[26]

                                    

                                          
A/N: Sorry it's shorter. Bit of a roadblock right now. Better stuff coming up. 
                          
Winter was in full swing now. Festive families displayed their christmas trees in front of their windows, allowing any passerby to see the glittering garland and ornaments that decorated it. Stores were adorned with red, green, and gold colors, with large posters advertising holiday sales. Children ran around the city with their large winter coats, as their mothers struggled behind them, their arms nearly breaking from the multitude of bags they carried. Couples strolled along the sidewalk, arm in arm, watching as the first few flakes of snow began to fall. It seemed, like everyone in New York City was happy, except for one person. Ruth Davis stood facing Brooklyn, her feet on the edge of the bridge, still as people stared as they walked by.
                          
Christmas used to be a fun time of year, with her family attending her uncle's annual Christmas Gala. The past few years had been used as an excuse for Ruth's parents to try to find suitors for Alice, who rejected each and every one of them. With one swift question, she was able to bring the rich men, who, other than their money, where lacking. She would ask, "what is a woman's place in society?" This question never failed to turn even the most confident of suitors into a mumbling, sweaty mess. She would nod at them once, before sauntering away, rolling her eyes. 
                          
At this point in the year, her mind was usually filled with thoughts of what gifts to get her friends and excitement for the new year. But now, all that she could think about was Racetrack and his condition. Her dreams were haunted by the dark, smelly hallways of the hospital, with the dying, with the last breaths and the deep coughs that filled the air. She saw Racetrack dying. Dying alone; dying, with his last words being, "I love you"; dying while she walked away, unable to hear him call for her as he slumped back; and so on and so forth with no end. She would wake up in a cold sweat, crying as she tried to decipher between reality and fiction. 
                          
Her days started to blend together, the lack of good sleep making her seem like a corpse. She didn't know what to do, which led to boredom. Boredom led to thinking. Thinking led to standing on the Brooklyn Bridge, hoping she would be able to get the help she needed. She needed to do something. Some type of project to keep her mind off of the hospital. She breathed in and took one step onto the bridge. She repeated this action, over and over again, until she had made her way to the other end of the bridge, where two young men stood on each side of the bridge, large bags of newspapers on the ground near their feet. They yelled out made up or greatly embellished headlines so loud, one was able to hear them before you could see them. They saw Ruth coming, and looked at each other, before ceasing their hollering and selling.
                          
"Hey, doll. Where's you headed?" One of the boys leaned against a pole. He took his cap off his head, holding it to his chest. 
                          
"Where's Spot Conlon?" She asked, walking up to the boy. 
                          
"Oooh. Does our Spot Conlon gots a admirer?" The other boy piped up, coming closer to Ruth and his partner. 
                          
"I need to speak to Spot Conlon." Ruth said, her face turning stone cold. She clutched the paper and fountain pen tighter in her hand. 
                          
"Can we's ask why?" The first boy asked, making Ruth huff. The two of them were being incredibly aggravating. She wanted to push past them and march on, but truth be told, she had no clue where to find him.
                          
"It's about Racetrack." She said, hoping they would know who that was. She watched as their confused faces morphed into ones of recognition and understanding.
                          
"Race? Sures, we knows who that is. Youse look like you can use two escorts. Allow us to show you the way, miss." The two men grabbed their newspaper bags, slinging them over their shoulders. They stood on either side of Ruth, and began walking.