Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

Hell is a Sober Crawl	By : Glitter_Ink Category: M through R > Newsies Views: 499 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. Otherwise, names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of my imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
HOUSE OF REFUGE - 1897
One week in, and Jack hesitates. He's reached a crossroad. It's plagued him for almost two years now. Racetrack Higgins used to joke about Jack's 'habit' whenever he scavenged for laudanum on the streets. But since Jack's ended up on the Island, no one tells many jokes anymore. He hadn't meant to get hooked. But Medda gave him free range of the stuff, whether she realized it or not.
Jack conceals the way he scratches his arms in restrained craving, but it's been a week now, and others have noticed.
It's nothing to be ashamed about, Jack reminds himself. Hell, he's seen plenty of other boys in his ward suffer from withdrawal symptoms to one opiate or another. Why should he be an exception?
Jack tried to distance himself from the others ever since he arrived, laying low and flying under the radar in the crowded dormitory. He's seen plenty come and go. They arrive in handcuffs and leave in coffins. Some are aged out and shipped up the river to Sing Sing Prison. That's where Jack's father is. That's where he hopes to never go.
Now it's down to eighteen of them, including Jack. It's harder to get lost in a dormitory of eighteen. Jack often wonders why there's not more of them. And then he realized a lot of the boys his age are sent directly to Sing Sing after their court appearance, depending on the severity of the crime. And if the judge is in Warden Snyder's pocket. Maybe Jack should count himself as one of the lucky ones.
He doesn't want to make waves. He wants to stay out of trouble until he's free. But it gets harder and harder to remain invisible when his body screams for laudanum at all hours, threatening to kill him if he doesn't get his fix. Or at least, that's how he feels.
And now Jack finds himself in front of Warden Snyder's door. He dragged his heels for days, but something deep inside of him unraveled, telling his brain to get the drug by any means necessary lest he die.
The task of venturing down to the Warden's lair had not been first on his to-do list. And Jack hated it had come to this.
Grim didn't say anything when he saw Jack leave the dormitory that afternoon. Didn't try to stop him. He knew enough to understand.
The older boy watched out of the corner of his eye as Jack paced in the washroom for over an hour. He knew Jack had fought the urge to see Snyder, as his pride wouldn't let him.
But Jack hadn't had laudanum in a week. And Grim had seen even the strongest boys cave at one point or another. No one could go on forever. Not in a place like this.
And Grim knew that kind of desperate.
Grim watched as Jack clenched his fists at his sides and unclenched them, walking out of the washroom and toward the door, having made up his scattered mind.
Two other boys join Grim by the doorway.
"Where's he going?" The smirking one, Atlas Giannotti, asked Grim, watching Jack walk down the hall.
Tide McGurk said nothing but offered Grim a knowing glance.
"Where's who going?" Grim asked flatly.
Atlas cocked an eyebrow. "The mick. He just left."
Grim turned to the Staten Island native, giving him a warning look. "I didn't see him leave," he replied, walking away, Tide following him. "And neither did you."
Folding his arms, Atlas stood with his lips parted in amused disbelief. "He gave up, didn't he?"
Grim turned halfway. "Didn't you?" He saw Jack disappear down the dark staircase, en route to hell.
Didn't we all, Grim thought with a sullen glance at the ground.
"He's going to Snyder?" Tide guessed in his faded Scottish accent, brows furrowing.
Grim nodded, pursing his lips. "He is."
Tide gave a wry smile. "He'll learn."
In the partial light of the dark hallway, Jack readies himself, his eyes trained downward like a condemned man approaching a noose. He lifts his fist to the door, pausing to catch his breath. Finally, he raps on the wood twice, hearing a low "Enter," after a few seconds.
Jack grips the doorknob and pushes into Warden Snyder's untidy office. It's full of guards and orderlies, with one older woman serving coffee. They sit with their feet on tables, hats off, playing cards, smoking, reading. They don't notice Jack walk in.
He crosses the room to Warden Snyder's desk, regretting this decision.
The Warden doesn't even look, as if he can sense it's an inmate and not a staff member. He doesn't make eye contact, and he mumbles something incoherent to the roundsman he plays cards with.
Jack can feel himself perspiring, his stomach twisting in knots. He needs laudanum, fast. He aches to be numb, to be at peace.
The boy stands before the Warden's desk silently. Jack can't say the words. He scratches his right arm again, dragging his nails along raw skin. Finally, Jack clears his throat. "Excuse me, Warden Snyder."
The Warden's eyes flick to Jack, sizing him up. Snyder seems old for 50. A cigar hangs from the corner of his mouth as he stares at the boy. A sneer tugs at his lips as the cogs in his brain turn. He realizes why Jack is there, but he's going to make the boy say it out loud. He wants Jack to beg.
"I need laudanum, sir," Jack continues nervously, averting his gaze as he hugs his arms around himself. Not because he's cold, but because he's scared his heart might beat right out of his chest.
Snyder stares wordlessly. Of course, he knows what Jack needs. He knows everything, somehow.
Jack loses his nerve, and now he's surrounded by Snyder's yes men staff, who do whatever Snyder says whenever he says. They make sure Snyder stays in charge of the place. After all, he lines their pockets well. Not that Snyder doesn't have his own powerful people to answer to, but he has them so wrapped around his finger he could burn the place down and get a light reprimand.
Snyder stands and reaches out his rough, large hand to throw his cards onto the desk in a fold. He laughs quietly, and Jack shrinks back, trembling. "I'm dying for it," Jack says weakly. "Real bad."
Snyder had a way of worming secrets out of anyone. It's his imposing stature, the bark of his voice. It's as though in an instant he can make a poor soul's life hell. And his network of corrupt chess pieces who sit at his right hand would help cover it up, no questions asked.
The Warden knows the laws of the institution and giving contraband to his charges violates a sizable number of them. But Snyder reasons what the Commissioner doesn't know…
Snyder takes in Jack's pitiful appearance, his ragged, hand-me-down uniform.
Jack looks pathetic and half-empty, his warm skin now pale from the withdrawals. For a moment, Snyder seems like he'll give in to the puppy-dog eyes Jack displays. But there's a catch. As always.
"Sit," Snyder says firmly, gesturing to the empty chair before his desk.
Jack sinks down, hands fidgeting, trying to conceal his shaking fingers. He feels his heart drop to his stomach, tears welling in his eyes for reasons he doesn't understand.
Snyder returns to his desk and searches through the drawers. Jack squirms in his seat as the Warden takes his time on purpose, knowing exactly where he keeps such paraphernalia. After a minute, he resurrects a spoon and a bottle with an amber tincture.
Jack's eyes follow the bottle. The Warden pours out a spoonful of laudanum and offers it to Jack. Jack reaches out to take the spoon, but it's pulled away at the last second. The boy's face contorts in betrayal, as if it were that easy.
"Please, sir," Jack begs anxiously, his eyes glued to the spoon. He's worried it's all a cruel joke.
"You want it?" The Warden asks tauntingly, holding the spoon.
Jack sees what's coming. He's not naïve enough to think he'd get laudanum for free. He's heard the accounts from other boys in his ward. It's only been a week, and he's overheard the stories. He's known for days what the deal is.
"I need it, sir," Jack nods to the spoon pointedly. He hates laudanum with all his person, but he needs it to survive. And he chooses survival over pride.
"How bad?" Snyder inquires casually. "You know, this stuff costs me money."
Jack isn't stupid. And he thinks, in his muddled mindset, there is no price too high to pay for his fix. His life's already a disaster, and there isn't any dignity left in him. Jack is desperate. He offers a meek shrug.
"I'll do anything," Jack whispers as he scratches his arm.
The Warden considers him, and Jack feels his throat tighten in loathing because he knows what he said has opened too many doors. Pandora's box of nightmares.
Slowly, Snyder hands Jack the spoonful of laudanum. From there, Jack manages to get his first surge of comfortable numbness. He is more collected and eased, and his heartbeat returns to normal.
Now Jack's mind is spinning, and he's lightheaded from guilt and laudanum as he awaits the Warden's verdict. He's heard of others in his ward in comparable situations, making deals with the Warden in exchange for narcotics or something as small as a confiscated heirloom.
The day he first arrived, at the beginning of the week, he waited inside the Warden's office to get his uniform and dormitory assignment. Warden Snyder was at his desk, giving a boy a cigarette. When the boy asked for a light, the Warden said something to the effect of, "You'll have to earn that, won't you?"
Jack knows how pitiful he looks. Face pale, eyelids reddened, swaying dizzily, and doing his best to keep his focus. Through the heaviness of the laudanum, Jack is far gone, disengaged from the world around him.
"Since you prefer laudanum to most else." Snyder walked around his desk to Jack, "You shouldn't have a problem going without your meals tomorrow."
Jack makes a strained little noise in protest, but keeps his mouth shut for fear of what he might say in his state. He manages a half-nod if it means he'll get more laudanum.
"Good," Snyder replies, this time giving the boy another spoonful by force. Jack lets out a strangled groan, a bit of the laudanum spilling out of the corners of his mouth. He groans again in slight shock as Snyder pulls out the spoon, feeling sick. There's an arrogant grin on Snyder's face, and the guard by his desk chuckles softly.
"Send in the next one," is all Snyder says after a beat, appearing more than a little smug. "He should be outside right about now."
Jack doesn't recall anyone in the hall outside the office, but Snyder had an omniscience to him. He knew when his regulars would want their fix, whatever that was.
"Yes, sir," Jack says despondently.
Snyder tucks the bottle of laudanum into a drawer in the desk, locking it. "Unlike you, laudanum isn't his opiate."
I would hope not, Jack thought, heading for the door.
Suddenly, he needs another dosage. His heart aches for the kid who's about to come in after him, and he stares over at the Warden's spiteful eyes for a fleeting second before turning away.
Outside the office, a boy Grim's age stands when he sees Jack exit the room. He runs a shaky hand through his greasy mop of hair and stops Jack with a light pull on his arm. His large eyes have this intense pierce, like he's just witnessed something horrific.
"Jack, I think I'm dyin'," the boy whispers, fear in his eyes as he gazes at him, and then looks around.
Jack recognizes the boy as No Name. He's a pal of Grim's. And as Jack's mother would say, he's away with the faeries. Or as Jack would say, the kid's a downright lunatic. In all honesty, he feels sorry for No Name. The boy doesn't even have a last name. Jack doesn't know how a troubled soul like that could end up in such a place as this.
"I need a drink," No Name rambles. "I'm about going out of my skin for a whiskey. I'm ready to tear my hair out. But I've already been down here two times this week. And Snyder said, he said that if I come back again he'll send me to solitary. I don't want to go to solitary, Jack. The rats, the ones with no eyes, they're down there, and they'll get me. They'll get me. And he knows they will. He can hear their thoughts," No Name went on, gesturing to the office door.
Jack doesn't have the faintest idea what No Name is on about. Not when he's in one of his trances, as Grim calls it. More like a delirium.
He speaks so fast it makes Jack's head swim. He hesitates, wanting to tell No Name it's not worth it, but realizing that's never convinced anyone of anything before. And Jack needs more laudanum right now.
"I'll go," was all Jack mumbled before turning away and heading for the door. "Wait here."
The Warden had his back to the desk, sorting through some documents in his filing cabinet. "What did I say, Demetrio? You come back one more time this week, and it's right to solitary."
Jack cleared his throat, clenching his fists at his sides. No Name has a name after all. And for a moment, he wonders if No Name even realizes he has one. "I ain't Demetrio."
Snyder turned around, looking alarmed. He relaxed when he saw who it was. "What do you want?" Snyder growled.
"Give him a drink," Jack said, just above a whisper, his mind still swimming from the laudanum. "He's not right. He needs it."
"Not right?" Snyder stared at Jack, taken aback by his brashness. "That boy's a liar. He'll say anything to get alcohol, and you fell for it."
Jack paused, considering this. Was it all just an act? Still, he couldn't let No Name go to solitary. Not after that unnerved look in his eyes. "I don't think he's lying, sir," he said, staring at the floor.
"Do you know what he was before I gave him a roof over his head?" Snyder demanded. "He was a drunk, slumming on the Lower East Side, thieving, lying, wasting his life away. I gave him a second chance. Now, I allow him a drink every once and a while out of generosity, but I don't run a tavern. It's his problem, and he knows the rules. He'll face the consequences."
Jack stood there, frozen, unsure of what to say next. "Well, it's my problem now," he began. "I'll face the consequences, not him."
For a moment, Snyder looked amused, raising an eyebrow. He unlocked a liquor cabinet, producing a small glass and a bottle of whiskey. He poured no more than two shots into the glass and walked toward Jack. "Go on."
Jack swallowed his pride and continued staring at the carpet. "I'll...go without meals for two days."
The words put a bitter taste in his mouth.
Snyder considered this. "And no laudanum for the rest of the week," Snyder added. A few roundsmen snickered, as if at some private joke.
Jack chewed on his lip, already regretting this. "Fine, yes," he said, accepting the glass.
Snyder nodded. "Good. Take this to him. I won't hear his nonsense this morning. Leave the empty glass outside the door."
Jack left the office, feeling worse than ever.
No Name was surprised and elated upon seeing the whiskey, throwing the alcohol back like water almost immediately. "Thank you," he breathed. "Do I still need to go in there..." he trailed off, looking uneasily at the office door.
"No, come on," Jack replied, walking back up to the dormitory with him, knowing there was nothing he could say or do that would help.
A day ago, Muggs Tracey, a Brooklyn boy in their ward, had been going wild for a hit of cocaine. Snyder exchanged a thumbnail of it for Muggs' sacred heart medal he wore around his neck, the one that belonged his grandmother. It was genuine silver, and something the Warden would no doubt pawn. Muggs had handed it over without another thought to snort the white powder. No anger, no sadness, nothing.
That's where he and Jack differed. Jack was docile because he had hope. Muggs was pliant because he didn't have hope. There was no correlation in Jack's ward with hope and behavior. It was all unpredictable.
If the Warden were to suggest Jack trade his mother's Saint Philomena medal for laudanum, he wouldn't do it. He'd rage and scream and stomp if it came to that. But Muggs gave up his only familial possession in a matter of milliseconds.
The Warden found this fascinating. He liked toying with Muggs – liked trying to get a reaction out of him as if it were a game. Jack didn't understand why the Warden bothered. Muggs was about as spirited as a brick wall.
All the boys in Jack's dormitory have been where Jack was. Groveling in front of Snyder to scrounge a taste of alcohol, a line of cocaine, a drag of nicotine, whatever their vice may be.
They scream and rant and rave and rip out their hair, going mad with want for what they can’t have. At night, there’s soft cries and inaudible mumbles. A dormitory of malnourished inmates is one thing, but one of drug and alcohol-starved young men is another. In the short time he’s been there, Jack’s noticed their coping mechanisms: starting fights with guards and each other, breaking objects, oversleeping, not sleeping enough, tempting death, masturbation — anything to rid the feeling.
Jack lets his thoughts drift elsewhere as he makes his way back to the dormitory. He tries to think of anything that will take his mind off the craving for another drop of laudanum. He thinks about his little sister Sophie, hoping she's somewhere safe and warm. Honestly, he doesn't know where she goes at night, but before he left, he asked Medda to keep an eye on her. Medda's the only one he trusts with such a task.
The laudanum takes the edge off. Now Jack's so numb he can't even be sad about missing Sophie. He does miss her, of course, but his chest is empty of pain, his eyes are dry of tears, and feeling anything other than apathy takes a tremendous amount of effort. It didn't a year ago.
Could he even remember the last time he felt any kind of joy? A week in this place would make anyone lose their sanity and the better part of their memory. It's a wonder Jack thinks at all given how dead he feels.
He doesn't like the feeling, but what can he do besides go mad? That's one way to end up in Blackwell Lunatic Asylum. Jack is a week in, and he has twenty-five more to go. His body gives up before his mind does, and that is a terrifying sensation to experience.
Jack's stomach growls as he peers out the barred window on the second-floor landing, gazing at the New York streets in the distance. In his head, he sees horses, trolleys, young, old, immigrants, soldiers, factory workers, affluent businessmen, stylish celebrities, and poor mothers all crowding the streets. How many of them wonder if Jack is safe, warm, well-fed, and happy?
He climbs the rest of the steps in utter dejection.
As afternoon turns to evening, Jack feels his stomach grumble, knotting itself with hunger pangs. Is he to go two entire days without food for a good deed and two, lousy spoonful's of laudanum? For that he deserves an entire bottle.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Hell is a Sober Crawl