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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
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HOUSE OF REFUGE, 1897 - WEEK 2
Alexei Morozov sleeps a few beds down from Jack. He's an opium addict. Unlike the liquid tincture laudanum, Alexei prefers to smoke it – has done so for years. He used to live at the Duane Street Lodging House, before Jack got there, and for a while he was the best newsie in Manhattan. Smart, too. And this was back when his English vocabulary was limited to 'yes' and 'no.' It was a wonder how he sold a single headline.
He'd go out at dawn, sell all his papers in the span of two hours, and have the rest of the day to himself. Maybe he had too much time on his hands. Maybe it was the loneliness of being without a familiar face in a strange country. Or maybe he was destined to stumble into that den on Mott Street, inhale through that long pipe packed with opium and God knows what and exhale any shred of hope for the future he might've had.
It would knock him out for hours, numb him from head to toe, make him feel like he was on top of the world. He liked that feeling. He'd do anything for that feeling, which meant spending every single cent he earned from selling newspapers for a steady supply. By the time he was fifteen, Alexei was smoking around 20 pipes a day.
Some mornings, Kloppman would find him passed out on the front steps of the lodging house, having blown all his rent money on opium. Other times, Alexei wouldn't come back for days, sometimes weeks, until one day he stopped coming altogether.
Kloppman asked around but none of the boys knew where he'd gone. It was like he'd vanished. That is until he turned up on Randall's Island three years later. Here's the problem: Alexei wasn't afraid of the Refuge itself— he was afraid of being without opium for so long.
Snyder doesn't keep opium in his office, or anywhere on the island, so Alexei is fucked, as Cards Mahoney puts it. Other boys in Jack's dormitory — Ward 11 — can get their fix for the right price. Want a cigarette? Shine and polish all the guards' shoes on the island in one day. Craving a thumbnail of cocaine? Sweep out the chimneys. Need laudanum? Better be willing to starve for it.
Hooked on smoking opium? Good fucking luck.
Jack overhears Alexei vomiting in the washroom at night, moaning on the ground in cold sweats, sputtering out curses in Russian.
Not that Alexei is the only one in the dormitory who's been in this state. Far from it. Most if not all the boys in Ward 11 are fasting some vice. Jack knows all too well what it is to suffer like that.
Sometimes Grim sits with Alexei at all hours of the night while he writhes in agony, begging Snyder and God and the universe for death. Doc Maltese says Snyder should give Alexei small doses of laudanum to alleviate the withdrawals. Doc says Alexei should be taken to Bellevue Hospital where he can be stabilized with a little bit of morphine and a dose of human compassion.
The boys know he's right because they don't call him 'Doc' for nothing. He knows about such things. But what can he do?
It doesn't help that Alexei stopped eating at mealtimes. Jack doesn't understand the point. They don't get much food to begin with, so why starve on purpose?
That's how it started anyway. Refusing to eat, yelling at Snyder in Russian, banging on the Warden's door to demand opium, throwing any object within his reach at guards who tried to restrain him. He was like a wild animal in a cage.
Snyder had enough on one of the nights Jack couldn't sleep. Jack had been awake, pacing, talking in his head after a nightmare. There were footsteps in the hall and a rattling of keys.
By the inadequate, hazy rush light, Jack could see the doorknob turn.
He made it back to his bed in time, flinging his blanket to cover his face. Snyder and two guards in woolen coats bustled into the dormitory with lanterns, scanning the rows of beds, ripping back sheets to shine lights over faces. They were looking for someone. No boy had moved or made a sound.
Play dead is what Grim had told Jack once. And if you can, don't even breathe.
If Snyder caught any boy awake, out of bed, whispering, or even in the washroom – they were in for a long, painful lecture in the morning.
Jack held his breath as if it were the best way to stay alive. He braced himself as Snyder tore back the blanket and blinded him with the lantern. Jack kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep to the best of his ability. As fast as he came, Snyder left and moved onto the next bed, searching for someone.
Seconds later, the guards dragged a reluctant Alexei from his bed and out of the dormitory, leaving the others breathless in the wake of events. Alexei might as well have been dragged into oblivion.
Whatever had been the final straw for the Warden, Jack could find no logical reason to punish Alexei in the middle of the night.
All Jack knew was that when Alexei came back to the dormitory less than hour later, something was wrong. Though Jack could see no signs of a beating, Alexei's expression of shock and guilt sent a chill down Jack's spine.
Alexei trudged right to his bed and buried his face into the mattress without a word. Jack wondered if he should say something, but he didn't know Alexei. Not really. What was there to say?
A few moments later, Grim got up and walked over, crouching by Alexei's bed, and patted his shoulder, as he'd done when Jack had that nightmare.
Jack hadn't yet heard any of them cry. None. It unnerved him to see a boy as tough as Alexei break. Though Alexei wasn't crying, it was plain as day that something had scared him into a daze.
He watched as Grim coaxed him out of bed, and the two ventured into the washroom to talk about what happened in private.
Alexei was inconsolable, his voice rising loud enough to echo outside the washroom. He was rambling in English and Russian, making it hard for Jack, and no doubt Grim, to follow. Jack heard a few English words here and there, but nothing made sense out of context.
Alexei was shaking so bad, Grim made his way back to his bed to get him a blanket.
"What's wrong?" Jack whispered to Grim from across the rows of beds. He didn't know what compelled him to ask. Maybe it was because Grim noticed he was awake. "Is Alexei okay?"
"He's fine," Grim whispered, Alexei's blanket bundled in his arms. "He'll be fine. Try to sleep."
Grim revealed nothing. He was very good about that, keeping secrets.
Little did they know, a drug-starved Alexei would become the least of their worries.
It's been a week since that incident, and Jack still can't get much sleep. It sure doesn't help that Snyder's second in command and assistant, a certain Mr. Whalen son-a-bitch, wakes the dormitory every morning at six o'clock without fail. He barks that he wants silence, or he'll throw them in solitary.
Jack grits his teeth as Whalen paces like a madman free of his straitjacket, counting each boy to make sure none have escaped the night before – as if that would happen given the security.
Whalen does bed checks. Every night he'll come in to make sure the boys are in bed, asleep, quiet. On a cold night, he almost caught Jack on his way back from the washroom. Close calls like that meant the difference between life and death as far as Jack was concerned.
As soon as Whalen left, Calico Kramer – the sternest inmate Jack had met – coughed, rolling over in bed and clutching his stomach from the pain.
Calico had been sick for a few days, starting with a simple cough here and there. Nothing too concerning, until his hands came away from his mouth bloody after the coughing got worse.
Doc wagered it may be tuberculosis, in which case they were all in trouble. Jack knew diseases like that spread like wildfire in such close quarters. Doc recommended that Cards switch beds with Alexei, who slept next to Calico.
"Your lungs, Alexei," Doc insisted, "If you get it, you ain't gonna make it."
Jack could hear Calico whimpering in his sleep, coughing and groaning. That's when Doc got out of bed, as if on an instinct, and sat beside the German boy, checking his forehead.
"How bad?" Grim asked from his bed, concern clear in his voice.
"He's burning up," Doc replied, bending down to press his ear to Calico's chest, listening to his friend's labored breathing. "Pulse is weak. He can't stop shivering, but that's to be expected—"
"Stefano," Grim said, using Doc's real name, a grave look on his face. "How bad?"
Jack took the silence that followed as a bad sign. He got up from his bed, his hands shaking as he gave the sleeping Calico his blanket to warm him.
Doc gave Jack a sharp look. "You ain't getting that back," he said. "Unless you want to get sick, too."
Jack shrugged in response.
"We could all go to Snyder," Tide suggested from bed. "Offer up our meals for a week, two weeks. Shovel coal. Scrub the chimneys. Anything to get Calico a doctor if it works."
None of the boys said anything, knowing the risk an action as bold as that would run.
"Fuck," Grim rubbed his eyes. "That's a big if.'"
Tide nodded. "It's all we've got."
"It's right thing to do," Cards added.
"Snyder won't help us," Grim said, knowing how callous the Warden was. "He just won't. Either he won't believe us, or he won't care."
"Okay, we'll tell Roosevelt when he comes to inspect the place," Tide said. "Ain't he supposed to come next week?"
"Roosevelt doesn't give a fuck," Atlas Giannotti piped up. "The rich would take a dead kid over a scandal any day."
That's when Calico moaned again, rolling over and coughing. Doc stroked his hair, taking his wrist and feeling his pulse. He looked back at Grim, shaking his head.
Grim sighed, hanging his head in resignation. "There has to be a way," he whispered, folding his arms, and glaring at the barred windows along the wall. "If I have to break out of here and go to Bellevue myself for a doctor, I will."
Jack admired Grim's loyalty to his friends but saw no point in deceiving himself.
The next morning, Calico wasn't feeling any better. One moment, he'd be well enough to work in the factory, and darker moments when he'd complain of fever chills and trouble breathing.
The Warden, at this point, had noticed Calico's lethargy, and his solution had been to dose the boy with chloral hydrate – knocking him out during the day. It made the situation worse for Calico, adding deliriums to his weakened health.
He had become so withdrawn from the world he appeared catatonic in his bed, lying in it for the rest of the day like a corpse, not eating. Jack and the others tried to get him to eat, sneaking back pieces of their dinner from the dining hall, but he didn't respond to any of their pleadings. He looked skeletal, shivering in his bed, muttering about bugs crawling into his skin. He was starting to make No Name look like the sensible one.
"He needs a doctor," Grim was muttering to Jack as he watched Calico lying in his bed from across the dormitory.
"That's not going to happen," Jack muttered.
"It's worth a try," Grim reasoned, knowing it wouldn't work as Jack had said. "Tide's right. If we all go together, it'll be better. Snyder won't have no choice but to listen."
And so it was decided. That evening, while Calico was asleep in his bed, having suffered all day, the others trekked down to the Snyder's office.
As Jack had predicted, it was a courageous act in vain.
Snyder was adamant Calico was shamming, pretending to be sick so he could get out of work. "The boy is a compulsive liar," Snyder said, not looking up from his newspaper. "A few weeks in solitary and chloral will straighten him out."
"No, it won't," Grim insisted, growing angrier by the second. He took a deep breath. "He'll die if he doesn't see a doctor, and it'll be your fault."
"Easy," Tide whispered, but Grim was not about to stop there. Jack held his breath, knowing this was nothing short of a suicide mission.
Absolute silence followed. A deafening, hair-raising silence. Silence that made Jack's blood freeze in circulation.
The others were shocked he'd spoken to Snyder in such a way. And everyone suddenly questioned coming to the office in the first place.
"I don't think I understood you correctly," Snyder said in a very low, icy voice. "Why don't you say that again?"
"He's dying," Grim repeated, approaching the Warden's desk as the color drained from his face. "And no amount of chloral fucking hydrate or solitary confinement will help him."
Jack raised his eyebrows, exchanging looks with the others. No one seemed to know what to do or say. This was all or nothing.
"How dare you," Snyder replied slowly.
"You get him a doctor, or I will get him one myself," Grim said, glaring at him. It was a brave thing to do, but Jack saw the way his face got even more pale, as if he realized how wrong this was about to go.
Doc should've done the talking. Or Shakespeare. Grim was all emotion.
At first, the Warden didn't say anything. Maybe it was because he couldn't believe what had happened. He rose from his seat and met Grim's gaze with a death stare of his own. "Haven't I made it perfectly clear that neither you nor any other inmate is permitted to speak to me in such an uncouth manner?" he said, his face red. "I ought to throw the lot of you in solitary for the rest of your sentences."
Grim barely nodded. Jack thought it might be time to go.
"And yet you dare speak to me in such a way, after all I've done for you," Snyder continued amidst the silence, glaring at Grim. "Well, what have you to say for yourself?"
Grim pushed back his fear and shook his head. "With all due respect, sir, you've done nothing for us," he said quietly.
Fuck, Jack thought, closing his eyes as he felt the other boys' spirits sink in unison. All he could think of was how much he needed another spoonful of laudanum at that moment.
Snyder slammed his fist down on the table. "You impetuous boy! I will not tolerate such vicious behavior!"
Grim looked at the others and found only more fear.
"My predecessor was right! I have given you boys too much leniency, and you have taken advantage of my charity!" Snyder shouted. "Oh, this disgraceful behavior is unprecedented, boy, completely unprecedented! Dear God, I have never in my 12 years as warden of this Refuge been treated thus! How dare you!"
Again, Snyder slammed both fists down. Pens clattered.
Everyone besides Grim backed up all at once. Grim stood alone at the desk with Snyder and his animosity.
"Are you too stupid to realize, boy, that I have heard all the excuses in the book? Inmates saying they're too melancholic, too exhausted, too weak, too sick to work? It's laziness, it's rebellion, and I will not be made a fool of. Do you understand?"
Snyder waited for a response. Grim said nothing.
"You speak when you're spoken to!" Snyder demanded. "Now answer me!"
"Yes, sir," Grim replied in a hoarse voice.
"And for you boys to come down here and ask — no, demand — that I do anything for that deceitful miscreant upstairs is downright lascivious," Snyder continued, now on a roll. "I made this Refuge what it is. Before me, this place was a joke. Absolute bedlam. But look at it now. Everything runs exactly as it should. There are rules, protocol. We couldn't function without order and discipline. The warden before me, he was a fanatic. Not a drop of liquor, not even a cigarette. Insisted the inmates recite scripture every night, insisted on all kinds of measures to prevent immorality. So compared to him, I spoil you all. Far too much. And this is that gratitude I get?"
Snyder slammed another fist on the desk. "The audacity, the nerve of you boys. I will not tolerate it. You will apologize at once and never behave in such a way again. You will beg for forgiveness and accept your punishment in silence, whatever I deem that to be. Clearly, your time here has taught you nothing. You're still the same stupid, selfish criminals you've always been. Am I wrong?"
Grim was silent. The others said nothing. Jack knew this had gone on for too long. But what had they expected? At this point, Jack was more shocked Snyder hadn't hit any of them.
"Very well, if that's the way you want it," Snyder went on. "I will decide on your punishment later. Now go," he said, settling back into his chair and picking up a document to read.
Grim waited a moment as the others began filing out. The room was once again quiet.
Then, Grim leaned over, pressing both hands flat on Snyder's desk, and bent close. He stared at Snyder for a second, waiting for him to look up. When Snyder met his gaze, Jack thought Grim's eyes turned black with rage. "You get him a goddamn doctor, or I swear one won't be able to save you if you don't."
Snyder looked shocked. Grim slowly pulled away, backing up and following the others out the door, shutting it behind him. As the rest of them practically raced up the stairs, Jack slowed down to walk with Grim and Tide, slightly terrified, slightly in awe.
"But..." Jack began, looking from the office to Grim as they climbed up the steps. "Why?"
Grim hummed, a small, wry smile on his lips. "My friend needed me," he said, nodding up to the dormitory.
"Ain't you scared?" Jack asked, his eyes wide, not entirely sure what he just witnessed.
Grim scrunched his eyebrows. "Of who, Snyder?" he asked, to which Jack nodded. He shrugged. "We're all scared. You just can't let it beat ya."
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Hell is a Sober Crawl