Refuge

Dreaming

Crutchy dreamed. No, that wasn't quite right. He was trapped in a circle of nightmares. His mother's death, the day his leg was mauled, and the strike. Over and over he cried and then screamed. Even in his dreams the pain ricocheted through his tortured frame.

His mother's weak and withered frame looked even smaller on the bed. She smiled at him, then coughed, slowly letting go of his hand. She coughed out her last breath as he cried. He ran through the street, laughing as he jumped over a pair of small children. Another boy ran up to him.

"Hey Jiggs. Who ya running from?"

"Brooklyn boys." He felt himself reply. Young Skittery blanched. And ran. He glared at the retreating back before a bullet went through his knee. Suddenly his crutch was underneath him, and Oscar ripped it away. And then the pain. Morris joined in with a pair of brass knuckles. And then his mother reached for his hand again. The bullet pierced his knee. Morris' knuckles pounded his stomach. His mom. The sound of his knee shattering. The taste of blood when his own crutch smacked him. Her hand going limp. The Brooklyn boy crushing his ankle with a hard stomp, as if the gunshot hadn't done it. Crutchy braced himself for Oscar's fist in his face. But when he looked up, it wasn't Oscar kneeling over him.

It was an angel. Her delicate features shone as she brushed his hair away from his face. She whispered words of comfort as she ran her hands over every cut and bruise, cleaning and bandaging them. In a daze, he reached up to her perfect curls surrounded by a halo of light. She smiled, guiding his hand back down to his side.

"Rest." Her lilting voice commanded him, and he obliged, sinking into a dreamless sleep.

 Crutchy opened his eyes, wincing. He was in a dark room. Nothing could be seen except a single shadow dancing across the roof. He lifted himself up on one elbow to survey the room. It was about five by five, no windows. Solid concrete. A single candle sat by the blanket he was laying on, barely illuminating a few inches. But even in its feeble glow, he could still see a figure sitting motionless in the far corner. Crutchy tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed; then tried again.

"Who...?" he asked. The figure started violently. They pulled on a hat and turned to face him.

"And ya alive.' The small boy laughed nervously. "Christ, ya scared me. How ya doing?" Crutchy looked at him, thoroughly confused. The kid must have noticed, because he launched into an explanation that mostly covered the questions flying through Crutchy's brain. "I don't know what the heck ya did, but it musta been bad, cause two days ago, the Spider himself brought ya half dead body in, and dey threw you in da cave." He gestured to the tiny, dark cell. "That's here, by da way. I got thrown in here fo fighting, and realized within ten minutes that ya had a fever. Apparently, my terrible attempt to save ya life worked. That cover it?" 

Crutchy nodded slowly. 

"So I'm in da Refuge?"he asked. At the kid's nod, Crutchy began to swear under his breath. With every new curse, the kid's eyebrows rose higher. When he was finally finished, the boy whistled.

"Impressive range." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Eddie. Nice ta meet ya."

"Crutchy. You too."