The winds running over his exposed skin were cold, but rather than retreat inside for warmth he stayed were he was. Perched on top the roof of the Bay Ridge Lodging House, Kiel Patricks allowed his mind to wander as he gazed up at the night sky. Millions of pinpricks of light danced above him, the stars creating intricate pictures in the inky blackness. It was peaceful here; he often frequented it when to many thoughts invaded his mind. He needed time to sort them out, to analyze them. Tonight was one of these nights.

Like everyone who lived at Bay Ridge, Kiel, or Oil as he was known, had a past. It wasn't as dark as Trust’s or as adventurous as Leapfrog’s. But it had its share of pain. He hadn't been giving it much thought the past few months until lately. The days date had crept up on him. Surprising him as memories began to flood back.

It had been one year ago today that his Papa had died. To be honest he thought it was rather morbid to acknowledge the anniversary of another's death, but still his mind had been filled with images and memories of the elder man lately. He found himself wondering what he would think of his son now. Would he be proud that he was making it on his own? Or would he be angry that Kiel had left his mother alone with Aunt Gertrude? Questions like these filled his thoughts as the wind danced through his thick black curls. Allowing his mind to wander he began to drift back to his father's final days. The images of which danced in front of his open eyes.

"Wake up boy!" a deep male voice called across the room from where it's owner sat in a chair lacing up work boots at a small lump buried underneath the bed sheets "Get your lazy rear moving or you wont be getting any breakfast."

The lump didn't move. Unfolding his tall, muscular, frame the man stood from his chair and walked over. His boyish face, hidden by a thick black beard, broke into a wide mischievous grin. Bending down he gripped the covers in one heavily callused hand and with a strong grip, pulled them right off the bed revealing the lumps identity. Shivering at the sudden lack of warmth, a young Kiel sat up his navy blue eyes blinking behind his black curls as the worked to focus on the day light which invaded them.

Scowling he turned on his father "Papa it's cold!" he protested

Mr. Patricks simply laughed. His son's scowl deepened and he jumped at the covers hopping to regain ownership as well as a few more precious moment of sleep. Miss calculating however he landed butt first on the hardwood floor, the cold of the wood easily felt through the material of the long underwear he wore. Jumping up he squeaked as is bare feet came in contact with the cold and began an amusing dance that consisted of jumping around and trying to find a warm place to put his feet. His father only laughed louder.

Mealtime at the Patricks home was a family affair. They never had much money so the food was never extravagant. Stews were watery, bread was stale. Fruits and vegetables were often over ripe. But what was important wasn't the quality of the meals it was their time spent together. Remembering those times brought warmth to Kiel and he forgot the chill of the winter wind.

"Are you boys finished playing? Your food is getting cold," slightly chubby Mrs. Patricks chided, clucking her tongue as she moved about the small apartment.

"It's not my fault Mama, he started it!" Kiel protested as he half hopped, half ran to the table as he pulled on his own boots

Chuckling his father gave him a small slap on the back and grinned down at the boy. Kiel loved that laugh; it always made him feel safe. That no matter how bad life got things would work out. The young boy idolized his father and always strived to be like him.

Sitting in his seat Kiel happily ate the thick hot oats, which clung, to his insides warming him as he watched his parents exchange a kiss. His mother smiling as her husbands beard lightly scratched her rosy cheeks. His parents were always open with their affections like that; they saw love as something to cherish, not to hide. An idea, which they worked hard to instill in their son.

"Ready for work my boy?" Mr. Patricks asked as he sat across from Kiel

Kiel nodded; he loved going to work with his father. Helping the elder man work on boat engines was one of his favorite things to do. He would clean tools, run the occasional errand, and the sailors who worked on the boats would always have exciting stories to share.

"You two be careful and mind your clothes. I work hard enough around here without having to get those nasty oil stains out of your shirts," Kiel's mother broke in as she spooned an extra helping of oats in her son's bowl.

"Yes dear," Mr. Patricks answered playfully rolling his eyes "Heaven forbid a mechanic would get stains on his clothes."

Swatting his hand lightly Mrs. Patricks returned to her chores and was soon shooing her son and husband out the door.

Back on the rooftop, Oil paused from reminiscing to stretch and pull himself up into a sitting position as he leaned against a nearby crate. His thoughts had a life of their own that night. Try as he might he couldn't block out the gut wrenching memories he knew were to come.

His stomach was churning violently, making him wonder if he was going to be seeing that night’s dinner anytime soon. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to block the pictures. Navy blue orbs were liquid with unshed tears. No matter how hard he fought, nor how much time had past, the pain never got any better.

To a young boy the crowded streets of New York City were a goldmine. They were filled with so many different sights, sounds, and smells. Not to mention all of the different kinds of people one would see. He’d occasionally seen scantily clad women standing on the corner calling out to the men who passed by but when he’d asked his father why the older man only pulled him along and told him that such goings on were adult business and not to be discussed.

The ship that his Papa was working on at that time was quite large and had sailed all over the seven seas. Currently it was preparing for a trip to Europe where ticket holders waited with dreams of a better land. However before they could even hope to begin their journey they had to figure out what was wrong with their engine.

It happened that afternoon. The images as fresh in his mind as if it had happened that day instead of years ago. He found that he was fighting a loosing battle against his stomach as its contents were emptied. Grimacing at the bitter taste he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Making a note to clean it up later he closed his eyes, sooty lashes brushing against paled cheeks

Mr. Patricks head was buried deep in his work as he reached into the "guts" of the ship banging around with a wrench. Grunting he cursed as he worked with in the belly of the steel beast, as he so often called them. Meanwhile Kiel, who was nibbling on a stale sandwich for lunch, was dangling skinny legs of the pier and watching the choppy waters.

Now it happened that a few of the crew had returned to the ship stone drunk and acting like fools. They laughed loudly as they stumbled aboard the ship, swaying with each step. Boldly they wandered the ship, shouting nonsense orders to their fellow crew members. Thinking it amusing they began the process of starting the ship, never caring to check and see if the area was clear.

Kiel's scream was silenced by the loud gears as was the unearthly sound of metal severing flesh and bone. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. The engine quit and Mr. Patricks fainted. His white shirt stained with a mixture of hot, crimson blood and sticky, black oil.

The doctor had done all he could, saying that it was in the hand's of Providence now. But they'd been poor and as such didn't have the money for proper care. It wasn't long before infection set in. Kiel's finale memory of his father was of a man who looked more like a grotesque doll then the robust man he hand been.

After the loss of her husband Mrs. Patricks was unable to make enough money to support herself and her son. Kiel could remember begging for permission to go work in the factory, wanting so badly to help, but his mother had refused. Without the income they were evicted and were taken in by great-aunt Gertrude.

Kiel groaned, the name left a taste in his mouth that was worse then the vomit. great-aunt Gertrude was old; mean, wrinkled as a prune, and had this terrible odor to her. Her dog, Brucie wasn't much of a catch either being rather fat. When he wasn't sleeping or eating he could be found attempting to bite Kiel's ankles. The woman had never liked children, being a firm believer in the saying that children should be seen and not heard.

Standing up he stretched his lanky limbs before making his way over to the edge of the rooftop starring out into the soot filled sky line of the city. Images continued to dance in front of his eyes much like those moving pictures some of the gals were so fond of. He saw himself sitting on the stairs; a skinned knee and a dirt streaked face as he listened to his mother and great-aunt Gertrude talking in the parlor

“I can not thank you enough for taking us in Auntie. It was so kind of you,’ Mrs. Patricks said over the clink of the china tea set.

“You are family,” came the elder woman’s nasally voice.

That was the last of the conversation for about fifteen minuets. Kiel was just about ready to head upstairs and try to tidy up. Maybe if he could snag some scraps from the sewing room he could fix up his pants before anyone saw him. Just as he was turning to go up the wide staircase Kiel heard his great-aunt speak again.

“Abigail, I must be honest with you. This simply is not working.”

He could picture his mother’s stunned _expression “N..nnn…not working?” she stuttered “What ever could you mean Auntie?”

“This child of yours. I simply do not have the strength in my old years to deal with children. Nor do my staff have the time.”

There was the clink as his mother sat the cup and saucer down on the table “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean Auntie.”

“He can not stay here, there is simply not enough room and I am to old to change my life for a child. He simply must go.”

“What?! You can not be serious Aunt Gertrude. He’s my baby, he’s all that I have left!”

“Do not sass me young lady!” came the reply “You are under my roof and will follow my rules”

“Oh please reconsider, Kiel’s a good boy. He doesn’t mean anyone harm.”

“My world is final. I am a old woman and as such I deserve my peace and quiet.”

“Fine,” he could hear the curtness in his mother’s voice and the rustle of her dress as she stood up “We shall leave you to your peace and quiet. Good day Auntie.”

He watched as his mother, silent tears dampening her cheeks, hurried past him on her way to the back yard. She didn’t see him sitting there. Which was probably just as well though. Seeing as he didn’t want to get in any trouble for eavesdropping on an adults conversation.

That night Kiel made the toughest decision of his life. He’d left, he couldn’t let his mother loose another home just because of him. So he’d written a note hopping that it made sense as his lack of knowledge of spelling and grammar made it difficult to write. He loved his Mama and missed her dearly. He often found himself wondering what she would think of him if she saw him now. Would she be proud? Would she be angry with him for leaving? For that matter was she even still alive?

So began his life on his own. That night he walked as far as his feet could take him from Upper Manhattan where great-aunt Gertrude’s mansion was all the way to Brooklyn. He needed to find a job, a place to live, be he had no real skills. He’d been lucky. A restaurant was looking for a bus boy. Even better they allowed him to sleep on a cot in the corner of the attic.

Kiel smiled as he recalled his time spent at the restaurant as he walked back to the crates and hopped up to sit on top of one. Wrapping his arms around his slim frame he held his threadbare vest closed tightly to ward of the sudden burst of chilling winds.

It had been at this same restaurant where he had met his girl Licorice and her twin sister Paranoid. The girls were part of a small group of newsies who frequented the place as they sold their papers nearby.

The evening crowd, being composed of newsies, was a rather rowdy one. Yelling for drink refills, banging on the table for service they created quite a ruckus. So much so that the regular day crowed made sure to stay away instead of being swept up in the crowd.

“Hey there handsome,” a cute female with jet black hair and emerald green eyes came up to him giving him a light kiss.

Setting down a bucket of silverware he wrapped his arms around her waist hugging her close.

“Evening Licorice,” he whispered smiling, his forehead resting against hers.

"You smell like grease," Licorice chuckled, wrinkling her nose.

Kiel grinned, the corners of his dark eyes crinkling "Just one of the perks of the job."

She laughed and gave him a playful shove but he caught her wrists and pulled her ink stained hands around her waist to give her a hug.

"Hey kid!" a gruff voice called through the drone of the diner, it was Mr. Henchew his boss, "These dishes aren't going to wash themselves!"

Rolling his eyes he let go with a groan "Duty calls," he muttered.

Licorice smiled, running a small callused hand over his cheek "You could always sell papes with me, plenty of freedom."

"Oh yeah freedom," an angry voice broke in "I just love looking over my back every time I see the bulls."

Licorice glared at her sister, two sets of fiery emerald green eyes sparking. Eventually tearing her gaze away she huffed and collapsed into a seat across from the other raven haired girl.

"Aren't you a regular ray of sunshine? Sucking the fun out of everything," Kiel said sweetly to his girl's twin before kissing the top of Licorice's head.

Paranoid looked up with a scary grin "Tell your friends."

He shivered and hurried back to the kitchen, listening to the twins bicker back and forth.

Despite all his grumbling, Kiel had enjoyed his job. The pay wasn't amazing but he did eat for free and he was allowed to stay in the small attic room. As an added bonus he was able to see Licorice every day.

Kiel grinned, moving to lean against the edge of the roof, wrapping his threadbare vest around him tighter. Despite being twins those girls were as different as night and day. They both had fiery, emerald green eyes and shoulder length blue-black hair. Their pale skin was freckle free and never really tanned despite the intense summer sun.

They'd been born on Friday the 13th with Paranoid being two minuets older. On their ninth birthday their mother ran off with the town preacher and their father decided to move the family to America. Four years later, on their twelfth birthday, there was an accident at the factory where their father worked. A large chunk of heavy equipment had fallen, killing him instantly.

Of course as twins, and as orphaned siblings, they were a set. You never really got one without the other as they'd worked so hard to stick together. They were perfectly identical and if you didn't know them to well you really couldn't be sure who you were talking to. It was their personalities that stood out however. You couldn't go through life changing events as they had and not be affected.

For Licorice the abandonment of her mother and the tragic loss of her father had taught her to value life. She was friendly, happy, and a care free young woman. Optimistic and rather hard to anger she trusted almost everyone. She wasn't afraid to show her feelings and wasn't afraid to stand up for something that she believed in. Licorice was one of those people who always thought the glass was half full.

Her sister Paranoid on the other hand saw the glass as half empty. Pessimistic, unfriendly, cold, lonely. She never had a positive thing to say and was wary of everyone. She'd once claimed that you could never be too careful of people, you had to make sure they wouldn't try to jump you and take your money. This was said after a small group of elderly men had smiled at her from a park bench. She didn't have many friends, mainly staying around her sister and Kiel. Underneath though she craved positive attention from her peers, as well as from a significant other, she just didn't know how to open up.

It seemed to him that luck had turned around. And while he was not a wealthy man he did have a roof over his head, a job that gave him a bit of pocket money, and a wonderful girl. He simply didn't see how things could turn against him.

Of course he'd been wrong before.

They closed early that night, it was rather nasty looking out and no one really wanted to brave the pending storm. So it was around nine when Mr. Henchew locked the front door, closed the curtains, and began the process of closing up shop. While the owner and an elderly waiter swept the floor and stacked chairs, Kiel washed dishes in the kitchen, and the bartender made sure the small bar was clean and stocked..

A brick came flying through the door, chunks of glass with spider web cracks littered the floor. A black gloved hand reached into open the door, pulling back as it swung open to revel two masked men carrying guns.

They grabbed Mr. Henchew and slammed him down in a seat, one gun trained on him the other on the waiter as they ordered the bartender to empty the register. From where he stood in the kitchen Kiel could hear the nasty snarl in one of the men's voices as the small amount was handed over.

"This is it?" the masked stranger smacked his gun across Mr. Henchew's face "Where's the fucking cash old man?"

Edging closer to the door Kiel could see the blood drip from his bosses mouth and felt the contents of his stomach churn as the elder man whimpered and claimed that was all they had. This was apparently the wrong answer as the gun was pulled back, aimed, and fired.

As Mr. Henchew slumped over in his chair Kiel had to bite hard on his lip to stifle a scream. If only the waiter had been able to do the same. The white haired man had backed himself into a corner, eyes wide with fear as he locked up at the robbers, the scream dying in his mouth as the bullet made contact. It ripped through flesh, the voice box, muscle, and bone, before lodging itself in the wall behind him. The once pristine white wall was now splattered with blood and the waiters body looked more like a broken rag doll as it slumped to the ground and all life ebbed from it.

There was one final shoot, this one taking out the bartender and the bottle of vodka he had raised in hopes of knocking out at lest one intruder.

Kiel slumped to the ground, navy orbs empty and staring at nothing as coldness took over his body. At that point it didn't really matter to him if the robbers did find him. From a distance his ears caught the sound of feet on glass as the men moved to leave.

"Lets get the hell out of here before the bulls show," one of the masked men kicked the body of Mr. Henchew and lifted his mask high enough to spit on him "Stupid old fucks, better off dead then taking up space here."

As Kiel watched helplessly the two men ran from the restaurant. Standing he walked into the dinning room on auto-pilot, stopping over the victims as he traced a cross over his chest, lips moving in a silent prayer. The stairs didn't even register as each leaded leg was raised for the next step. Meager possessions were gathered, thrown without ceremony into an old shoulder bag.

Numbly he left, closing the front door and not even flinching as a loose chunk of glass fell, narrowly missing his finger. Only waking when he fat rain drops landed on his cheeks and soon the wetness that stained his pale skin was from something other than rain.

It was drizzling on the rooftops now. At some point the sky had grown cloudy and now a faint haze could be seen along the crates and everything else on the roof. His clothes were now spotted with circles of wetness in varying sizes and the humidity only made the air colder as the memories continued to grown even more depressing.

He was lost to the world. Reliving memories that really had no positive outcome. An action which did not bode well for ones psyche.

A sharp yell from the distance broke through the fog. Blinking out of his daze Kiel looked down over the ledge of the building into the night below. Squinting in the faint light cast from an open window he could just make out a slim form. That of his bunkmate, Henry Brewster.

"Oil!" Henry yelled

Gripping the fire escape as he leaned over further Kiel yelled back "What is it?"

"Charity says to get in here before you get sick. We don't want a repeat of last time."

Climbing off the roof Kiel made his way down the narrow stairs with a smirk. The memory of the last time he'd gotten a cold was an amusing one. Licorice had persisted on nursing him back to health, eventually trying her hand at cooking some soup and offering it to everyone. No real harm right? Oh if only they'd listened to Paranoid, for once the depressing girl had been right.

"I can't help it if she wanted to play nurse," he shot back.

Henry rolled his eyes "That's all well and good. But did she need to cook as well? That soup of her's gave anyone stupid enough to eat it stomach cramps."

"Henry!" Melanie Connoy called from inside the room where she sat darning a pair of Bet's socks "Behave yourself!"

As Henry ducked back through the open window making a face Kiel was hit with a sudden thought. A single memory that led to so many happy ones. A bright spot that overpowered the shadows in his past. Sitting down on the slightly damp landing he hung his legs over the edge and leaned into the railing, his mind racing back to the very day he arrived at Bay Ridge.

It had been raining. His clothes were soaked and his shoes were caked with mud. He'd been wandering for a few months now , living off the little money he had and sleeping in alleys. He stuck to the shadows whenever a cop would appear. Who knew if the actual robbers had ever been caught and he doubted that the authorities would believe his story. It wasn't like he had any real credibility. So he walked, he walked and tried his hardest to leave the past behind him.

His feet hurt, his stomach was empty, and he was tired. In desperate need of a warm bath, good food, and a soft bed to sleep in he was tempted to go to a local orphanage when he heard the youthful voice through the daily noise of the town.

"Extra! Extra! Cat burglar steals Mayor's wife's jewels!"

It hit him then and he was off with a renewed spirit. All that mattered was finding a lodging house, after all if there were newsies around a house couldn't be to far off. Ten minuets later the Bay Ridge Lodging House, a home for boys and girls, was found.

There was no harm in at lest trying. Who knew, he might actually be good at it. The pay wouldn't be anything to talk about but with a roof, food, and a pillow under his head, it wouldn't be bad. And someday, after saving enough, he'd find his way back to Aunt Gertrude and take his mother away.

"Oil! Get in before we close the window and lock you out for the night. It's freezing in here!" Henry's voice called from the bunkroom and the dark haired young man chuckled.

Unfolding his small frame he slipped through the open window back into the room filled with his makeshift family. It wasn't much. No glittering halls or sparkling diamonds. But he had to be honest. He'd struck gold.