She was creeping silently through her old home like a cat. She was an assassin, a panther; skilled, quiet, and smooth. He was here, and she was going to kill him this time. Fate had given her another chance. He had not died on that pier... Spot had been wrong in believing him dead, and rolling his body into the water. He had awoken, he had escaped the fish, like she knew he would. Only she could finish him.

She turned the corner into her old bedroom. Her bed was there, innocent, quiet, and still. The floor boards once soaked by Jane's exsanguination seemed to vibrate, and glow... Faye tightened her grip on the small revolver in her hand... she only had one bullet.

He was hiding under the bed; she knew it. He thought she was going to lay down, and go to sleep, and wait for his hands to creep up from beneath. Well, he had it wrong. She was the one waiting for him this time, and she would not fail in her mission. She inhaled silently, and her breath puffed about her like smoke.

Slowly, he emerged, his arms sliding on the floor like snakes. His pallor was of death--even his eyes seemed to fade into the back of his head. Was he dead? No. No, she wouldn't let him fool her. He was moving, and very much alive.

He stood, his body weaving to and fro like a stringed puppet. He wheezed, and coughed, and began to turn his head slowly. In a flicker of green, the face looking at her was now one of a praying mantis; it hissed at her, tilting its head ever just so. Faye gave a yell in her fear, and fired the bullet into his chest. A small hole appeared, but no blood... and he was not hurt... The head of the green insect had been replaced by his own again, and he was smiling. His hands outstretched, he walked towards her quickly now, calling to her. She felt his cold, clammy claws clutch her throat. What was death, and would he be there on the other side? Would Janie be there?

Oh, Janie...

Faye... help me... Quick, he's here... He's gonna kill me! Oh God!... Faye, is that you? Faye?...

A cool hand touched her shoulder. The physical contact hooked her navel, pulling her back completely into the conscious world. She looked to her side, and Spot's face was close and clear despite the darkness.

"He ain't gonna bother ya no more," he said firmly, removing his hand from her arm but staring deep into her eyes all the same. "He's gone."

Faye nodded, doing her best to steady her breathing. "Where's Blink?"

"Still asleep," he replied, nodding over towards the occupied bed across the room. Faye looked up and around, only now remembering she was not in the main bunkroom, but a small room on the third floor with an unidentified purpose, which housed three bunks.

"He okay?" She asked.

"From what Smith can tell, yeah. I'm sure he'll be fine in the mornin'."

He had not thought it was possible, but after seeing Faye fight tooth and nail like she had that day, he had even more respect for her. Most people, not even just girls, would not have been able to face a fear so real, and so painful. He had also never been so grateful he was a nosy, spying bastard.

The fact that he had killed a man was marvelously undaunting. Though it had overwhelmed him in the moment, thinking back on it was not hard. The choice had been clear: kill Mikie, or lose Faye, not to mention Blink. That thought was unbearable, and justified the killing he had committed so completely that he knew he would not lose much sleep over it. Still, all the violence, and emotional rumblings, had left Spot confused, and feeling extremely vulnerable.

Faye, now sealed safely back into the real world, noticed Spot's strange expressions as he gazed at her. "What?" She said suddenly, furrowing her brow.

"What, what?" Spot grunted.

She smirked, and shook her head. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"My pop."

Faye raised her eyebrows in surprise. She was dying to know more about Spot, but he just wasn't the type of person you could ask, just like she wasn't.

"Never told ya 'bout my pop, huh?"

"You know full well ya haven't."

He nodded. "Well," He paused, and gazed around the room as if looking for purpose. He stood, and grabbed a large bowl sitting across the room. A rag was inside it, and something metal flashed in the moonlight as Spot sat down in front of the bed. He removed the rag from the bowl, and handed it to Faye to hold. Without asking permission, he grabbed Faye's ankles, and pushed her feet into the water. The metal object turned out to be tweezers. Faye sucked in a large breath and held it tight, and Spot began to remove the jagged pieces of wood from her feet and ankles. Drops of blood followed the larger splinters, and Faye waited patiently for Spot to speak again, watching the blood swirl around in the bowl.

"He was a piece of shit," Spot finally continued. He looked up at Faye. After a quick moment of eye contact, he continued with the splinters. "Beat my mama, and forced her to... do things. In front a' me, in front a' Laura."

"Laura?" Faye repeated, bewildered. She winced as he placed her left foot into the water. It stung like hell. He lifted her right foot out, and immediately found a large piece of wood stuck in her heel.

"My baby sister," he muttered.

"You have a--"

"She's dead."

Faye shook her head slightly, looking down at the bloody bowl again. She knew there was nothing nice she could say. "What happened?"

Spot shrugged. "Old man killed mama one night, stupid with whiskey. Ran off like a coward, somehow ended up in the river. They found him with his eyes eaten out by the fish." Spot paused to show a look of slight satisfaction. "So, Laura an' me, we got shoved into a orphanage. After a couple years I managed ta break us out; that's when I started this racket," he said. He smiled, and held up his hands, which were ink-stained, maybe forever.

"Things were good for a while. We found places to stay the more I met older kids like us. Then, one day I left Laura alone at a squat to take care of some business. She was nappin'. She woke up, found me gone, and stepped outside just in time to get trampled by a runaway carriage."

Faye gasped. "Jesus," she whispered. "I'm so sorry--"

Spot shook his head. "Don't do that," he looked up at her. "Please."

She nodded, and let the silence rise between them. It hummed. Spot moved his hand up her leg gently. She couldn't tell if he was petting her, or checking for splinters anymore.

"Spot?" She said questioningly.

Immediately, Spot removed his hand. He snatched the rag, which was still quite damp, from Faye's hands. One foot at a time, he wiped the watery blood from her skin.

She was very aware of her body now. Her chest was rising and falling dramatically, though she couldn't seem to change this. Her arms twitched, aching to move, to do something.

She lay down on her stomach, facing Spot on the floor, and reached out her hand. He surprised them both by scooting forward, and holding it.

"Faye," he whispered, and he stared at their locked hands with a wrinkled expression. After a moment of questioning himself, he squeezed her hand tightly, and looked up to face her. "I'm gonna miss ya."

Faye smiled. She flipped his hand over so it was palm up, and kissed it.

"Me too," she whispered, without raising her head. When she looked at him, she knew he had heard her.

And suddenly, she was completely exhausted again. She lay across the bed long-ways, resting her head on the pillow, which accepted her weight beautifully. Without a word, Spot pushed the bowl and tweezers out of the way to sit with his back against the bed; his neck was just by her elbow. He leaned back for a moment and met Faye's eye.

"See ya in the morning, Green Eyes," he mumbled, and he yawned violently. Faye ruffled his hair lazily, and within moments, she was dead to the world.

Across the room, Blink slept soundly, breathed steadily, and dreamed hopefully.

*

When Faye awoke, both boys were sound asleep. Light was just beginning to peak through the windows, and for the first time, Faye got a good look around the dusty room. She was lying on one of three bunk beds, which were bare, aside from the blankets Smith had surrendered to them the day before. Each bunk was against a plain, unpainted wall. Blink's bunk was against the middle wall, opposite the door, and behind it was a large window leading out to the fire escape.

Spot was still leaning against her bed, his mouth wide open, his neck straining under the weight of his head. Faye inched toward the bottom of her mattress, letting out an involuntary whimper. Her entire body was aching. With much struggle, she slid off the bed and onto the floor. She crawled back to the head of her bed, grabbed the pillow, and after placing it on the floor as well, she eased Spot down, and rested his head on the feathers. He took a deep breath, but slept on.

Faye had no idea how bad her injuries were, but she had a feeling she looked like hell. She cracked the door to the room and peeked into the hallway, straining her ears to listen for any newsboys that could be straggling inside the building. There was nothing. It was then she remembered she was on the third floor; there should be no one up here with her besides Blink and Spot. She tiptoed across the hallway and slipped into the small washroom.

"Oh."

Faye winced at her own reflection, then leaned in further towards the mirror to get a better look. Her left eye was black, and puffy, and the eyeball itself was red--apparently, she had popped a vessel. Her bottom lip was split in the very middle, and dried blood that Spot and Smith had missed was crusted to her chin. Her jaw was scratched; her right cheek was puffed out like a plum; and around her neck were the distinct, blue imprints of Mikie's fingers.

Not without some painful trouble, Faye removed her shirt. Her arms were covered in splinters--how she had not felt them, she could not understand. A small amount of dread crept into her belly as she thought of someone plucking them from her skin later; but that was silly. It had to be done. With a sigh, Faye peeled off the rest of her clothes. Underneath were more bruises and cuts, and of course more splinters, but nothing as bad as what she had discovered on her face. She filled a washtub, grabbed a bar of soap, and gritted her teeth, stepping into the water. The burning was almost unbearable, but she grunted, and began to scrub.

The news of Buckle's brutal murder traveled fast, along with many questions. What had he been doing visiting a Brooklyn asylum? Who had killed him? The mass murder had been mentioned in the paper, but its true nature had been replaced with a dramatic cover-up. Only Faye, Spot, and Blink could guess why Buckle was dead. Spot had come to visit a few days after the news really began to spread, and spent the day in Manhattan to make sure Faye was alright, but then he left. Faye had not spoken about it since. And what was the point? She could speculate forever. Would she be happier if Mikie were still alive, and she had a chance to avenge her sister? No, probably not. After all, Mikie was never supposed to be released. She never would have broken into an asylum to stab a mad man to death, no matter what he had done to her. What had Buckle wanted from him? She would never know. Obviously, he was the one that Mikie had gotten her picture from, and a quick search of her bag a few days after the attack had confirmed her fears. Along with the few family photos Faye had managed to save was an empty frame, which had been tossed back into her bag with such carelessness, it had cracked. But why, why? Of course, with both Mikie and Buckle gone forever, there was very little point in wondering. She would never know.

She missed Brooklyn. Blink was wonderful; Race and Jack had allowed her right back into their lives, as did the rest of the Manhattan boys. But there was something different about Brooklyn--something huskier, mustier, and harder--that made Faye's chest puff out, and her head stand tall. And of course, she missed Spot. She had thought long and hard about their short kiss, their oneness in mind... but there were no answers waiting in those thoughts. Faye knew she was not an expert on love, but she did believe, with all her heart, that it was almost impossible to only love one person. Perhaps she loved parts of them both, or all of them both... but she would be faithful. She was happy with Blink.

"Fifty papes, please," Faye mumbled, sliding her change onto the counter. The young man in the window nodded, and slammed them down for her to gather.

"Faye, c'mere!"

Faye put on a smile, and turned to meet Blink. He was standing with Race and Jack.

"Whaddaya say we all hump it this mornin', an' take the day off in the afternoon? Spend the day in the park?" Blink looked hopeful. Faye shrugged, trying to look interested.

"Yeah, maybe," she said cheerfully. Blink looked at her shrewdly, but let it go.

"Wanna sell with me today?"

"Well I just wanted to..."

"Sure, yeah," said Blink, and he leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Maybe I'll see ya for lunch." Faye sighed, watching him go. She could tell he was doing his very best to not seem upset.

"See ya, Brooky," Jack winked at her.

"See ya, Cowboy." She grinned, and looked at Race.

"Y'alright, Brooks?" He asked.

"Yeah, I just need some time alone today," she replied. She felt guilty for rejecting their invitations, but everyone needed a day to themselves sometimes. Today was just one of those days for her.

"Okay. Maybe I'll see ya later?" Race waved as he headed down the sidewalk, and Faye took a deep breath, taking in the hot sunlight and hard, warm breeze. She didn't even want to sell. She wanted to walk, and think. She glanced around, and saw that Skittery was still in line behind a few guys she didn't know.

"Skits, do me a favor?" She dropped the pile of papers into his arms. "Take those offa me?"

"What, fifty? Alright." He dug into his pockets and pulled out some coins, tossing them her way. "Thanks, Brooklyn," he said lightly, and he scratched the top of her hat affectionately before heading down the street.

"No problem." Faye walked straight into the crowds, immediately becoming one of the anonymous, pulled downtown by the flow of noise and traffic. Since she knew Blink, Race, and Jack would be there later, she headed to Central Park. She wanted to have it to herself. She knew it would be crowded, beautiful day as it was, but as long as she was left alone, she didn't care. She checked to make sure her hair was tucked safely into her cabby hat, and was on her way.

It was funny to think that back in Brooklyn, she hated being alone. In fact, solitude had tortured her into running away from home. Although, under the circumstances, she didn't know anyone that would have stayed if they had the choice. Faye did not know if she believed in ghosts, spirits, hauntings... but something had hung over her in that old shack; and it had been very real. Her nightmares had not stopped after she left, but they were less frequent. And she had to admit she was proud of herself for leaving. Really, what if she had stayed? Buckle would be alive, yes, but so would Mikie. And she would not know any of the Manhattan boys, would not have reunited with Blink, or met Spot. She would have lived alone, died alone, and been forgotten... Janie would have been forgotten. Well, James would remember--and Abe, maybe Mae. They would always remember.

Maybe Central Park wasn't where she wanted to go... maybe she should just go visit Brooklyn? Just for the day, she wouldn't--couldn't spend the night, for fear of worrying Blink or anybody else. But just a visit surely would do no harm. She stopped in her tracks, turned around, and cut across to 2nd Avenue, walking all the way through to East River Park. She hated how close Brooklyn seemed from across the water. She had to walk further south, and then slightly west, to set foot on the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a terrible tease. But the view was beautiful, and it was so early, it still seemed like the day would last forever.

Faye decided to sit and have a smoke before she left the park. She found an obliging tree with a fat, low sitting branch. When a particularly delicious breeze passed through the leaves, she threw caution to the winds, and removed her hat. The breeze picked up, lifting her thick hair completely off her back for one cool, glorious moment. She sighed with relish, and pulled out her papers and her pouch of tobacco. She was just placing the final twists on it when, from below, someone called to her.

"Is it really you?"

She jumped, and lost the grip on her cigarette. She scowled, then looked around to find the speaker. With a gasp, and without any regard for her ankles, she leaped down from the tree.

"James! Whatcha doin' here? I swear, I was just on my way to see you!" James's smile was, as always, broad and genuine. He embraced Faye, and held her head in his hands to kiss her on the cheek.

"Boy, have I missed you, doll. Were ya really comin' ta see me?"

"On my life," she replied, holding her right hand in the air. "Woke up thinkin' of ya. What are ya doin' here?"

James bit his lip, shrugged, and then bent down to pick up Faye's dropped cigarette.

"Heard some weird news," he said, lighting the cigarette for himself. He sat down on the grass, motioning for Faye to do the same. "Have you?"

"If you're talkin' about Mikie, then yeah. I uh... heard about that."

James passed the cigarette over to her.

"No one really knows what happened. He disappeared from the asylum, left some kid dead in the grass... the guard too, and maybe some a' the others from inside. I dunno, the papes was real wish-wash about the story. I wish I had more information for ya."

"No," Faye shook her head. "I got all the information I need on that."

James became very still. He turned to look at her, adjusting his spectacles. "Did you kill him?"

Faye shook her head. "No, I didn' kill nobody." To her chagrin, she was crying. James knew how badly she had always wanted to get Mikie. Having him nearby seemed to make it real--her failure to kill Mikie was inescapable.

"But someone did?"

"Yeah." Faye wiped her eyes, and looked at James. Just looking into his eyes was enough to cause bitter nostalgia. She trusted him more than anyone left in the world. But she did not want to burden him with this knowledge. She didn't know what to tell him. To her surprise, and pleasure, James pulled a small flask out of his coat pocket.

"Corn whiskey," he said, and grinned like a school boy. Faye took it gratefully, and swallowed down a huge gulp. She grimaced as the burn rose from her chest and into her throat, and she smacked her lips with the distinct after-taste. Then she shook her head, and handed it back to James, who also had a large first serving.

"Ol' Mikie's dead, James," Faye muttered, pulling a handful of grass up by its roots. "That's all that matters." And indeed, perhaps it was.

Faye nodded, crouching like a lion in her underwear, ready to pounce.

"And! One... two... th-- HEY!"

Faye whooped loudly with her head-start, and dug into the grass with her toes, running as fast as she could. James was close behind her; she could hear his feet pounding and his lungs heaving. She laughed again, and put on a burst of speed. For a moment, the ground was gone from her feet, and she closed her eyes, raising her arms over her head.

SWOOSH.

Faye opened her eyes. It was dark, and murky in the East River. Just to her right, bubbles exploded everywhere as James's body entered the water, feet first. She smiled, and pushed herself to the surface.

"You'll never beat me!" She cried. He splashed her, laughing.

"You're right. Cuz you always cheat."

"That's sore loser talk," Faye grinned, and she swam around him in a circle. "Don't be a sore loser, James. It just don't fit you right."

"Yeah, yeah." He sighed, and let his body rise so he was floating on his back. "When's the last time we went swimmin'? I feel like it's been years."

"It prob'ly has," Faye said quietly, and she did as he did, floating effortlessly at the top of the river. She was trying not to think of Mikie, who's body was, as far as she knew, still undiscovered. Perhaps his body had risen to the surface with bloat, and gone downstream. Or maybe he was underneath her somewhere, his hair rising eerily from his head in the current... she wondered if, like Spot's father, he had lost his eyeballs to the fish. She was sure he had. She pictured the old man's face, open eye sockets and all, and she immediately began swimming for shore. She knew James was just beside her, but she suddenly felt as if the boogie man was chasing her, snatching for her heels.

"Faye, what-- where are you going? What's wrong?"

The icky feeling surrounded her completely, and Faye squealed, kicking and swinging her arms as fast as she could. She grabbed for the empty bakery dock, and swung herself up so quickly, she scraped the entire length of her right thigh.

"Shit!" she hissed, and she plopped down on her hear, smacking her stinging leg with her palm. James was out of the water in seconds, and he stared down at Faye in bewilderment before going to fetch her clothes. Faye was panting as if she'd swum a mile, and when Miles returned, pants on, clothes in hand, she looked up at him desperately.

"Any whiskey left?"

He handed the flask to her wordlessly, and Faye took a shot, and then breathed a bit more evenly. Her hands a bit less shaky, she motioned for James to sit. He did.

"Mikie's in there," Faye grunted, nodding towards the river. She gave James a moment to take that bit of information in, and then passed the flask back. He snatched it, and chugged down all that was left.

"Jesus," He said, wiping his mouth with his arm. "Jesus, Mary n' Joseph." He snapped his head around to look at her. "Can you tell me?"

Faye shrugged, pulling her shirt over her head. "I can tell ya how. Ya don't wanna know who... or I don't feel like explainin' who, longways. Mikie broke out, tried to kill me. A... friend stabbed him. He saved my life." James pushed himself up from the dock, throwing his undershirt over his head.

"Well," he said, offering a hand to Faye. She accepted, and pulled herself up. "Tell him thanks for me."

Faye smiled. She pulled her pants on, picked up her shoes, and held out her hand. He took it, and they began to walk.

"Wanna stay in town tonight?" Faye asked hopefully. "Got plenty a' room for ya." James shook his head.

"Can't. Already skipped work today to come see ya. Pop is tryin' to save up for improvements on the apartment, so it ain't a good time for me to miss."

"Okay," Faye nodded, and she stopped pulling him, and stood before him. She wanted him to come; in fact, she hated being away from him. What she had with Blink was wonderful, and what she had with Spot was both unanticipated and beautiful, but what she had with James was by far the best. He was the one and only man she had ever known that had never, and would never, look at her sexually. Faye could have stripped down naked right there and danced around him, and James would have asked her how the headlines had been--and would have really been wondering about headlines.

She sighed, tilting her head to the side, and placing her hands on his cheeks. "I wish I could see ya every day, like old times," she whispered. James pulled her into a hug.

"Me too," he murmured, and he squeezed her hard for a moment.

Finally, Faye stepped back from him, and gazed into his eyes, feeling so much adoration for him she could not bring herself to let go of him completely. She was thinking of one of her favorite memories--of James, and herself, under the big tree by the river in their old neighborhood. It was a hot, mid-July afternoon, but the shade from the tree kept the grass cool beneath their feet. And when they looked up to the sky and spun, and spun, the tree let the sunlight glow through its leaves like colors in a kaleidoscope. It was so beautiful. James laughed beside her, spinning vigorously, until they both tripped on their own feet, and fell down into the grass. For a few moments, the world tilted to and fro, though they were still, and Faye closed her eyes, feeling as though she were floating on top of ripples in a river... and James would reach for her hand, and hold it until the sun went down, and until the sound of their mothers' voices called them home.

"Hey," James whispered, and he gently pinched Faye's nose. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Good days," she whispered back. "The spinning game."

James smiled, and gently pulled himself away from her. He was headed back to Brooklyn, and after walking maybe twenty paces he looked over his shoulder at her.

"Just keep on spinnin', doll, an' I promise I'll always find ya!"

Faye laughed, and watched him walk into the shadows. She sighed, and turned her head back towards Manhattan. Blink would no doubt be worrying be now. As she thought of his shaggy blond hair and tan, soft skin, she smiled, and began to jog back the way she had come hours before. It was time to go home.

Song Credits:

PART I:"Amy Hit The Atmosphere," The Counting Crows
PART II:"Perfect Blue Buildings," The Counting Crows
PART III:"Only A Dream," Mary Chapin-Carpenter