Learn To Be Lonely (Open)

[Molly Ingram]

((As a warning, the thread might be slightly PG-13...she's a prostitute, after all.))

Cold. It was only early autumn but still, everything seemed cold. The streets were bustling, people moving with and against each other in waves that made up the heartbeat of New York City, crowds moving as if one organism, hurrying and yelling and buying and selling. People. They were so different, in height and color and person, a mosaic of different cultures and lives. It never ceased to amaze her, day after day, that she never saw the same person twice. There were so many of them, with their different lives and it was impossible to know them all, to remember each face for what it was, all the differences, because if you tried to God only knew what would happen to you. All these people, walking right past the teenaged girl as she stood against the grimy wall of an alley near the Black Hawk Taven, her hair hanging in disarray and her dress in tatters, no one sparing her a second glance. Who was to say that none of them knew what she needed? Who was to say that none of them could help her?

Child of the wilderness, born into emptiness…
Learn to be lonely; learn to find your way in darkness.

How long had she been alone? The hours and days faded into each other, one day unrecognizable from the other, until they merged into weeks she couldn’t even begin to count. Every day was the same: lying low and buying whatever food she could on her meager earning, trying to be as invisible as possible. If she could fade into the woodwork, make her existence as meaningless as she could, maybe it would hurt less. Maybe everything would stop hurting eventually, if she could make herself small enough until she dissapeared completely. Maybe if she made her life so insignificant, God might be merciful enough to take it from her. She should be so lucky...

Who will be there for you, comfort and care for you?
Learn to be lonely; learn to be your one companion.

Her nights, too, were all the same. Trying her hardest to look confidant, as if she knew what she was doing, so that a gentleman approach her on the street and ask for a price, and she would tell him and he would either agree or ask her to go lower, and she just might: money to her was money, it didn't matter how much she was making as long as she always had some. Money meant food, and food meant life. She was never alone on any one night; she was young and pretty, and many men, especially the younger, nervous ones, gravitated toward her. She made her money, did what she was paid to do, but it had caused her to distance herself from herself: she was a shadow and nothing more. Feeling was occasional, and she knew emotion came later and rarely. All the better for her. Perhaps if it was any other way, she would cry so much more often.

Never dream out in the world there are arms to hold you.
You've always known your heart was on its own.

She thought of her old life now and again, during the day or in that quiet time between clients. It would come in brief, blurred flashes: a face, a place, an item, all that were fading more and more with each passing day. She tried not to think about it, because she knew it would only cause her pain, but the thoughts crept up on her and sprang when she least expected them to. Her thoughts always left her very frightened and very cold. She often thought of what had happened since she left, the young siblings she had abandoned, and the family she had all too gladly left behind. What frightened her the most was that she had no way of knowing if anything had happened to little Stella and Jem: whether or not they were well, or even alive.

So laugh in your loneliness, child of the wilderness.
Learn to be lonely; learn how to love life that is lived alone.

But she had been doing well, even if she wasn't happy. She ate every day, and made a fair living for herself. She'd almost saved enough money to buy a new dress and make an apron or new underthings out of her old dresses. Rather, have Lulu, one of the other ladies at Twinkle's, do it for her. Lulu was very skilled with a needle, and Molly was admittadly useless. Her mother had never taught her how to mend a handkerchief, much less make new clothes. There were so many things her mother had never taught her, that all of a sudden she had to learn herself. Sink or swim. She wondered if anything would have been made easier if she'd been taught something, anything. Maybe then she would be selling embroided handkerchiefs instead of selling her body...

Learn to be lonely…

There was no way to answer all these What If's. This was it. She was here, alone, and unhappy. What could possibly change? More importantly...who could change it?

Live can be lived, life can be loved
…Alone.

[Vice Ingram]

This wasn't how he'd imagined himself. Never, never in a million years, would Isaac Ingram have pictured himself cold and alone, tired and lost. Oh, so lost. He hadn't liked to think about his life before, the home and family he had left behind, but his strength was beginning to wane, the jolts and sufferings now chipping away at the crust he'd built to protect himself. As his thoughts drifted back, he realized that he now viewed his previous home as a sort of hellish haven, safe yet completely unbearable.

And now he was here. He wasn't sure just how he'd gotten here, when he'd arrived at this new identity. All he knew was his tiring need to place one foot in front of the other, to keep going. Even now, he knew he would take all of this over the restraints under which he'd left his siblings, but sometimes he wondered just where he would be if he hadn't gone. Or rather, who he would be. He'd grown from a fearful, wide-eyed boy to an independent, ruthless man, his hardened insides wrought from fear. But he had conquered fear--that was his one comfort. Vice savored the thought, tasting its triumph until there was nothing left.

That was how it always was. One thrill after another, nothing ever lasted. Like rain on a window, Isaac's hopes pelted through, only to end up streaming down into forgotten pools where they were left to dry up into nothingness. He lacked completion. If someone had asked exactly what he thought this meant, Vice would not have had an answer, but he liked the sound of the words. Not being much of an orator, it was the closest wording he could come up with for the intense lacking he so often attempted to ignore.

To be sure, Vice had tried every way he knew how, and even ways he didn't, to close the ever-widening chasm he felt must be splitting him in two. He wasn't starving. Money didn't matter. He had as much power as he cared to have. The little gnawing voice inside him suggested that perhaps his insufficiency was rooted in guilt, and the fact that this made his jaw flex in anger only convinced him that the voice was right. He'd left Molly. He'd left Stella and Jem. Abandoned them. He was selfish, but didn't he deserve anything?

Vice didn't want to think anymore. The cold night air seemed a welcome relief to the hotness that threatened to boil over inside him. So he was back to this was he? He'd been to this street more than a few times, and had found it a ready solution, an easy out for the pain he wanted to forget. Sometimes he wondered if he ought to feel any remorse. Although he had very little money, it never seemed to be much of a problem with the women here, and that was certainly no cause to feel ashamed. Vice knew he was vain, but at times like these, he owed it to himself to use his looks to his advantage. He ran a hand through his blond hair and welcomed the familiar sight as his eyes drifted selectively through the crowd, anticipating relief from the cold, cruel wind.

[Molly Ingram]

The wind blew, harsh, cold and unforgiving. Molly pulled her shawl tighter around her, but in vain: it offered no protection against the biting chill. She hid her numb hands in the folds of the crocheted wool and bowed her head as she tried to block out the wind. It tousled her hair, tossing it around her head like her father used to when he was giving her a rare and almost meaningless sign of affection. The thought did not agonize her like she thought it would. She reached up a hand to flatten her hair, raised her eyes to the bustling crowd, and stopped dead.

A pair of eyes. Her eyes. She couldn't possibly mistake them, for they were her own, and she would know them anywhere. The hair: no one else in New York that she had ever seen had hair as pale as hers. Except three. And here was one of them now, before her very eyes that were the same as his. She stared for a long moment, and forgot the cold for a split second. She knew the face, by God. That face! Dear God, it was her brother!

She didn't hesitate. There were no timid steps nor a slow approach. She hurried up to him. "Isaac!" she called, no question on her voice, for she was so sure it was him. She stood in front of him, and the crowd went around them like a river flowing around rocks. She looked at him, her face betraying little emotion (something long practiced that had become a habit) but she could not hide her eyes. They shone with some kind of joy, as close to joy as such a lonely girl could feel. She said in a quiet voice, "Isaac. It's me. Molly..."

[Vice Ingram]

Vice searched the crowd, his muscles slack and his mind a tired mess of jumbled thoughts that were quickly diminishing into nothing. His brown eyes were unfocused as they took in the mass of existence before him, moving from person to person in a state of effortless being. The wind whipped violently around him. Vice didn't notice. He'd come here to escape from the emptiness, but it seemed he was only being driven further in. He pictured himself slowly sinking, down, down into a realm of utter nothingness, and sighed audibly.

Snapping his eyes open in unconscious attempt to resist the despair that threatened to overtake him, Vice pulled his eyes back to the crowd--the women. He knew they were whores, knew they only wanted what little money he had, but quite frankly, he didn't care. This was the only way he knew how. Brunettes. He liked those best. There, there was one...no, too old. And that one, nothing but a child. Vice knew he was being picky, but he knew what he wanted; he'd done this a few times. Finally. Great figure, long dark hair, pretty eyes--beautiful.

He stepped forward, eyes sharply focused on the girl he'd chosen so as not to lose sight of her. He could see her tattered, low-cut clothing even from a distance, and something like sorrow washed through him. He straightened his shoulders, tossing the feeling defiantly aside. Since when had he cared about morals? Or strangers? Out of nowhere, he stumbled and his eyes veered away from his intended path, stopping to rest suddenly on a blond, nearly white-haired girl in front of him. He recognized her instantly. Her hair, her eyes, her face, all so similar to his. She looked tired and gaunt, so unlike the sister he'd known before, yet her eyes still shone with the same exciting fierceness he remembered. Vice stared.

"Isaac. It's me. Molly..."

Did she honestly think he didn't know who she was? There was no mistaking her, really. The thought occurred to him to keep walking, acting as if he hadn't seen her, but he knew it was obvious he had. She'd been standing directly in front of him. Their eyes had locked. He struggled for words, hoping he didn't sound as uncomfortable as he felt.

"Molly. What the hell are you doing here?"

Nice, Isaac. Nice. Just the sort of greeting you want to give your long-lost sister. Still, she wasn't supposed to be here. He glanced around frantically, praying a chasm would break open under his feet and swallow him whole.

"Molly, I don' know what's going on, I-I-I mean, shit, Molly! Some old bastard could've thought you were a whore! Do you wanna get killed?!"

He knew he was playing the big brother a little early, but if he had to be honest with himself, he was genuinely worried. Something about her manner set him on edge. He sucked in his breath and looked steadily at his sister, letting his face soften.

[Molly Ingram]

"Molly. What the hell are you doing here?"

She was momentarily stunned to silence. She knew full well what she was doing; she was doing what the other women around her were doing: trying to get paid. She shifted uncomfortably, and met Isaac's eyes again. She lied quickly. "I was heading into the tavern. I stopped for a moment, is all..." She looked to one side toward the Black Hawk Tavern; it wasn't a complete lie. If she hadn't attracted any attention on the street she might have headed in there to find a client. Certainly, she would find someone within such a lively, often raucous tavern.

"Molly, I don' know what's going on, I-I-I mean, shit, Molly! Some old bastard could've thought you were a whore! Do you wanna get killed?!"

Now, she had nothing to say. She couldn't admit to her brother that she was a prostitute, but she couldn't deny it. It would take too much effort on her part, and she had been lied to too often to enjoy lying to others. So she stood there, wordless, and hung her head, her eyes downcast and her breathing even and calm. Her silence, she realized, said it all. After several long moment she found her voice again. "I'm sorry, Isaac..." she said, and then was at a loss again. What else could be said? She couldn't think of anything that would lessen the impact of her confession.

As she stood in silence, a gentleman of about twenty or so approached. He wasn't terribly handsome, but he wasn't an eyesore, either. By the looks of him, he was a clerk of sorts, middle-class and looking nervous about the aspect of being here. He stood near Molly for a moment and glanced at Isaac. "This one yours or can I take 'er?" he said. He looked back to Molly. "If you're any good I got five dollars for ya..."

Molly's eyes brightened at the prospect of having five dollars. Her purse was quite empty. She looked at the man, and then back at Isaac. She couldn't possibly agree to a job now, with him here at last. But she needed the money, didn't she? Desperately. She bit her lower lip and said to the young man, "If you can wait a while, I won't be too long..." It was a compromise from her conflicting interests. The man's eyes widened a little, as if surprised she had agreed. He backed off, and she could see him lighting a cigar near the door to the tavern a while off. Guiltily she turned back to Isaac.

[Vice Ingram]

As soon as he'd spoken, Isaac wished desperately he could have snatched back his words. The strain of his voice hung in the air, reverberating in the silence that engulfed only the two of them as the rest of the outside world paid no heed. He watched silently as his sister's eyes traveled slowly downward, coming to rest on the rough cobblestones below their feet. She didn't appear angry, nor did she show any sign of fear or embarrassment. She only stood there. It was impossible not to understand. Still, Isaac felt his insides grow cold, his chest expand, and his mind flitted weakly from one thought to the next, each more horrifying than the first.

This is what it had come to? This broken young woman standing before him, so beautiful and vibrant and full of life such a short time before, had been driven to this? Her once glossy, flaxen hair was now matted and tangled, her young, boyish figure now developed and exposed, and her pallid complexion lacked the luster and freshness of the strong, rosy cheeks that flickered across his memory. Three years. Where had he been those three years?

"I'm sorry, Isaac..."

He had almost forgotten she was still standing there. He had forgotten his own presence, the hum of the crowd, the unexplainable yearning he'd been attempting to satisfy. Now he remembered, remembered its cause, and the sly little voice began to whisper once again, encircling him with the ghost of his guilt. He barely noticed that a man was nearing them, but as an unfamiliar voice broke the unyielding silence, Issac's head shot up, his shoulders stiffening. The man seemed to be speaking to him.

"This one yours or can I take 'er?"

Although the words registered, Isaac made no reply. It didn't seem to matter; the man turned back to Molly.

"If you're any good I got five dollars for ya..."

Isaac moved his neck stiffly so that he could see his sister's response. Surely there had to be some mistake; he'd misunderstood somehow. Molly Ingram? Selling herself? The thought seemed suddenly preposterous. His sister had more decency than that. But, oh, what a convenient time to remember his reason for being here. No, that was different. He needed that, needed something to pleasure him amidst the pain he was facing, and this man didn't. This man had no idea to whom he was speaking, had made some kind of stupid mistake. But as much as he tried to console himself with this thought, Isaac was grimly unsurprised when he heard his sister tell the man to wait awhile.

He still hadn't said anything. Isaac lifted his chin, his blond bangs falling across his forehead, and flexed his jaw rhythmically back and forth. Deep brown eyes met deep brown eyes, and Isaac held Molly's gaze fixedly, feeling the blood drain from his face. He drew a ragged breath and, turning silently away, took one leaden step. After realizing he was indeed moving, Isaac strode purposefully across the street. Oh, he knew exactly where he was going, and oh, that bastard was going to get it. Spying the man, who stood smoking a cigar near the tavern entrance, Vice stepped casually up to him, folded his arms nonchalantly across his chest, and leaned against the door frame as if stopping for a snatch of small talk before entering the tavern. He saw the man glance nervously at him, and Vice offered him a brief smirk, smacking his lips. Not yet looking directly at the man, Vice spoke, "Pretty girl, huh? Shame I couldn't claim her there a moment ago." Vice shook his head slightly, as if disappointed. "She's good, alright...but, you know, I can show you real good."

His voice stopped abruptly and, as the man turned to look questioningly at him, Vice pulled back a fist and threw it smashing into the man's jaw. It connected with a sickening crunch, sending him reeling backward into the tavern wall. Vice's knuckles burned, but his eyes burned hotter as he stepped over to where his victim lay.

[Molly Ingram]

Molly didn't glance up as her brother stepped away from her. She knew he would be ashamed of her. Who wouldn't be? But when she saw he walked away from her completely, she raised her head, her heart leaden with despair. But then, she watched. He stood near the man who had asked for her services for the night, and after a moment, Isaac punched him. Molly gasped, and the man fell to the ground. "Isaac!" she cried, and ran over to him. She stood near where the fallen man lay, and watched in horror as he staggered to his feet, holding his jaw. He spat blood to the ground and glared ruefully toward Molly and Isaac. "You best get rid of him, ya little whore," he said, surprisingly, not unkindly. "No one's gonna want to pay you when this one's decking them left and right..." And he walked away, toward an older red-head who was eying him.

Molly sighed and rounded on Isaac. "Why did you do that?" she demanded. "You didn't have to do that." She looked after her would-be client, and sighed. There was no way she was going to earn five dollars in one throw now, and she needed the money desperately. And the fewer people she had to see to get it, the better it was for her. Isaac had unknowingly condemned her to a longer night with more men. More men approached the brothel, looking for a woman, and she stepped forward from Isaac and dropped her shawl from her shoulders. The men seemed interested, and she got a promise of two dollars from a man who was so confident, he had certainly been around before. He and his friends went into the Black Hawk for a drink.

Molly turned to Isaac again. "I'm so sorry," she said, apologetic now. "But this is how I earn money. It's all I can do to earn money, all right? And you can't interfere like that. Because without their money, I don't eat. I don't live." She covered her shoulders with her shawl again, looking Isaac in the eye. Her gaze was steady, but somehow still weak. It was the result of years of catering to the whims of others with no thought for herself. She was definite, but overall, defeated.

[Vice Ingram]

Isaac's chest tightened, his breaths coming quickly and heavily as the dark brown embers of his eyes smoldered. He stared down at the man on the ground, feeling his muscles flinch spasmodically, his fists clench. He didn't know who this man was, but he had a feeling the guy himself wouldn't know either by the time Vice was through with him. Vice shoved a foot in the man's side, his mouth turning up into a malicious grin as he gave his victim another kick to the face. He felt absolutely merciless.

Suddenly, a sharp cry shattered his smooth pane of fury, and Vice stiffened, frantically attempting to snatch back the splintered shards of his concentration as they fell away, dissolving into the sound of his sister's voice. As Molly approached, Isaac turned back to the man who, in the instant it had taken for Vice to catch sight of his sister, had gotten to his feet and was now backing carefully away, holding his jaw. Vice hoped he'd broken it.

"Why did you do that? You didn't have to do that."

Vice cast a irritated glance toward Molly, but his eyes still followed the man who was now approaching a weathered-looking whore, continuing to cast anxious glances in the direction from whence he'd come. Red hair. The woman had red hair. Vice let his eyes roam her body, the leathery texture of her skin, and couldn't imagine touching it, let alone stroking that frizzled man of red. He snorted. The man had no fight in him, and he sure didn't have any taste, either. As Vice glanced from the man's new selection back to Molly, he wondered at the incomparable difference. To go from this...to that? It was beyond him.

Voices broke into his thoughts, and he realized that Molly had moved away from him. His gaze searched the street until he spotted her, only a few yards away, a cluster of men gathered greedily around her. She seemed to be talking with one of them, and Isaac realized with a sudden pang that he had stopped nothing, saved her from no one. In fact, from the looks of the man goggling at her now, a wide, stupid grin covering half his ugly face, she'd have been better off with the tasteless man Vice had just slugged.

Molly turned to him, and Vice stepped cautiously over to where she stood, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets to hide their shaking.

"I'm so sorry. But this is how I earn money. It's all I can do to earn money, all right? And you can't interfere like that. Because without their money, I don't eat. I don't live."

A sudden movement and her shawl was back on her shoulders again, as Vice brought his eyes up to meet hers. Her gaze never faltered, and Vice found the silence slightly uncomfortable. He'd done her a favor--or so he'd thought--and all she could do was reprimand him? Some thanks to the brother you haven't seen in three years. He might've thought she'd be appreciative, or at least have the decency to act like it. The thought crossed his mind that she was an indecent whore now, but he struck it down defiantly. Molly hadn't become one of them.

Isaac took another step forward, never taking his gaze from his sister's face, his brown eyes hardening as he spoke, "Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Molly. And don't tell me you didn't have a choice in this--you see every other girl in the city resorting to this?! Some of 'em worse off than you, too, and they'd rather die than let a man touch their body for money."

He stopped, realizing the harshness of his words. It was the truth, though, wasn't it? There were plenty of decent girls he'd seen, selling newspapers, doing other odd jobs to keep food in their stomachs. Why couldn't Molly see it didn't have to be this way? He ran a hand through his light hair, letting his bangs fall across his dark eyes.

"You don't have to do this, Molly."

[Molly Ingram]

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Molly. And don't tell me you didn't have a choice in this--you see every other girl in the city resorting to this?! Some of 'em worse off than you, too, and they'd rather die than let a man touch their body for money."

Molly flinched and cowered from Isaac at the harshness of his words. She knew he had a right to be angry, but he certainly didn't need to upbraid her like this. Without him, her life had fallen apart, and this was what was left of her. She was a shell of the girl she had once been, empty and hopeless. She had no promises from anyone, and that was fine by her. Because no promises meant they could not be broken, and she could not be hurt. She caught her breath, and she trained her eyes away from Isaac's intense gaze and she spoke with more force than she felt within her. "You don't know!" she cried, and tears pricked her eyes. "Don't you think I exhausted everything else before resorting to this? You're my brother, Isaac! You should know that I wouldn't do this--all this--this horror if I had another option. But I have no other options. I have nothing. I lost everything, every hope I had, the day you left our family."

She wondered if she was unintentionally making him feel guilty, and decided that she was only speaking the truth. She knew now that the day Isaac left was a turning point in her life. The absence of her older brother, her only protector, was what drove hope from her and left her with nothing to live for but the fear of death, and nothing to sell but her own body.

"You don't have to do this, Molly."

"And what about you?" she demanded, as if she had not heard him. "What have you become? You chastise me as soon as you lay eyes on me, but what are you now? What great heights have you risen up to in the years we've been apart?" Sarcasm heavily tainted her trembling tone as she at last raised her dampened eyes to meet his.

[Vice Ingram]

"You don't know! Don't you think I exhausted everything else before resorting to this? You're my brother, Isaac! You should know that I wouldn't do this--all this--this horror if I had another option. But I have no other options. I have nothing. I lost everything, every hope I had, the day you left our family."

Her words burned, and Isaac bit his lip. She was right, of course. He'd known, hadn't he, that his leaving would condemn his siblings to the life he'd been so glad to escape? The truth was, he'd pushed the thought from his mind too many times to know what he'd been thinking those three long years before. It was funny how the more he attempted to forget, the more often he remembered, yet the more distorted the recollection became. He couldn't be sure now if he'd fully realized at the time the extent of the damage he'd caused to his family. Apparently, though, Molly wasn't going to give him time to think, and he snapped his gaze back to her as she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"And what about you? What have you become? You chastise me as soon as you lay eyes on me, but what are you now? What great heights have you risen up to in the years we've been apart?"

Isaac ran a tongue across his teeth, struggling to reign in the sudden wave of anger that tore through him. She had no right, no right at all to even set foot on those grounds. What had started out as a mere act of protection, an attempt to compensate for all the times he hadn't been there, had somehow gone completely and utterly wrong. He squeezed his eyes shut as memories flooded mercilessly through him, seeping into every corner of his being. Molly, the flaxen-haired, laughing little beauty he'd once known was gone. Gone, gone, gone. Reprimanding her wasn't going to do an ounce of good. This was the way it was now. And suddenly, Vice couldn't stand it.

Opening his eyes again, he took one step toward her, his breaths coming in heavy gasps. He bit his lip, took in her ragged frame, and then moved his face very close to hers. "You know what, Molly? Do you really want to know what I think? I think you're a whore, Molly. A whore. No, you'll never be one of them, never in a million years. You're too good for that. You're too good for every single one of those men you touch, who touch you, but you're a whore. Alright?"

He knew he shouldn't have said it, but the anger was taking control now. His shoulders heaved has he stepped backward, onto the street. "And you're right, ok? You're right. I'm a nobody, I got nothin'. But I got my pride, Molly. I got my pride and that's all I need. I'll tell you right now I've touched a whole lot o' women, can get any girl I want, but what's it got me? Nothin'. Just like you said."

He took another step back, and then turned away from her. If she didn't want to listen, then that was fine by him. Yes, he knew the choice hadn't been hers, knew she felt forced into this mode of survival, but the Molly he'd known would have rather died than sell herself. He was no stranger to whores, which was obvious by his presence on this street in the first place, but never had he gained any sort of real satisfaction. The women were dirty, easy, and cheap. Molly, he knew, would never be.

After a few steps, he glanced back over his shoulder, his white-blond hair whipping in the cold wind, and called back to his sister over the hum of the bustling street. "I'm a nobody, Molly! A nobody."

[Molly Ingram]

"You know what, Molly? Do you really want to know what I think? I think you're a whore, Molly. A whore. No, you'll never be one of them, never in a million years. You're too good for that. You're too good for every single one of those men you touch, who touch you, but you're a whore. Alright?"

Molly stared at Isaac, her eyes wide with shock, hurting as if he had slapped her. Her eyes pricked with tears once more, and her fists clenched at her sides. She tore her gaze away from her brother's face, and looked to one side of her, where the ladies were vainly searching for a way to fill an empty part of their lives, or else searching for whatever money they could find, working at the only profession they knew, the only thing they could do. Slowly, Molly turned back to Isaac, at long last allowing a tear to fall from her eye to her cheek: it seemed to shine there, making a clean streak down her face, which was lightly coated with the dirt of the streets she walked every night. Her voice was weak and tremulous. "Yes, Isaac. I am a whore," she said. "And I would give anything--anything--for a new life. I would die for the chance to be something else, anything and anywhere else."

"And you're right, ok? You're right. I'm a nobody, I got nothin'. But I got my pride, Molly. I got my pride and that's all I need. I'll tell you right now I've touched a whole lot o' women, can get any girl I want, but what's it got me? Nothin'. Just like you said."

"Exactly," she said. She struggled for understanding with her brother, struggled to reach out to him and find common ground between them, after they have led separate lives without each other for the past three, lonely years. "All these men. They know what I can do for them, and so they come to me...all I get is their money. Everything else is given away. They only other thing they can give me is a fatal disease or an unwanted child. And yet I continue with this--what I do. Because," she paused, and opened her heart to him, "because when they're with me--even for just a moment--they're in love with me."

"I'm a nobody, Molly! A nobody."

Slowly, Molly gave a small, sad smile. "That's very funny. You're a nobody, and I just happen to be someone--but not someone I want to be." What, she wondered, was the lesser of the two evils?

[Vice Ingram]

He'd turned away again, turned back to the mass of existence that was before him, back to the street, so full, and yet at the same time so empty. He let his dark eyes roam dismally through the crowds of people, taking in every sound and gesture, stopping from time to time on a single face. He saw the smiles, the scowls, the sarcasm, the laughter, struggled to realize that behind each face was a person. All at once, his heart ached.

"All these men. They know what I can do for them, and so they come to me...all I get is their money. Everything else is given away. They only other thing they can give me is a fatal disease or an unwanted child. And yet I continue with this--what I do. Because...because when they're with me--even for just a moment--they're in love with me."

Isaac thought back to what his sister had said just a few moments before. The words seemed blurry, and his mind dragged, but he forced himself to process them. How many times had he thought the same? If he was really honest with himself, wasn't that why he was here now? The thought was unexpected, and Isaac fought against pushing it down. He couldn't ignore things anymore, couldn't just walk away. He'd done that too many times before, and--he shuddered--that was why Molly was here on this street.

"That's very funny. You're a nobody, and I just happen to be someone--but not someone I want to be."

She was calling to him now, but it was far from beckoning, and he wondered if she resented who he'd become as much as he did. Vice Ingram. Harlem's leader. What had it ever gotten him? He spat angrily. Nothing, that's what. he was alone, empty, and completely unfulfilled. And it was no one's fault but his own. Feeling suddenly smothered, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and drew a ragged breath. He turned around.

The time it took to walk across the street and back to where his sister stood seemed an eternity to Vice. his anger still smoldered, but his sense of obligation burned stronger. It was time to start facing things. He stopped as he neared her, wondering how to begin again. After a long moment, he let the side of his mouth pull up into a grin and bowed dramatically. He hoped he could still make her laugh.

"How do you do, Molly Ingram?" he gushed, nodding his head politely. "I'm Isaac--Vice, actually--and I'll be your escort this evening. No, I am not interested in your services, but if you have the time available, I would like nothing more than to catch up with such a lovely lady as yourself."

Grinning, he offered her his arm. "I do believe it's been quite some time."

[Molly Ingram]

He had turned away from her, and with that Molly felt as if she was losing him for the second time. When they had been younger, in some other world, he had protected her. Molly knew that each time Isaac was beaten by their father, it was a time where she and Stella and Jem remained unharmed. She loved her brother for that; what he did for them. When he ran away, she had been at a loss, defenseless and vulnerable. The abuse she was forces to endure became too much to bear, and she herself had fled. Now her hope for a better life was gone, and she was content to live as long as she was able, selling her body to men who found her useful. She found no use in herself.

Dejected and abandoned once more, she turned her attention to the young man she had promised herself to. She observed him surreptitiously, keeping her distance. He had sandy hair and dark blue eyes, a pale and clear complexion, and looked to be in his twenties, and his dress indicated a comfortable, if not lavish lifestyle. He was not particularly handsome, but he had an honest face. Molly found no comfort in it whatsoever. His eyes gleamed with nervous apprehension, anticipating what was imminent. A gold wedding band gleamed on his finger.

Molly tore her eyes away from him, disgusted. She knew that many of her clients were married, but she had not yet seen one wear their wedding band to the brothel! Molly briefly imagined meeting this man's wife and telling her, "Did you know your husband wears his wedding band when he goes to the brothel in Midtown? Oh, yes! The same hand you held before the altar is the one that touches me and all the other whores..."

She was startled from her thoughts by someone approaching her. Isaac! She was closed to shocked, seeing him again, after she was sure he had left her. He smiled slightly before giving a dramatic, low bow. The gesture was so comical, Molly couldn't help but give a weak, quiet laugh.

"How do you do, Molly Ingram? I'm Isaac--Vice, actually--and I'll be your escort this evening. No, I am not interested in your services, but if you have the time available, I would like nothing more than to catch up with such a lovely lady as yourself. I do believe it's been quite some time."

He held out his arm, and as she met his eyes again she broke into the first genuine smile she'd been blandished into since God knew when. She felt an openness within her, a joy in her heart that was so new and wonderful it hurt. She very nearly began to cry. Instead, though, she took her brother's arm and said, "I would be delighted." At long last, both Molly and Isaac Ingram had returned home. At long last, the lost and lonely children had been found.