PREFACE

“Do you understand why you’re here, Mary?”

Darkness. Her head was spinning, and her body felt numb. She could feel her eyes trying to focus as they slowly tried to flutter open.

“Mary? Now there’s a girl. Keep coming toward my voice, Mary.”

As she began to regain consciousness, Mary could hear a hushed trickling of water, droplets echoing like whispers in a cave. It smelled like human waste and grime, accompanied by a harsh dampness in the air that was beginning to make her skin crawl. At once, Mary recognized where she was, and knew that the people they brought down to the sewers never returned home.

She felt a hand come below her chin to gently lift her head off her chest, and suddenly without warning ice cold water was thrown into her face. The shock snapped Mary back to reality like waking from a nightmare; though unfortunately for her, this was no nightmare. Choking to catch her breath, Mary’s eyes at last took in her surroundings, and a shadow of dread slowly crept over her body.

Sitting down in a rickety wood chair, her feet were restrained to the legs and her arms bound behind her. The ropes were so tight she could no longer feel her feet or her hands, and her limbs burned like they were on fire. She ached in a way she had never experienced, and abruptly without cause, Mary suffered such an intense pain in the side of her head she thought she might pass right back out again. It wasn’t until one of the men spoke that she even really noticed their presence in front of her.

“Welcome back, Mary. We have been waiting.”

As her eyes found his face, Mary identified this man – Mr. Murphy – the man who was her boss’ boss, and she had only met him on one other occasion before she had been officially hired to do their books. Mary was one of the few Irish women in New York who could read, write, and do math, and that had made her very valuable to her people in their rise to political power. It had been her idea…she was eager to make a living on her own. She recollected the Madame warning her repeatedly that if she did this job she needed to be quiet and compliant, and she had. At least until she found that things were not quite adding up: in the beginning, payments were being made to her boss’ “corporation” that she was told not to register. Money was going out to undisclosed personnel in large quantities, and to make sure no one knew, Mary was abrasively coerced into falsifying names and numbers as camouflage. Then, as more time passed, even great evils reared their ugly heads…

It didn’t take long for her to discover that the so-called “cleansed” Tammany Hall was more corrupted than it ever had been in the Tweed regime; they had just found a puppet to distract the people while they continued their underground operations, and no one was aware of who was pulling the strings. “Honest John” as they called him, was in fact honest because he was absolutely oblivious to it all, and the proof was in the books she had been scribing. The devious bastards had played the people like a fiddle, and their tune was winning them the Irish and the rest of New York back to their cause. Only Mary knew it was one giant lie.

“How long have you been running the books for Mr. O’Neill, Mary?” he asked her. Seamus Murphy was a tall, strong man with broad shoulders and piercing green eyes that were prominent amidst his robust facial hair. His usual top hat and coat were missing and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. With his arms crossed over his chest he glared down at her, unflinching and relentless. Mary was terrified, yet realized if she even tried to feign ignorance, they would see right through it. Those consequences wouldn’t be in her favor.

She cast her gaze down to her feet in an attempt to avoid his stare. “After Tweed had been ousted, sir. Kelly wanted someone doing the books…that…that was one of us, and that was…untainted by the Tweed scandal. The Madame always had a good relationship with Tammany and she…she suggested me. She taught me the math when I was just a girl.” Mary gulped back tears of pain, praying for some kind of mercy.

There was a long pause. “When did you decide to start all the fucking blabbing, Mary?” said the other man at Mr. Murphy’s side, standing a few feet behind him. Mary glanced his direction, and as he took a few steps toward her, she was surprised to discover she had never seen him before. Though not as tall as Mr. Murphy, this man was somewhat stout and looked as strong as a bull. His sand colored hair, long nose, and blue eyes would have made him handsome, however his general demeanor was so severe she couldn’t imagine anyone looking at him and feeling anything but intimidation. Her head began to spin again.

The unknown interrogator leisurely made his way closer to Mary, greatly contrasting Mr. Murphy in his appearance by dressing in what she assumed was his Sunday best, and he squatted down with his eyes peering directly into hers, their faces only inches apart. Mary could smell the egg and beans he had for breakfast.

“You love your son, don’t you, Mary?” he went on. At the sheer mention of Thomas, Mary felt her skin get hot and her body tense violently. The man smiled, seeing he had struck a nerve.

“Good. Well if you want Thomas to live through the remainder of the day, you will answer whatever questions I ask you. Promptly. Is that understood?” She remained silent but nodded her head heavily in reply. Her insides were turning over as the gravity of her situation sank in slowly… she would probably never get out of the sewers alive...

He stood up and made a motion to Mr. Murphy, who then hastily took three paces her way and slapped Mary fiercely across the face. For a moment, the blinding agony made her see nothing but stars. She blinked hard, her body lurching forward as her long red hair covered her eyes, and shuddered. The thought of Thomas kept her conscious as rage flowed through her veins. She needed to hold on and be strong, or any hope for her or her son seeing the sunrise tomorrow would disappear. If she couldn’t save herself or any of the others, she had to save him.

Mr. Murphy retreated, and the other man’s back was to her now as he spoke unsympathetically. “I am sorry – I realize this is not how ladies are supposed to be treated. But you’ve done this to yourself. These times are trying for us, and I need to know what you know, Mary. If you tell me what you know, I can help you through this bullshit. But you must cooperate.”

Mary could feel bile rising in her throat. “I will tell you anything. Just don’t hurt Thomas. What do you want to know? What do you want from me?!”

He abruptly turned to face her, eyes blazing. “Who did you tell? That is all I want to know. We need to clean this up now, and I know that you know exactly what I am talking about, Mary. Who did you tell?!”

Mary was quiet again. She had, in truth, told four – the first being the Madame, who had been her benefactor all her life and who she had believed was her guardian. While she hadn’t told her more than a few small details, a part of her wondered if that conversation was the reason she currently sat tied in this chair. The second was Harry, a man who had loved her for many years yet had only remained a dear friend. She ensured he was long gone after her talk with the Madame, and Mary hoped he was halfway to California by now. The last two men were Pinkertons who aided in the original sacking of Boss Tweed, and Harry arranged a meeting between the four of them. Al and John were determined to bring down Tammany Hall for good, and they promised Mary complete confidentiality and a new life for her, Thomas, and little Esther. They had only desired the evidence to support their case…the evidence only she knew how to find. Mary was on her way to discreetly retrieve the pages from their hiding place when Mr. Murphy snatched her off the street, and she thanked God that she was not on her returning trip when he found her, or she’d probably already be dead.

There was no way she could give this man what he wanted – Mary was clueless as to the whereabouts of Al or John, and Harry had already left town. It didn’t matter whom she’d told at this point…she would take the hit for all of them. And that being the case, there was no way in hell she’d rat out the others to try and stay alive for a few measly hours in the sewers.

Mary took a deep breath and hardened her face, willing him to believe her. “One evening I had gone to see a friend of mine after a frustrating day. I had too much whiskey and told him something was not right with the money, and that it made me suspicious of the man that hired me. When I realized what I had done…how stupid I had been…I went to tell the Madame, and she reprimanded me and had me pay off the man to leave town. Which I did, with her help, and I believe he is on his way back to Ireland to be with his family. That is all I did. I swear on my son’s life. Please believe me…it was all just a stupid mistake…”

The man kept his eyes on Mary, studying her. “I believe you, Mary. And I hope you know that you should never lie to me, and I will never lie to you. If you do lie to me, I will always find out, and in this particular case, your deception will get both you and your son killed. Now, as for me being honest, this is a special case…” He let his voice trail off as he nodded to Mr. Murphy again, who hesitatingly strode over to Mary’s chair with a blade out and began cutting the binds on her ankles and wrists. “I need time to make sure you are not hiding something me, and because you betrayed your employer with no grounds, I do not trust you to be loose on the streets running your mouth. The Madame seems to have lost her grip on those closest to her, which I will discuss this with her later. In most circumstances Mary, I kill the bastards who betray us. Myself. However, I am by no means the type to want the blood of a woman on my hands. So we will keep you put away for now, or until I feel it is safe for you to be free again.”

Mary was confused, nearly loose from bindings. “Put me away? Where? Jail?”

With her arms and legs unexpectedly free of the rope, she could feel the blood rushing back, giving them sensation. She had half a mind to turn and run, though she would never make it far; trying to stand would only result in her collapsing after so much time without blood in her limbs. As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Murphy shot her a warning glance, staying closely by her side.

“You will be taken to a special place that you probably call the island, were we put women who have…well…lost touch. You will remain there until I decide it is safe for you to have your freedom again.”

Mary froze, stricken with horror. “Oh no. Please…don’t send me there. You can’t. I am not crazy…you can’t put me in that place…please don’t….”

“If you behave,” he continued. “It won’t be long before you are out and with your son once more. Don’t push your luck, Mary. You are lucky to have the prospect of a life after what you have done. If you go quietly you won’t have to put up with another beating from Mr. Murphy. Don’t make me change my mind.”

Mary struggled to keep herself from fighting and shrieking out for help – it was no use. The whole reason behind taking their 7 6 victims down to the sewers was because there was no one to hear their screams.

“Please…please tell my son I am alive. That I will come home…please…”

“Your son will be told by the Madame that you have left to start a new life with your friend…Harry I think was his name? I will ensure Thomas will be looked after by the Madame and her giant French goon. And Mary? You will never mention this incident from the minute you arrive at Blackwell.” With that final verdict, the man spun on his heels and began pacing away, disappearing into the blackness.

As Mr. Murphy shuffled her along, a pistol thrust into her side, Mary started to cry and choked aloud, “I don’t even know your name….”

Her answer came from somewhere through the rumbling, damp tunnel: “Croker.”

PART 1: NEW YORK CITY, 1874

I.

It was early morning when the rain began to fall, and Thomas thought the dreary climate paralleled the dark and wistful clouds hanging over his own heart. He sat on the windowsill lost in memories as he watched the city go mindlessly through the habitual motions to start the day, unable to stop speculating where his mother could possibly be, or worse, to what end she might have met. It was nearing six and a half days since Mary vanished. Thomas hadn’t slept more than a few hours, and that was solely the result of sheer exhaustion. In addition, he found he was constantly lying to Esther to keep her at ease. Thomas had formed a routine, every night sneaking out quietly after putting her in bed, on to desperately hunt the streets of New York in the hopes of finding a trace or hint of Mary’s whereabouts. Though it wasn’t easy, Thomas sought out most of Mary’s friends, acquaintances…anyone he believed his mother conversed with at one time or another all to no avail. Even the Madame appeared to be in a state of despondency over Mary’s inexplicable absence, which was more emotion than he’d witnessed from her in years. It was as if his mother evaporated into thin air – and there was no proof to persuade him otherwise.

On that first evening, Thomas and Esther arrived home at their apartment above the barbershop only to discover it empty. Devoid of any worry, Thomas’ immediate assumption had been Mary was caught working late again, or that she needed a whiskey after the daunting hours she typically endured at her job. Mary ran the books and numbers for a general store in Hell’s Kitchen, and while Thomas never liked her employer much, he genuinely did not suspect he could have anything to do with Mary’s disappearance. Billy O’Neill was a slimy son of a bitch, but Mary was smart, and Thomas was certain if his mother couldn’t talk her way out of a situation with him, she would physically have the advantage given the man was nearly a head shorter than her and constantly had a half bottle of whiskey under the table. It had been hard for her to convince O’Neill to hire her – good, honest work for a woman was hard to come by. Mary won out in the end by proving her education far exceeded every employee he had put together and, as a result, their little family had been earning almost triple what they were before. As that first night neared dawn, Thomas grew increasingly worried, and mistakenly suppressed his conscience. While the sun ominously rose, he anticipated any second for her to walk through the front door, yet her footsteps never came up the back stairs, and when the time came to wake Esther, Thomas sensed that something was very, very wrong.

Nearly a week had come and gone since then, and still Thomas found no answers. He now sat watching the rain pour from the grey sky, an endless array of horrific possibilities swirling through his head, and it didn’t take long for him to conclude the odds of seeing Mary again were not in his favor. They had taken care of each other from the beginning, just the two of them, and for years Thomas thought he was on his way to being a self-sustaining man; however the sudden reality of his circumstances made him see how emotionally unprepared he was to be alone. New York City was one of the most treacherous places in the entire world, where people were murdered in the streets and disappeared every day, and here he sat, almost ashamed this incident had taken him by surprise. His ignorance and his lack of a grasp of the world around him were both hard truths he found difficult to swallow. The agitation and overwhelming sadness he’d been purposefully pushing down these long few days at last escaped and surfaced from his heart, and then slowly those feelings became rage…rage at being utterly unable to control anything around him. It wasn’t until there was a tap on his shoulder Thomas noticed he’d been crying, and he turned to find the stare of a tiny, apprehensive Esther at his side.

“Tommy? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Her eyes were still half asleep as she ambled closer, wrapping her small arms around his chest and squeezing tight. Thomas immediately wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand and smiled down at her, trying the best he could to mask his pain and frustration.

“Es, what are you doing awake? The sun has only just come up.” Standing, Thomas scooped her into his arms and walked back toward her room. “Back to bed. You’ve still got at least another hour until you need to be up.”

Esther comfortably nuzzled into his arms and yawned, pushing her long dark hair from her face. “But you were…you were crying again. What’s wrong?”

With one hand, he opened her bedroom door, sighing. “I think it might just be you and me for a little while, Es. Is that all right with you?”

“You mean Mary’s not coming back?”

Thomas placed her down into her bed and under the covers, not sure how to respond. “I am going to go make us some breakfast. Back to sleep.”

Without any protest, Esther was already dreaming by the time Thomas closed the door softly behind him. Nearly two years prior, Mary brought Esther home with her and explained to Thomas they had acquired a new member of the family rather than orphaning her to the streets, and Thomas hadn’t done anything to challenge his mother’s decision. Esther easily assimilated to their lifestyle, and Thomas was relieved to have her now as a companion, at least until he could decide what in the hell to do next.

He drew in a long, deep breath to get himself composed. Thomas aspired to maintain an air of normalcy around Esther to prevent her from being panicked or frightened. She had only just turned ten years old and, considering her own personal history, Thomas didn’t want her to feel abandoned, even if he did. Wandering over to the windowsill once more, he resumed his post, trying to work through the devastating idea that the life he’d known no longer existed. When lower-class people went missing in New York City, they were almost never found or heard from again – it was a hazard of where they lived, one he came to terms with at a very young age after seeing more violence than most directly outside his window. Regardless of this, Thomas could not move on without at least the smallest sense of resolution…an inkling, even, would be sufficient to put his heart and mind at rest. Mary had never been the type of woman to do anything sporadically or on a whim, and she worked hard to earn as much as she could for the small life they lived. It was impossible to imagine she would desert everything she’d built to simply pick up and leave a son she loved and a little girl she took in to nurture. No, there had to be foul play in one way or another, and someone had to know something. Perhaps he had just been looking in all the wrong places…

The church bells chimed loudly outside, and the devout made their way down the road to mass that Sunday morning to say prayers for those they loved. At last, the misty rain was fading and the sun began to peek through the clouds. If Mary were here she would be walking out their door at that exact moment to join them. But she wasn’t…and Thomas’ anger at God for doing this to him kept him right where he was, carrying on in his presumptions, trying in spite of himself not to miss her.

When the crowd had filtered through and left the streets slightly less crammed, Thomas took a few coins from his and Mary’s stash and went out on an extended search for fresh eggs and bread, wanting to make him and Esther a big, special breakfast to start a new day…a new chapter in their lives. After bartering with the baker for his largest loaf, using Mary’s disappearance to extend his money as far as it would take him, he found eggs at the corner market and made his way back to the apartment. The cool, post-storm breeze and social encounters did him justice, providing some clarity from the fog of his grief. It was then a thought struck him: he hadn’t heard from the Madame since the day he informed her of Mary’s disappearance, and while he gave her space to let her do some digging on her own, such an extended silence was not in her character. Perhaps he should drop in on her…Thomas couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone more than four days without at the very least having her drop by the apartment…

Thomas returned to wake Esther for their meal and to dress for the day ahead, formulating a plan as to what he might do once she was at the Hiltmores’. Not long after Esther’s arrival into their home, the Madame found Esther work as a domestic servant for a very prominent society family in Midtown. The Hiltmores hired her, undoubtedly due to a favor they owed the Madame, and Esther became a maid for their young daughter, Celeste, who was only two years older and ecstatic to have another girl in her midst. Mary saw this as the perfect opportunity for Esther to learn proper conduct as well as to be educated, and without any protestation, Mr. and Mrs. Hiltmore conveyed they had no objections to Esther sitting in on their daughter’s tutoring once or twice a day if she completed her tasks at the residence. Within weeks, Esther quickly picked up the basics of French, was learning arithmetic, and her reading and writing were progressing far beyond anyone’s expectations. It wouldn’t be long before she surpassed Thomas’ own capabilities, and he could only hope the Hiltmores’ generosity would take her in the right direction as she grew older.

The storm had completely dissipated by the time they were fed and ready for the day, though unfortunately the crowd reconvened. The damp and muddy cobblestone streets were packed endlessly with people, livestock, and wagons shoving their way to and fro. After locking up the apartment, Thomas took Esther’s hand tightly in order to not lose her in the masses. She jogged along behind him as he swerved in and out of the pack, hoping that in six or seven blocks they would be free from the claustrophobia of their neighborhood.

Finally making it to fresh air, Thomas let go of her and the two strolled on for another few minutes until Esther broke their silence, slowing her pace.

“Tommy…I need to tell you something…”

“What is it, Es?”

She kept her eyes downcast, her expression guilty. “I know you told me not to tell Celeste about Mary…but…I…I did. It was an accident, though, I promise! She asked why I had been sad, and I can’t lie to her. Or to anyone! You know I’m a terrible liar! I just…I couldn’t do it…I’m sorry.”

Thomas let out a slight chuckle and shook his head, not at all surprised. “Es, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I knew you’d tell her sooner or later. Little girls aren’t supposed to keep secrets. That’s for when you’re older.” She paused at his words, her sparkling green eyes more than a little confused, and he resolved not to explain his joke. “I’m not mad in the slightest. Everyone will find out eventually, and I know Celeste is your best friend.”

“You promise you aren’t mad?”

“I promise.”

She seemed to be satisfied with his reply, and tugged his hand to resume their commute. “I have a French lesson this afternoon! Well, Celeste has a French lesson…I just get to listen. I’ve gotten so much better, Tommy…”

Esther chatted merrily on for the remainder of their journey and Thomas indulged her by appearing wholly engrossed in her lessons and the gossip of the Hiltmores’ household staff. Internally, however, he went back and forth considering the inclination he’d had earlier that morning to pay the Madame a visit once Esther was settled, praying she might have some explanation for him. If anyone managed to uncover Mary’s fate, it would be her, and the fact that it had been nearly a week without any contact from the Madame made Thomas increasingly suspicious.

Thomas saw Esther to the servant’s quarters at the rear of the house and changed his direction west toward the edge of Central Park. As he walked, he replayed the previous days in his head – out of every person Thomas questioned in his pursuit of Mary, the conversation he’d had with the Madame suddenly became the most disconcerting. There was no denying she was the most well-connected person he’d ever met and the closest thing to family he had left. Nevertheless, since Thomas initially told her the news, her voice and opinions were noticeably missing whereas typically, they were the most prominent, and not by his choice. There were only two plausible explanations: that the Madame was as unsuccessful as Thomas had been, which he strongly disbelieved, or that she uncovered something and didn’t want to tell him. Either way, this was the only option Thomas had left. He just hoped it hadn’t been a late night – the one thing she hated more than being woken up was unexpected visitors, and Thomas would in all likelihood be both of those upon reaching at The Palace.

It took him thirty minutes to navigate from East Midtown to where The Palace was located, and unlike the nighttime hours, the early morning was tame and subdued. He marched to the front gate and unlatched the lock; like clockwork, a grinning Louis stepped outside the front door and nodded hello to Thomas.

“Good morning, Tommy. Always a pleasure to see you,” he greeted, his French accent scarcely obvious.

“Hi, Louis. Is the Madame awake? I need to speak with her.”

He shrugged. “You know she almost never sleeps. Everything all right?”

Thomas almost smirked, meeting him at the top of the stoop. “Louis, you know not everything is all right. Can I see her?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at mass, Thomas?” came the Madame’s familiar tone bellowing down the staircase, and he saw her hastily descending over Louis’ shoulder. “What on earth are you doing here on a Sunday?” Her voice was filled with condescension and annoyance.

“We need to talk,” he replied, pushing past Louis’ large frame to meet her at the bottom of the staircase. She was still fully dressed in her provocative yet fashionable ensemble from the previous night, and Thomas wondered if she’d spent the whole evening awake for the same reasons he had.

Defensively, the Madame glared at him and crossed her arms, not bothering acknowledge his demands; instead, she merely rotated around and made her way back up to her office, and Thomas took this as an invitation to follow.

From the outside, any average pedestrian saw the The Palace as another luxurious mansion at the western foot of Central Park; what was hidden beneath its exterior housed the most lavish whorehouse in New York City, catering only to the rich and powerful, as most could not afford to set foot inside. Every item of décor was imported specifically from a supplier in Paris and each piece was one of a kind, making Thomas hypothesize exactly how far the Madame’s power truly reached into the realm of the world. The main chandelier looked as if it were made entirely of diamonds, glistening like water on the dark marble floors below their feet and along the perfectly painted beige walls. The artwork impeccably decorating the rooms was said to have been a gift from an old foreign client, and the deeply romantic and racy tones set the mood perfectly for any arriving customer. Base boards and crown molding were all delicately adorned in gold trim, the furniture and tables detailed in the same hue to match. The ambiance was meant to make each client feel like royalty, which some of them were, and anything they could possibly need or want was provided effortlessly. The Madame offered absolute discretion to her customers, and in turn, earned certain favors and enough leeway to make her one of the most influential women in the city. Whatever her girls learned through the very meticulous and careful methods they shared with her, and this information was catalogued and used to the Madame’s advantage to increase both her wealth and power. The Vault, as they called it. She had run her business for close to twenty years. Miraculously, she managed to look as if she had not aged a day in all the time Thomas had known her, as if both The Palace and the Madame would remain timeless, no matter what storms they weathered. And as Thomas recalled there had been many storms.

As soon as they reached the second floor, the Madame headed straight through the giant oak doors of her office to give them privacy, and Thomas closed both doors shut behind him. He took a seat on the armchair in front of her enormous desk, or the ‘throne’ as he mockingly referred to it, where she was perched eyeing him closely. They sat in silence for a few seconds, Thomas thoughtfully debating over how to begin, when she rapidly got to her feet and went over to the drink cart, pouring herself a large glass of whiskey. Lifting it, the Madame held it level to her eyes, as if suspect of the quality, and then threw the glass back to finish it in one gulp.

“Would you like one, Thomas?” she asked, letting out a staunch exhale. “I think I will have another.”

Without waiting for his response, she refilled her own glass along with one for him. Thomas was accustomed to having a glass of whiskey with her every once in a while, typically on special occasions or when times were hard on them. In this case, he could feel something was different. She knew why he was here and what he wanted, she simply didn’t want to tell him the truth, and he could see it in her face. The Madame picked up their glasses and floated over toward him, leaning back against the front of her desk. She handed him his whiskey and took another sip of her own. Thomas struggled to remember the last time he had been this close to her, and realized it had been months, if not years. She was exquisite to see up close, beyond beautiful in every aspect of her features. Though she would never admit her age, the only evidence the Madame exceeded thirty were the deepening crow’s feet around her honey and grey colored eyes. Her dark hair was amazingly littered with red, not grey, and her petite frame and porcelain skin gave her a deceivingly angelic exterior, though anyone who spent more than a few minutes on her bad side would know better. Thomas had witnessed the Madame once or twice in her most menacing form, and he preferred to keep that part of her personality dormant while he was in her presence.

Thomas had a drink from his glass. “Rough night?” he started, trying to edge into the discussion.

She sneered. “You could say that – nothing like catering to a bunch of bastards from Georgia who still think the Confederacy will rise again,” she laughed to herself. “Fucking imbeciles.”

He couldn’t resist a grin, relaxing slightly. “Never one to sugar coat it.”

“We both know that’s not how I work. What is it you need, Thomas?”

“And I thought we were being straightforward? You know why I’m here.”

“Oh do I?”

“You promised me you’d try and find her,” he retorted, annoyed and mildly insulted. “And you know it’s bullshit that I am here after almost a week begging you to tell me what you know.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Ah, so this is just about your mother, then.”

Thomas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How can you even say that? You’re acting like she doesn’t even matter to you when we both know that’s not true!”

“Watch your fucking mouth, Thomas, and if you don’t I’ll have Louis knock a little sense into your thick skull,” she shot back, taking another gulp of whiskey as her face hardened.

Thomas’ temper took over. “I’m not one of your damn marks, for Christ’s sake, and you swore you’d find out something…anything for that matter! You have been avoiding me purposefully because you don’t want to tell me what it is you found. I know you better than you think, Madame.”

“I’ve had my fucking eyes and ears everywhere, Thomas, and no, there’s been nothing. For days nothing. I’ve been reaching out with no response, and that fucking ape who runs the store doesn’t know a God damned thing either. So no, Thomas, I have nothing new to report. And you’re right. I have been avoiding you because of that.”

From the way she spoke there was no room for her usual stretch of the truth, and Thomas’ head and spirit sank.

“No one has talked? How is it that not a single person she knows can tell us anything? It just doesn’t make any fucking sense! You know her…she wouldn’t just…just leave…she wouldn’t…”

The Madame shook her head. “Thomas, listen to me, and these words will not be easy to hear. We have to assume the worst – that she’s dead and we’ll never know when or why. I want nothing more than to find Mary, believe me, but we have no clues to lead us in any direction. The trail went cold. We just have to continue moving forward.”

He sat still for a moment, frozen. A spark lit in Thomas’ head as he went over the Madame’s words again. There was no way to know for certain, but something in the way the Madame addressed him caught Thomas’ attention, and he could sense it must have been rehearsed. In times of stress she was always candid with her words, which were typically littered with profanities and vulgarity…unless, of course, she was putting on an act, and after years of beholding it firsthand, Thomas saw through the cover. Discreetly, he observed his surroundings, considering the entire scene with scrutiny. Her countenance was placid, her eyes sorrowful, and her body language lacked usual poise. She had even added the personal touch of being nearer to Thomas, along with the gesture of pouring a whiskey for him…it all came together to make a perfect and easy play for her. Obviously, the Madame was attempting to emotionally compromise him…to convince him there was nothing more to the story. The Madame loved his mother; the three of them had been family since Thomas could remember. Giving up and letting go was not one of her strong suits, yet protecting others by hiding her secrets was how she’d become the woman who currently stood in front of him. There was no way through the armor, and Thomas didn’t know what else to do. Accusing her wouldn’t get him anywhere other than in a screaming match, and he didn’t want Louis giving him a black eye because of it.

A loud knock on the door interrupted them, and without a second thought the Madame set down her glass, her demeanor wholly transforming.

“What is it, Louis?” she demanded in irritation, proceeding around the desk to sit down on her throne.

“Madame, you have a few guests downstairs wanting to see you on urgent business,” Louis called. “I put them down in the parlor room and poured them each a whiskey.”

“The ones I’ve been waiting on?” she pressed, her interest clearly heightened.

“Yes, Madame.”

She smiled. “Tell them I will be right down, Louis.” Straight away she was on her feet, strolling out of her office. “Finish your whiskey and stay here if you wish to resume our talk. Otherwise, I will plan on seeing you later tonight at the apartment.” She paused at the door to adjust her dress and make sure her appearance was adequate, and right before she left him, the Madame turned back. “I’m sorry, Thomas. You’re…you’re like a…well, you know what you and your mother mean to me. I don’t want you to think there’s any hope when there isn’t. The world is a fucked up place, and I’m just trying to keep you safe…in my own way. I hope you can understand that.”

He nodded, acknowledging her sentimentality, and she whipped around and out the doors, closing them and leaving Thomas alone in the office. Mulling over what to do next, the phrase ‘no hope’ rang loud in his ears. On the contrary, Thomas refused to believe the Madame spent the previous week accepting the shrugs and confusion of others as gospel – when the Madame wanted something, she got it no matter the cost. Her excuse was not plausible, and with no other leads to follow, there was only one thing left he could do. His gaze fell on the desk in front of him. Silently, Thomas got to his feet and tip toed over to the office doors, listening to be sure no one was lingering outside before bolting them shut. There would only be a small window of opportunity for him to take. She’d had enough confidence to leave him without supervision in her office…alone with her desk…and Thomas realized it was one place the Madame never dreamed he would dare to look through.

The surface proved to be more decorative than informative, and after piecing through its external contents, Thomas ransacked every drawer, reading and examining each piece of paper or object he found. As he searched it eagerly from top to bottom, Thomas felt his frantic pursuit was in vain, and an overpowering frustration set in. He cursed under his breath, slamming the last drawer closed, glaring down at the insignificant things he’d come across. The desk, like so many aspects of The Palace, was only a decoy, and he reprimanded himself for thinking he could possibly outsmart the Madame. Did he really think anything of value would be left out in the open for someone to find? Sitting into the Madame’s chair, Thomas slammed his fist down on the desk, and instantly stopped dead. Once more he slammed his hand down, and a grin crept to his lips.

It was brilliant.

Lightly tapping, Thomas was aware that there was something hollowed out underneath the top...something metal. The Madame kept everything under lock and key in The Palace, why would her own desk be any different?

Thomas dove underneath the desk and uncovered a small, locked iron safe. His thoughts raced with the possibilities of what to do next: a key was needed to open it, and he lost himself for a minute or two, seriously contemplating breaking the desk apart, and then he remembered the whiskey decanter. There was a key that hung around the outside of its neck. Up to that very second, he’d only thought of it as a decoration or keepsake with no idea what it was really for…no idea until now. He got to his feet and hustled toward it, becoming convinced with every passing second there was something she was hiding deliberately from him in the safe, though he wasn’t sure why. Carefully, Thomas grabbed the key and returned, lowering himself under the desk and hurriedly twisting open the lock.

What he found was not at all what he expected. His eyes first focused on an old, fully loaded revolver covered with a thin film of dust. Gently, he picked it up in his shaking hands, blowing away the grime and examining it closely. It was a Griswold, a gun he’d heard his Master Lawrence ramble on about but had never had the privilege of observing firsthand. The metalwork was unlike anything Thomas had ever seen, detailed to a degree that didn’t quite add up for a mass-produced weapon of the war. A little in awe, he set it down on the ground to his right and kept digging. Next, Thomas found a small stack of paper money, and his eyes grew wide when he counted almost five hundred dollars altogether, which was more money than he’d ever heard of anyone possessing at once. Uneasy with having that much in his hands, he set the bills down beside the Griswold. Moving on and underneath his first two discoveries sat a handful of letters and documents, which after a quick skim, proved be legal documents claiming the Madame owned not only The Palace, but also multiple other properties scattered throughout the city, including the apartment he, his mother, and Esther called home. Once he’d flipped through those with amazement, the safe was empty, and Thomas’ defeat made him ashamed for sneaking when he knew he shouldn’t have. Perhaps she hadn’t lied…perhaps for once, she’d told him everything…

Just as he was about to replace what he’d found, Thomas caught a glimpse of a very tiny piece of satin sticking up in the back part of the floor inside the safe. Without hesitation, he instinctively lunged forward and pulled the tiny piece of fabric, and to his delight, the bottom of the safe came up, revealing an immense stack of papers he could easily make out to be personal letters of correspondence. Thomas’ heart pounded as he removed the letters, and after a quick peek, saw they were the only contents in the hidden compartment. Straightening up to filter through what he’d unearthed, Thomas thought he must be hallucinating. Every one of the letters was addressed to the same person, and that person was not the Madame. It was his mother.

A far off rustling of footsteps up the staircase caught his attention. Thomas stopped dead and listened intently, thankful to recognize the heavy tread of Louis’ leather boots and not the light clacking of the Madame’s heels ascending steadily toward him. There wasn’t much time. Thomas thrust the floor of the safe back into place, put one hundred dollars of the money back into the safe along with the property deeds and closed the hatch, locking it tightly. His hands steadied with adrenaline as he placed the Griswold, letters, and cash into his jacket and folded it up. The best choice he had was to take the key with him along with everything else in the hopes that the Madame’s spare was not close at hand, thus giving him a greater head start. With everything tucked away neatly, Thomas heard Louis down the hallway and raced to the door, unbolting the locks, and then hurried to his chair, throwing back the last of the Madame’s Casper’s whiskey and trying to appear composed and casual as Louis knocked and entered the office.

“Ah good, you’re still here. Madame wanted me to tell you her meeting will take some time but you’re more than welcome to stay.”

If he had any clear chance at an undetected escape with the Madame’s stolen goods, it would have to be while the Madame was preoccupied elsewhere.

“Tell her it’s all right, and I will just plan to see her later,” he told Louis, rising from the chair. Thomas realized as he got up he had been moving so frantically his whole body was soaked with sweat, and sincerely prayed Louis wouldn’t take any notice.

Louis loitered at the door, his face pained. “Tommy…if there is something I can do to help…anything at all…all you need to do is ask. I am sorry about your mother. I truly am. We loved her dearly.”

Thomas kept his distance and tried to innocently remain a few feet away. “Thank you, Louis, that really means a lot to me.” Louis was the Madame’s right-hand man and her muscle, never leaving her side unless ordered directly by her to do so. Throughout Thomas’ life, Louis paid special attention to him and to Mary; the threatening scowl he reserved for most visitors was always brushed aside in their presence, and in its place was a constant, encouraging smile. Oftentimes he was the only one Thomas could turn to when his mother or the Madame were both driving him out of his mind. For anyone else, however, Louis was a force to be reckoned with: at six feet tall, his long and burly limbs could crush stone if requested to do so, and his shaved head and blonde goatee made him all the more intimidating. Nonetheless, Louis was a friend, one of the few Thomas had, and he hoped this breach of the Madame’s trust wouldn’t affect their longstanding relationship.

“How is Esther?” he asked. “How is she dealing with this?”

“Fine,” Thomas said plainly, shifting nervously on his feet. “She’s taking it in stride. Es is tough, tougher than me I think.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Louis agreed, teasing. “You’re back working with Lawrence tomorrow morning?”

“Horseshoes until lunchtime.”

“Good. That metal work will help you work through it. Having an outlet for your emotions during days like these is necessary since obviously you’ve been doing nothing but hiding from them.”

Thomas was startled. “I have not–”

Louis held up a hand to stop him. “Just hit the fucking the hammer hard tomorrow. For me. Now take one of these and get out of here.” He took a step forward and tucked one of his hand rolled cigarettes into Thomas’ shirt pocket, the scent of fresh tobacco hitting Thomas’ nostrils, and winked. “Got a fresh batch in yesterday. Your favorite. Damn fine if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you, Louis,” he replied, gripping the bound up jacket on his arm even tighter, “I’ll see you later this week.” With a small nod, Thomas set off out of the Madame’s office and down the stairs, reciting a Hail Mary over and over again in his head until he reached the street outside, trekking south. He contemplated how much time he had until they figured out what he’d done.

When Thomas finally reached the apartment, he was out of breath from the elevated pace of a near full-on sprint for the majority of his trip home. He wasn’t sure why, but a strong pang of paranoia was consuming him, and rather than take any chances Thomas locked the door to the apartment, trying to slow his heartbeat. Once his lungs recovered, he rushed straight to the loose floorboard in his room, where he and his mother designated their secure spot to hide their earnings from work or otherwise, and only the two of them were aware it existed. Together, they had been planning to go west for almost three years, wanting to start a new life away from the madness and growing dangers of New York. Last week they had been just ten dollars short and on the verge of arranging their travels to the frontier. With the hundreds of dollars he now possessed in his jacket, he and Esther would have more than enough money to comfortably travel on their own and fulfill that dream, taking them to a place of opportunity much different than the city. From what Thomas regularly observed, it was evident that New York was worsening with each passing day, and if Thomas could survive it for seventeen years, he was convinced he could survive anywhere in the world. Secretly, Thomas believed he understood the real reason Mary wanted out of New York: she wanted to escape from the hold of the Madame, and while she never personally confided this in him, it was obvious to Thomas his mother desired something more out of her life. The Madame was an overbearing force and involved in every major decision they made. His mother sought a place that was their own, and Thomas rejected the idea of giving that up entirely. In his heart, he didn’t want to stay any longer in that suffocating, filthy place…particularly with Mary gone. If his mother was dead and watching over him, Thomas was determined this is what she would have wanted him to do; Mary was never one to dwell on anything she couldn’t control. “It’s all in God’s way,” she used to tell him, and a part of him debated over if she actually believed it, or if it was the only way she could accept the world around her.

As he got to his room, Thomas shut himself inside. He proceeded to place the Griswold and cash onto the floor and commence the task he couldn’t complete at The Palace. Dumping the letters on his bed, he scattered them around while he considered where to begin. The Madame locked these away for a reason – not a single one belonged to her, and he doubted whether or not his mother even knew they existed. The paper must have been years old and, judging from their external condition, the letters were heavily worn from a long journey. Thomas couldn’t wait any longer. He snatched one up into his hands and initiated reading the words on the page.

August 1860

Mary,

I have been thinking of you incessantly, and I am excited to report I think this conflict may at last be coming to a close. We are planning a march into enemy territory in just a few weeks’ time, and I am quite certain these Eastern armies have no knowledge of the firepower of the Imperial Navy. If all goes accordingly, I will be sailing home to England and then back to you in the spring. So much has happened while I have been away, and I have much to tell you about. But most importantly, I want you to come back to England with me. My fortunes have changed to a degree that has completely altered my life and our future. There we can begin our life together and live at ease and in comfort.

I miss you more than I could ever say in this letter, and I hope you know my love has only grown stronger in our time apart. I promise I will be with you soon.

Yours & etc.,

Edward

Thomas stared at the letter unblinking, feeling as if a wave of cold water hit his entire body. Struggling to assemble the pieces of the puzzle, Thomas could only conclude with an explanation that seemed impossible. From an early age, he had been told his father perished during his childhood in the early battles of the Civil War. Since then, Mary made it clear she never wanted another man in her life and rarely spoke of him, and Thomas didn’t push the subject, maintaining it to be too heartrending for her. But there was something indisputable in this letter that made Thomas’ hair stand on end. Right on the page was all the evidence needed to corroborate the old story was a farce: it was the name of the letter’s author, because Edward, he’d been informed, was the name of his father. And there was no chance it was purely coincidence.

Heart pounding hard in his chest once again, Thomas grabbed another letter and read it from top to bottom, this one nearly identical to its predecessor. Then another. And another. It took well over an hour for him to read them all, and once he finished, Thomas completely fell apart where he stood, dropping down to his bedroom floor with the final letter in his hands. It had been a giant lie…a lie perpetrated to provide him with closure in reference to his absent father. Letting the paper slip from his fingertips, Thomas pulled at the hair on the back of his head, shutting his eyes tight in aggravation. Oddly, the most despairing notion was that the one person he wanted to confront was no longer there to answer his questions, forcing Thomas to sort out Edward’s story on his own using the seventy-one letters he had at his disposal.

From what he could gather, Edward Turner was the second son of a very wealthy English tradesman. The way he discussed his family made Thomas assume his elder brother took the helm of the business when the time came, and therefore Edward chose to enlist in the Royal Navy due to his love of being on the sea. He excelled and before long captained his own ship with a rowdy but loyal crew. In the summer of 1856, Edward came to New York City to see his cousin’s nuptials to an American bride. Since birth, Edward and his cousin apparently were extremely close, and Edward considered him to be another brother as well as his best friend. It was this summer that Edward met Mary, and the pair fell in love right as he departed to a war in the South Pacific. After four years of being away, Edward planned to sail to England and then onto New York City in order to claim Mary and bring her home across the Atlantic with him. Then, out of the blue, Edward found he was not only a Lord but also the sole heir to their family fortune. What’s worse, on his return trip, Edward became dangerously ill with malaria and many thought he would not survive. It took months for him to recover, and due to the gravity of his family’s situation, he was honorably discharged from the navy.

He faithfully wrote to Mary and told her everything that happened, though it became apparent in Edward’s pleas to hear from her she must have stopped responding to his correspondence not long after the war. Thomas was amazed at Edward’s diligence; he never faltered in his devotion to Mary, and he couldn’t help feeling perplexed at his mother’s lack of constancy as he read on. It wasn’t until he found the final letter that the reason behind this was revealed.

Madame,

I greatly appreciate your letter. I had not heard from Mary in quite some time and was also beginning to wonder if my nightmares had become a reality. My deepest condolences to you as well, and I hope you know Mary will forever remain the love of my life.

If there is anything I can assist you with, please do not hesitate to write with your request. I would also like you to consider burying her here on my estate where she ought to have lived the rest of her days, as she is the only woman I would ever want to be buried by my side. Please let me know if this wish could be granted.

I am devastated to know she has been taken from me before our life together could even begin.

Sincerely Yours & etc.,

Lord Edward Turner

The letter was clutched so forcefully between his hands it was a miracle it didn’t rip. Thomas’ eyes scanned over the words again, the frustration building faster. A fury rose in Thomas – one he had never experienced at such a high intensity, and he was barely able to contain himself. It all made sense. Mary hadn’t wanted to discuss Edward because she had honestly never known what became of him. The Madame must have started intercepting their letters and told his father Mary died. Edward must have had no idea that Thomas even existed, and Thomas was in such shock the only thing he could do was gape at the pile of letters on his bed. There was so much anger…so much resentment…it took every ounce of his willpower to not explode into a rampage.

Fighting hard to concentrate and keep a clear head, Thomas succeeded in convincing himself no good would come from lashing out. If anything, it would end with a beating, and he would be on the worse end of it for daring to betray the Madame despite his overpowering desire to strangle her with his bare hands. The truths and answers he sought he would never find in her. In her, there would only be excuses and more fabrications. The bigger mystery was why his mother had never told Edward about having a son, and the possibility that he could be the child of anyone else now seemed groundless – he’d done the math in his head, and being born in the spring of 1857 meant these letters were no longer circumstantial. Thomas took a few deep breaths and let them go loudly, cursing his mother for leaving him in such a mess. His gaze wandered over the paper still in his hands, his forced composure steadying his anger. It was at that second Thomas’ eyes grew wide as they locked on Edward’s return address.

There was his answer – his one and only opportunity. If he wanted a father, and if he wanted to seek the facts, he had nothing else to lose. A man he never presumed he would meet was just a letter away, and it gave him hope that maybe he wasn’t as alone as he supposed…that maybe this man, if he loved Mary that dearly, would want nothing more than to hear from Thomas and find him.

Standing abruptly, Thomas took the last letter with him into the kitchen, where he poured himself a large glass of whiskey and sat down at the table. For a moment he wavered, glancing at the letter: he was at a crossroads, and the decision he made in the next few seconds would greatly affect the rest of his life. During the week of Mary’s absence, Thomas felt as if he’d aged ten years. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to cope with, and he was forced to comprehend the weight his mother suffered dealing with so much on her own. He needed to do this for her, and she’d be damned to let someone else dictate the way his life would be lived. Thomas threw back his glass of whiskey and rose to his feet, going to grab ink and paper from his desk. When he got back to the kitchen table, he sat down and wrote a letter to someone he firmly believed could change everything, and he no longer cared if it was for better or for worse.

Lord Turner,

This is a very difficult letter for me to write. I was unaware that you existed until a few moments ago, and I am reaching out to you now hoping you can give me answers to the numerous questions I have. I discovered letters you wrote to Mary Daugherty many years ago, and I am unhappy to report they were cut off without my mother’s knowledge. For many years she lived on while you believed she was dead, and I am sorry to say it was a lie.

I am writing you today because I believe I am your son. My mother disappeared no more than a week ago with no hint of her whereabouts. I think if you knew my mother as well as I do, the thought of her ever abandoning people she loved seems ridiculous, and I can only imagine the worst. I came across your letters in my search for her, and I pray that wherever she is, she is at peace.

I don’t know if you have any interest in ever meeting me or in writing to me. I am in New York City, as I have been my entire life, and I ask that if you want to reach me you do so immediately. Otherwise, I will be leaving the city and starting anew elsewhere in two month’s time.

Thank you, and I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you.

Thomas Dougherty

As he finished, Thomas folded the letter and sealed it, setting it aside on the table. He poured himself another whiskey and leaned back in his chair, letting the day sink in. What was becoming the most difficult to swallow was the impending notion he would never see his mother alive ever again.

Throughout the passing days, Thomas held onto a small sliver of hope he was wrong, that somehow this was all some sort of nightmare, but it wasn’t. It was a disillusioned fantasy. He may never know how or why, and apart from that, he couldn’t go on lying to himself that everything would be all right. A lump rose in his throat as he recalled the last time he’d seen her, and how doting her smile was that morning before he left for work. Trying to stifle the tears in his eyes, Thomas rose from his chair and walked toward her room. He pushed the door open delicately and welcomed the familiar scent of rosewater, peering around at what she’d left behind. The bedroom was dark save for a small beam of light sneaking through her handmade curtains, and he noted the dust accumulating on the surface of her tiny desk by the window. Mary’s vanity in the right corner looked as though she just left it, stool scooted out and hairpins scattered on the shrouded linen cloth that covered its surface. His mother had made her bed perfectly that morning prior to going to work herself, and Thomas cringed thinking she had no clue it would be her last. In those few minutes, he allowed himself to miss her until it was much more than he could bear. Thomas took a final peek, absorbing the contents of the room, and closed the door, his heart consequently shattering into a thousand pieces.

His decision was made. Thomas paced over to the kitchen table and retrieved his letter to Lord Turner, setting off to the post office in urgency. A few blocks down the road, he tactfully bribed the postmaster with an extra quarter to see that his letter left the next morning, and the man estimated it would take two weeks to reach its recipient, making a response probable within a month. Feeling content, Thomas thanked him and left. One month and he would have a reply, and if two passed without one, there was no cause for him to wait. Starting over was his only objective, and he didn’t care where it was or with who, as long as he was out of New York. Thomas dove back out into the busy street, and instead of heading home the way he’d come, he took to wandering the city, reminiscing as he aimlessly rambled on. He wasn’t sure how long he strolled, though eventually, he recognized where he was…a place he hadn’t been in many years that still gave him chills. It was where he had been with his mother when the draft riots started, one of the first memories he had as a boy, and there hadn’t been a time since when he was more terrified. Mary fought tooth and nail to get them home, undergoing a nasty knife wound from a man trying to rob her even though they had no money on them. Thomas tried and repeatedly failed to forget his mother desperately clawing the man off her and taking off running through the crowd with Thomas in her arms, bouncing against her hip as he clung to her. The screams echoed in his ears, and they nearly starved from not leaving the apartment for days until the army put an end to the riots.

He thought back to right after the war ended, and New York was the one place in America doing the worst despite the best efforts of those with money or power. He and his mother worked hard and were lucky to make enough to eat, and just when all seemed calm violence sprang up like a dormant weed never fully plucked by its roots. The class divides grew larger, and racism and hatred ran thick through the veins of the natives, especially with the increasing number of immigrants. Mary had shown him the areas of town to avoid, highest on the list being the Five Points and Bowery, home to the inexorable hub of gangs, murderers, thieves, swindlers, cons, and pickpockets.

Mary provided for the two of them along with a little help from the Madame until Thomas was of working age. He hadn’t been sure how the Madame secured their small apartment above the barbershop without much fuss and without any other residents; however, after he found the property records earlier that afternoon, it now made perfect sense. The sheer thought of her made Thomas’ palms sweat with spite, and he hoped he would be able to control his anger the next time they were face to face. It wouldn’t be long before she found the key missing and figured out what he’d stolen, and Thomas felt a malicious grin forming: it was far too late, and there was nothing the Madame could do to undo it. For the first time in his seventeen years, Thomas had the upper hand on her, and he had to admit…it was an intoxicating feeling – one he really wouldn’t mind getting used to.

He realized then he had forgotten for most of the day about the one person he did still have to care for, and deliberated what he probably should and definitely shouldn’t tell Esther. Her company brought a little more light into their lives during the past few years, and he’d not once doubted his mother’s decision to keep her and raise her. Esther was timid at first, but quickly became accustomed to Mary, Thomas, and her new way of life. In those early days, Thomas taught Esther the basics of how to read and write, and their mutual attachment blossomed, as neither had ever had a sibling or many friends. Mary loved her as if Esther was her own daughter, and together, the three of them formed a family, one Thomas presumed was unbreakable.

A stupid, young man’s fallacy.

All he could do was await a letter from his father, and if that never came, Esther would never have to know. For the time being, Thomas had to be patient. Everything hung by a very thin string, and he had no interest in testing those limitations just yet.

With a loud crack of thunder, a strong, steady rain fell as it had that morning, and the clouds darkened overhead. People rushed from the streets to take cover wherever they could; Thomas, on the other hand, dawdled to watch them scatter while his clothes soaked through, halting mid stride in what he found to be a somewhat refreshing summer shower. He tilted his head back toward the sky, arms stretching out as if to embrace the water, thunder rumbling only a few miles off. All the memories of who he had been with his mother, the boy he’d been and the world he thought he knew began to fade away as the water washed him clean. All the regret, the sadness, the hopelessness and anger subsided, leaving his conscience with a blank slate. He lowered his arms, smiling, perceiving with a full heart this was the sign of something greater. In those few seconds, Thomas felt as if the rain rinsed away the binding sense of guilt…relieving him of his crippling disgust and cleansing who he always he pictured he was.

Ahead lay a path he never dreamed he might take, and Thomas did not know where it would lead him. The rain was an omen to him, an omen of new things to come. And in the rain, Thomas felt reborn; he was ready for a new journey to begin.