Whatever It Takes: A Crutchie Love Story

Chapter Two: Winnie

Crutchie awoke when he felt something tugging at his leg. He moaned and slowly opened his eyes to see a girl. She was bandaging a gash in his good leg. His other leg was bandaged. He also noticed his scraped elbows and knees were also patched up. The blood had been wiped away from his nose and mouth. When he reached up to touch his nose, she spoke.

"Don't worry, it isn't broken."

"Thanks."

"It's ok. They beat you horribly. You've been asleep for almost the whole day."

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Her long, snowy gown made her look like and angel. Her skin was porcelain, and her hair dangled just past her shoulders in soft, gold curls. Her eyes were a mesmerizing, crystal clear blue that sparkled in the light seeping through the bars in the window. She had a very elegant figure and soft, gentle hands. She was beautiful.

"What are you staring at?" she asked him. He didn't realize he was staring.

"Nothin. What's ya name?"

"Winnie."

"That's pretty. I'm Crutchie."

She giggled. "That's a peculiar name. Is that why that crutch is over there?"

His crutch was leaning against the wall in the corner of the cell. She puzzled him. Why was she here? Usually only boys are taken into the Refuge. She didn't seem like a street rat. She didn't even have an accent.

"So, what's ya story?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Ya know. How you'se got here and what happened ta ya."

"How about you go first."

"Ok. I was born wit Polio so my folks didn't want me. That's why I'm a crip. I dunno my real name so I just go by Crutchie. --"

"That's awful!"

"It's not all bad. I don't need no folks. I got a brotha named Jack and lotsa friends. We'se newsies in 'Hatten and we'se went on strike cuz they'se jacked up the prices. None of us could afford to live wit 'em that high. We was strikin' and the Delanceys picked me up cuz I'se didn't get away in time."

"I'm so sorry."

"Why? You didn't do nothin. Your turn."

"Well...I--"

"It's ok if ya don't wanna tell me."

"No it's not that...it's a long story."

"We'se got lotsa time."

"I couldn't...its complicated."

Just looking at him made her want to trust him. He seemed so innocent. But she couldn't reveal anything, and he would probably know if she lied. It was obvious she didn't grow up on the street.

"Winnie, it's ok. Ya don't gotta tell me. Spot don't tell nothin ta no one either. Some of the other Newsies tell ya on a need ta know basis. It's fine."

"Thank you, Crutchie."

"Ya didn't grow up on the street didja?"

"How did you know?"

"First of all ya ain't got no accent and ya use big words. And you seem all proper."

"Yeah, well I didn't grow up in the streets. Wish I did though."

"Why would ya wish for somethin' like that?"

She snapped.

"You have freedom! You can do whatever you want to whenever you want to and no one's there breathing down your neck, watching your every move. You don't have to worry about messing things up!"

She felt tears forming and looked away from him.

"Hey! What's goin' on?"

Oscar and Morris banged on the cell door and unlocked it. They had an identical smirk.

"Didn't we promise boss we'd make sure he didn't do nothin', Morris?"

"That's right, Oscar."

As they spoke, they walked inside and glared at Crutchie. They fiercely kicked him into the hall, his pain returning.

"Take it off!"

"What?"

"Your shirt. Take it off. "

He started to nervously unbutton his shirt, unsure of what was going to happen.

"No! He didn't do anything! He's already hurt enough thanks to you! He--" Winnie wailed at them from inside the locked cell.

"Shut it! You've been 'ere long enough ta know ya place!" Morris screamed at her with force and authority.

He was halfway finished undoing his shirt when Oscar yanked it off of his back. A few buttons came loose. Morris handed Oscar a small, leather cat. The handle fit firmly in his palm. He whipped Crutchie mercilessly with it. He raised it high each time. Every blow ended in a powerful crack as it struck his back. The lashings stung like citrus on a cut. It happened so fast, yet lasted a lifetime. Crutchie screamed so loud that halfway through he nearly lost his voice. The others watched in fear and horror through the metal bars or gaps in the wood doors of the cells as Oscar stopped and chuckled at the fresh blood on the ends of the small whip. Crutchie was thrown back into the cell, his shirt tossed in as well. He saw the blurred face of Winnie, calling his name as he slipped into blackness.

"Crutchie? Crutchie?"