Of All the Things that I Don't Know (Spot Conlon + OC)

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Spot tapped his cane absentmindedly as he sat at the Jacobs' dining room table, slowly taking in his surroundings. Their apartment was warm and inviting, so unlike the Brooklyn lodging house where he had spent most of his formative years. A fire burned brightly in their open living room and the kitchen smelt of a hearty meal that was almost ready to serve. To some, the Jacobs' apartment would have seem cramped and stark, but Spot found the two-bedroom abode welcoming and restful. He felt his mind drifting softly to the possibility of his own cozy apartment one day as he watched Esther Jacobs walk in and stir the stew she had been working diligently on for several hours. He smiled lightly, his mind wandering to images of a prospective fire crackling enticingly, and a woman, perhaps his future wife, swaying slightly as she cooked in a small kitchen similar to the one in which Esther now stood. When the woman turned to greet him lovingly, however, her eyes flashed a vivid green and Spot quickly shook himself from the fantasy, feeling an all too familiar sickness fill him.

He had felt this same nausea now for eleven days. Eleven fucking days had passed and he had absolutely no new information to go on. Spot had not been sitting back idly either. He had sent birds everywhere, had queried the Manhattan newsies for information, and had even called in a few favors from people he typically did not involve in his personal affairs. But the birds had discovered nothing new, his specified requests had yet to yield anything of merit, and Jack, the only Manhattaner with any potentially useful insight, had awoken more incoherent and feverish six days after the attack than when he had first been found.

Jack's situation had become so grim, in fact, that the Jacobs' family had offered to call a doctor and set him up in their apartment to ensure that he received the most attentive care available to him. And surprisingly, Jack's move to the Jacobs' seemed to do the trick. Nine days after his initial injuries, Jack's fever broke and the doctor seemed assured that he would make a full recovery.

So, here Spot sat, waiting to visit his old ally and friend in the hopes of gaining any sort of insight into the potential whereabouts of Kate. He wasn't sure what Jack's emotional response would be to any mention of the girl he once claimed had "ruined his life", but truthfully, Spot didn't care too much. And, after watching Sarah Jacobs go in and out of Jack's recovery room with a bright smile on her face, Spot felt even less concern for any anger or discomfort his visit might cause. Perhaps, the Manhattan leader's luck in love had taken a turn for the better, or, at the very least had cleared his head of the seemingly endless vendettas he had held against Kate all this time. Regardless, Spot was not above disregarding Jack's sensitive feelings on the subject if they indeed still existed.

For time was not currently on Spots side, so wasting even a few minutes with unnecessary hand holding was not an option. He felt an immense pressure to forward his search as quickly as possible, and by any means necessary. His tireless pursuit for answers was the only thing keeping that small voice in the back of his mind persistently whispering that it was much too late to save her at bay.

"Hey, Spot."

Spot sat up suddenly, jolted from his intense thoughts, to see David Jacobs walking through the front door, surprise plainly written across his face.

Spot stood slowly, shaking David's outstretched hand genially. "Mouth," he responded with a slight smirk, pleased to hear David's good natured chuckle at the old nickname.

"Here to see Jack?" David queried, as he took his coat and hat off, hanging them on the modest rack by the door.

"Your ma told me ta wait for you to get back from your classes," Spot said as he motioned his head in the direction of Esther, who had not stopped scurrying about the small kitchen to prepare the impending meal.