge House, never lettin' her hand go, an' bring her upstairs, where I got my personal room.
My newsies look at us, whisperin'. I shoo 'em away.