Brooklyn *Spot Conlon Love Story*

Chapter 11: The Trend

I hug my knees close to my chest. This is not good, this is so not good. Thousands of thoughts run through my head all at once and half of them, I can't process. That's two murders now--wait, what if it wasn't a murder? What if a girl fell and twisted her ankle and had some serious lungs on her? Jay, that's stupid. Think clearly.

For some reason, all I want to do is laugh and I know it's hysteria. I can't calmly deal with this if I'm laughing hysterically though, can I? No.

So, I'm the only one, besides Kamden, who knows that these aren't just disappearances. They're murders. Truth be told, I'm going to have to tell Spot sooner or later because he's not stupid. He's smart enough to figure out that these girls are being murdered. And, in a matter of time, he will. And, if he finds out I knew the whole time, he's going to be flat out pissed.

Suddenly, a knock at the door rips me out of my train of thought and startles me. Spot sits up too, groggily rubbing his eyes. Part of me wants to answer the door, but the terrified part of me thinks that the murderer is behind it with a knife, which is also hysterical thinking. God, get a grip, Jay.

Spot stands up, kissing the top of my head and goes to answer the door. He opens it and Squints is standing there.

"What time is it?" Spot asks me. I shrug. How would I know? "I know it's too early for anythin' ta be happenin' in the world."

"That ain't entirely true," Squints retorts. Spot gives him a look, a glare. "Sorry, sir, but Taps Fitzpatrick, ya know, the runner for Harlem, said that Bessie Burgundy, you know her as Dan Miller's goil, went missin' 'n Harlem urgently requests ya do somethin'."

"Why should I do anythin'?" Spot asks. "This clearly ain't me fight. Me goil is here, safe 'n sound and as long as that's the case, whatever's goin' on over there ain't me problem or me business."

"Yeah, 'n what happens when somethin' happens ta her?" Squints asks, pointing at me. I give him a look that hopefully says 'don't drag me into this'.

"Nothin' ain't gonna ta her," Spot states firmly. He protectively wraps an arm around my waist. "We's Brooklyn, and ain't nobody gonna mess wit us."

He smiles down at me and I smile back, knowing he doesn't even know how much I hope he's right. A lot. I certainly don't want to die at fifteen. Haven't met anybody who does.

"I hope you's right, boss," Squints says. "It would be a cryin' shame ta see Miss Kelly abducted. Not only the fact that she'd be gone, but Jack'll be hoppin' mad 'n somethin' tells me he's gonna come after you."

"That ain't gonna happen," Spot says confidently. "Jack don't got nothin' ta be mad at me for so far. I wanna keep it that way."

"G'night, boss," Squints tells Spot. He turns to me and tips his Newsie cap to me. "G'night, Miss Kelly."

Spot sits on his bed and shakes his head, dropping it into his hands. Spot's shoulders start to shake and I think I know what's happening, but desperately hope it's not the case.

"Spot?" I ask lightly. The boy looks up at me and sure enough, his eyes are puffy and red and there are tear streaks running down his cheeks. I walk over to him and sit on the bed beside him, grabbing Spot's face and gently wiping the tears away with my thumbs. He smiles weakly. "Whatcha cryin' for?"

"If anythin' ever happened ta ya, I wouldn't forgive me-self, let alone what Jack'd do," he whimpers. I rub his shoulder with my thumb and my other hand stays cupping his cheek. He hasn't asked me to move it and I take that as a sign of him not wanting me to.

"I don't think ya got nothin' ta be worryin' about," I say. Spot averts my eyes and refuses to look into them. I move my hand away from his cheek and firmly grip his chin, forcing him to look up at me. "Hey, look at me."