A light-skinned man wearing a black vest and jacket and a black Derby hat came down the stair. He pulled a gun from his pocket in a relaxed manner, pointing it at us. “Now, now, folks, don’t do anything foolish.” He moved down the stairs and into the room, putting a row of boxes between us. “Come on along, now, let’s go.”

I collapsed to the floor with a sigh. Morton looked down and I winked at him.

“Don’t shoot.” Morton held up his hand. “Let me help her.”

“Go ahead,” the man said.

Morton knelt, laying David on the floor. Then Morton drew his gun and shot towards the man. I covered my ears just in time. David screamed, hiding his head in his arms.

A shot rang out from the other side of the boxes an instant later, then a thud. The room fell silent.

“That was hardly honorable.” I was half-joking. After all, it was what I hoped he’d do.

Morton appeared unamused. “Fuck honor. We need to get this boy out of here.”

I stared at the bullet hole through the box just above my head. It didn’t seem real.

“What’s going on down there?”

I gathered my skirts and peered out. The stairs creaked with the weight of several men descending. We took cover, pulling David behind the boxes.

The first man stuck his head out from the corner where the ceiling met the stair, then withdrew. He then came down the stairs in a crouch, another man following, both scanning the room.

I held my gun with both hands. They were targets. Roy stood over me, shouting. When the men were almost to the bottom of the stairs, I pulled the trigger.

The blast was so loud it surprised me, but I hit the first man square in the chest. Elation swept over me. I did it!

The man screamed in pain and fell down the stairs. Blood spattered and streaked on the white wall behind him.

The second man’s eyes widened in shock. He raised his gun, but I was faster. He clutched his chest, slumping down the stairs onto the other man.

Morton stared at me in amazement.

I yelled, “Look out!”

The man running down the stairs fired at Morton and missed.

I didn’t. This man tripped, sliding down the stair, landing just above his first companion. The stairwell was smeared with blood.

Morton ran for the stair, pointing his pistol up it.

Morton shot twice more. Gunshots and screams came from the stairwell. Two men fell into view, ending on top of the others. Morton returned to us. “The others went back to the hall.” His words were so soft I almost didn’t hear him.

“I’ve never shot anyone before.” I know I spoke, but I could hear little even from my own mouth. But I felt I could fight the whole world. My pulse thumped in my ears, and the lights seemed too bright.

“You did well.”

I saw no windows, vents, or openings of any kind. “They won’t keep coming down those stairs. We must find a way out.”

“Stop shooting,” one yelled from the top of the stair, “we just want to talk.”

“I’m done talking.” Morton appeared to be speaking normally, but it came out as a whisper.

I put my mouth near his ear. If I couldn’t hear him, perhaps he couldn’t hear me either. “We can’t get out unless they think we surrender.” I counted our shots: six. “They don’t know I have a gun.” I holstered my gun, but didn’t secure the latch.

Morton didn’t say anything. When the men finished counting too, five of them, all light-skinned and wearing black, came downstairs with guns drawn. Morton made a show of putting his gun away and his hands in the air.

“You goddamn bastard,” a heavy-set man yelled at Morton, face red, “I should shoot you right now. The deal was no guns.”

Did they think we were stupid?

Then he waved us along. “You’re lucky he wants you alive. Get the kid and let’s go.”

I felt terrified. “He” wanted us alive? Who wanted us alive? What horror waited for us? My nightmare of Jack Diamond with his dagger flashed through my mind.

David lay on his side, curled up, hands over his ears. I took him in my arms, and he seemed too light. We moved toward the stairs, towards the damp smells of blood and filth. I hugged David to keep myself from screaming as much as anything else.

Morton let me go first. One of the gun-men went ahead, climbing backwards through pools of blood. A man lay on the stair face down, moaning piteously, a bullet hole in his back.

Gore dripped down the wall beside me. The man on the stair moaned and sobbed, his gasps coming slower with each breath. Terrified of him grabbing my ankle, I forced myself to take another step up the stair.

I thought of Air, and Herbert, and poor Mrs. Bryce. I gazed at the little boy in my arms, his large dark eyes, so much like Air’s, staring up into mine, peering into my soul.

I gazed into those dark eyes, and I knew that this child’s life — or death — was up to me. Five men with guns held us. Who knew how many more awaited us at the top? No one was going to rescue us. No one even knew we were here.

I had to get this child home, even if it meant my death. There had to be some way to escape. I couldn’t let this boy fall back into Frank Pagliacci and Jack Diamond’s hands.

I would not let David die because of me.

The man ahead of me stopped at the door. He kept his gun on me, but his eyes on Morton, holding the door open with one hand. As I passed him, I took several slow steps down the empty hall.

I had an idea.

I slowly turned, laying David down by the wall with a sigh. Then I knelt on the floor beside David. The man gave me a glance but kept his gun towards the open door.

Morton came round the corner and into the hall, hands raised. The man at the door had his eyes fixed on Morton.

I pulled my gun.

Morton’s eyes widened and he dropped to the floor.

I shot the gun-man in the head. His gun fired as he slid down, gore streaking along his path. Blood spread from the dead man’s head towards the staircase.

The men downstairs were in an untenable position: if they came up the stairs, they would be shot. But we couldn’t reach the dead man to shut the door without being shot ourselves.

Morton scurried to our side, panting. “I will hold the men back.” He began reloading his gun. A dark wet area stained the back of his right sleeve. “Take the boy and go.”

“You can’t hold four men off yourself, unless you brought a whole box of bullets.”

Morton sat in thought. He took a penny from his pocket. He flung himself towards the open doorway, shooting as the coin clattered past the men.

A scream came forth, along with the sound of something heavy hitting the stair and thumping down it. He rolled towards me as a return shot missed by a wide margin.

When he reached the wall, he panted, “three.”

Morton was inventive, I’ll grant that.

I couldn’t help but notice the slow thick drip in the stairwell.

“You must go,” Morton said. “If they make it past me, you won’t be safe.”

I realized the wisdom of this: one of us would get killed at this rate, and not even I wished this on myself or David. Gratitude filled me. “Thank you.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Heh,” Morton said, taking off his jacket. “Never thought I’d hear that from you. Go on. I’ll catch up.”

I picked David up, rushing down the long hallway towards the room with the floodlights. Several shots rang out behind me. I crouched to the floor, fearful that one of the men had made it into the hallway.

I glanced back but could see no one. David held his arms over his head, his eyes squeezed shut.

No one seemed to be in the room with the lights, so I started past the stacks of boxes. A gunshot came from above and to the left, just missing us. Dropping to the floor, I dragged David to the left over next to a row of boxes.

That was too close. I felt short of breath and shaky.

“IF YOU MOVE I WILL KILL YOU,” a voice said over a loudspeaker. The sound seemed to be coming from all around us.

David shrieked and covered his ears with his hands. I held him close, sharing his terror.

The voice was distorted. “THIS IS THE ONLY WAY OUT.”

I heard more shots from the stairwell behind me. After a few seconds of silence, frightened shouts, then a door slammed.

Morton hurried to us, crouching. Red stained his left arm.

“Are you okay?”

He laughed. “Door’s locked, that should give us a few minutes.” He began to get up.

Terror surged through me. “Wait —!”

Another bullet whizzed past, knocking off Morton’s hat.

Morton cowered next to me against the boxes, jacket in one hand, eyes wide. “What the hell?” A trickle of blood rolled down the side of his face near his hairline. Morton’s hat rolled over on the floor, and it had a gouge in its crown and a hole in the brim.

“I’m pretty sure it’s Pagliacci.” He sounded nothing like Jack. “Wherever he is, he can see us.”

“I KNEW YOU’D COME WHEN I TOOK THE BOY. I COULDN’T BELIEVE MY LUCK WHEN I SAW HIM. I PICKED HIM JUST FOR YOU.”

So he did know me. Few people knew about that night, about what happened, about Air. About how much he meant to me. I closed my eyes and hugged little David, overcome with emotion. My mind ran through the faces in the crowd, Roy’s men … who among those people would do this to me?

“I’m out of bullets,” Morton said. The blood trickling down his face dripped to the floor.

“I’M IMPRESSED. YOU THOUGHT TO TRAP ME INSTEAD … IT WAS A GOOD TRY.” He did sound pleased. His test seemed a success, at least to him.

What sort of madman was he?

“IF IT WASN’T FOR CRAB’S FUCKING RED HANKIE IT WOULD HAVE WORKED. I KNEW HE TALKED WHEN THE FOOL GOT THAT RIGHT.” He laughed.

How dare he mock a Spadros Associate? Heart pounding, I searched for a spot where I could see between the boxes. According to my sketches, an overseer platform lay up and to the left. Pagliacci must be there. The glare of the lights made it difficult to see him.

I had the urge to ask about Pagliacci’s motivations, but thought better of it. That would just give away my position, and I had as good a view of him here as I ever would.

“I HAVE YOU, AND WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU, I’LL KILL THEM, ONE BY ONE. DO YOU LIKE MY PLAN?”

I considered the question. This man was not only mad, but an amateur. He believed Morton wouldn’t come armed. He had no idea I came armed. I counted ten of his men so far. If he had many more, where were they? And where were Jack's men?

Surely he didn’t think Tony or anyone else would come to rescue me alone? The entire Spadros quadrant would compete to invade Diamond. They would tear this building to the ground.

So Frank Pagliacci had a grudge against the Spadros Family. Him and most of the city.

This made his alliance with Jack more plausible. But the boys’ murders seemed an afterthought, a way to amuse himself, just as he used David and our men.

A shadow, far up, walked back and forth, and the way he moved seemed familiar. I shielded my eyes from the glare of the floodlights, trying to get a good shot. I had two bullets left. I would only get one chance.

“STAY THERE. MY MEN ARE ON THEIR WAY.”

Pagliacci leaned over the railing. The shadows around him lightened, showing dark clothing and relatively pale skin.

The men in the basement began crashing against the door.

We had to get out of here. Now.

The world became silent. The sounds of failing hinges, Pagliacci’s mad boasting, David’s rocking, Morton’s bleeding, all vanished.

I saw the man on the platform. He was only a target.

I took a deep breath, then shot just as he moved. He screamed. A tremendous crash far below, then silence.

I felt astonished. I did it.

Morton held his gun aloft. “Run!” I grabbed David and followed. As we raced down the hall with the windows, the white-clad workers screamed and fled.

A dark-skinned man in white stalked towards us from the front of the building. Panic struck me. Screaming in terror, I caught up to and passed Morton.

When we got outside, Morton said, “Keep moving, Pagliacci’s men are here.” He sounded alarmed.

I took a deep breath and handed him my gun. “There’s one bullet left.”

He took it, gratitude in his eyes. “Round the corner, cross the street, then three blocks right. Look to your left.”

I hoisted David on my shoulder and fled. Several shots came from behind me. When I got to the corner, I went round it, across the street, then right as Morton directed, but no carriage sat there.

Terror punched me, hard. I looked to my left: a torn newspaper wafted down the street. Morton had abandoned me.

Tears of fear and disappointment filled my eyes. I took a deep breath, and blinked them away. He did say he would help as long as he could. I moved away from the factory, not knowing where I was going.

My ears rang and I felt shaky, but the boy seemed light. I carried him as fast as I could run until exhaustion caught me and I had to slow to a walk.

I set us down on a cracked wooden bench, panting, until my breathing slowed. My hands trembled, and I held my face with my hands, fighting the urge to vomit. I kept glancing around even so, terrified of seeing armed men appear.

After several minutes, the nausea passed, and I peered at David. His eyes stared into emptiness. He sucked his thumb, rocking, curled into as tight a ball as one could at that age.

“David?” I brushed his straight black hair away from his face. “David, I’m Jacqui. I’m taking you to your Ma. Can you walk?”

Peedro Sluff grabbed my arm and yanked me in front of him. “This is my daughter.”

Roy Spadros let out a cold, cruel laugh, claiming victory over his mortal enemy. “You’re sure about that?”

Fear crossed Peedro’s eyes, which turned into determination. “If she goes, I go with her.”

Air yelled, “No!” He dashed towards me, terror on his face, broken bottle in his little hand.

Peedro Sluff squeezed my arm so hard it hurt as he turned towards Air. “You’re not ruining this for me.”

Air leaped at Peedro, stabbing the broken bottle into Peedro’s upper chest. “Leave her alone!”

“You little shit!” Peedro shrieked, “You cut me!” He pushed Air away with the gun in his hand, and the gun went off.

David stopped rocking and stared in my eyes. I saw Air the instant he was shot, the moment he looked at me with those dark eyes that peered into your soul. The utter pain in his eyes, the knowledge his life was over, the emptiness, the longing. I put my arms around him and began to weep.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry … I should never have gone there … I just wanted to help.”

I don’t know how long I sat there. I cried about everything: Air’s murder, my lost life, what could have been. I cried until I couldn’t cry any more.

And this little boy who had gone through so much put his hand on my shoulder to tell me it would be all right.

It was a while before I could speak.

I put my forehead on David’s. “Can you walk?”

He gave no answer, so after wiping my face with Zia’s apron, I picked him up. He seemed much heavier now.

I walked, arms aching, until I found a taxi-driver who would take me to the Spadros quadrant without payment in advance. Zia’s pockets were empty.

The whole trip, David said nothing, did nothing but rock, curled up there on the bench seat. “Your mother sent me to find you. I’m taking you to a doctor. Are you hurt?”

The boy said nothing.

At the bridge into Spadros quadrant, the driver said, “She’s taking the boy to a doctor. Looks like he needs one.” The guard took one look at David and waved us through, to my relief.

Dr. Salmon didn’t seem surprised to see me appear in maid garb, carrying a child. The doctor paid the taxi-carriage then sent a messenger to fetch the boy’s mother. We stood there, somewhat awkwardly.

I thought I might not have another chance to ask, so I did. “Mr. Roy Spadros told me that he has known you since he was a boy.” My voice sounded too quiet, and buzzing filled the room.

“Yes, indeed.”

“So you’ve known Mrs. Molly Spadros for some time as well.”

“I have.”

I was unsure how to proceed. “How did they come to marry?”

He smiled. “What do you know of her background?”

I wasn’t sure how much he knew of mine. I shrugged. “She told me she came from the same place as I.”

He nodded, then peered at me for a moment, evaluating me. “Yes, she did.” He paused. “I first met her as a … young girl, really. She was sixteen. Mr. Acevedo Spadros called me to the Pot, wishing me to ensure she had no illness.”

I felt confused. “Mr. Acevedo?”

“Yes, Mr. Roy’s father. The man was in his late 40’s, if I recall … yes, his 50th celebration was later that year. But oh, he was smitten. I have never seen two people so in love.” His lined face lit with the memory. “When she came of age, he brought her into the quadrant, set her up in a little grocery over on 2nd street. I believe a fabric store is there now.”

A shock went through me at his words. “Why in the world would she marry Mr. Roy?”

“You know what Roy is,” Dr. Salmon said, his tone bitter. “I was never privy to their reasoning. I suppose they felt it a good way to move her into the house, to have their affair in front of Mr. Acevedo’s wife without anyone knowing.” He shook his head. “It’s a miscalculation I’m sure she regrets.”

My vision blurred. I couldn’t imagine the pain Molly must have gone through, losing the man she loved. And to such foul murder, betrayed by his own men. Men he trusted, men she probably trusted as well. Then to be yoked with Roy Spadros ….

Dr. Salmon gave me his handkerchief. “As I told you before, she’s a strong woman. I admire her a great deal.”

And suddenly, I did too. She had been harsh with me at times, but only to make sure I survived. To live with Roy Spadros so many years and still live must have taken all the ability she possessed. “I have underestimated her.”

The doctor smiled. “Many do. I hope one day the two of you become friends.”

Through our entire conversation, the boy stared, sucking his thumb, rocking back and forth, as if his world were gone forever.

Once his mother arrived, the doctor examined the boy. “It as if he hasn’t had a finger laid upon him —”

“Was he —?” Mrs. Bryce said, and it was clear from her tone what she meant.

“No,” Dr. Salmon said, shocked. “No abuse of that kind …”

Mrs. Bryce sighed in relief.

“… he’s malnourished, but that can be rectified in time.”

“Why is he acting this way?”

“He suffered severe mental trauma, which may take time to heal. It’s common in these cases for a child to regress to a former age. But gentle care over time will give him a feeling of safety. Eventually he’ll come to his senses.” The doctor smoothed David’s hair. “You’re safe now. Your mother will take good care of you.”

But the boy never said a word. So we brought him home — it took all the money Mrs. Bryce had on her to pay for the taxi-carriage — and laid him in his bed.

“The police will come when they discover the boy is here,” I said. “Don’t trust them; don’t let anyone near David. Tell your neighbors to watch for those men who took him. If David speaks, even one word, contact me at once. Our lives may depend on it.”

“I’m so grateful,” Mrs. Bryce said. “You brought my boy home, as you said you would. I’m in your debt.”

I shook my head, feeling bleak. It might have been kinder for all involved if the boy had been found dead, instead of in this terrible condition. But I tried my best to smile, and made my way outside.

Mrs. Bryce lived on 2nd street.

Spadros Manor was on 192nd.

I had a long walk home.

When I got three blocks away, the rain poured down, and me without an umbrella.