Chapter Six

Sure enough, Arnold Rothstein willed it and the world bended to his whims. As they all pushed back through the cornfield, and as the skies darkened into twilight, they stumbled out into the concrete world of New York. Or perhaps it wasn't exactly. At least, Margaret got the feeling it was like New York City, but it wasn't the exact same city.

The men were pleased, eager eyes on the spirits and sprites that haunted the streets. Hollow eyed shadows of people, formed enough that they were much like them, but lacking in personal emotion and detailed facial features.

They were driven like automatons, moving through their daily lives like it was programmed into them.

Still barefoot, she moved along behind the men as they strolled the street, her sons clinging close to her legs.

Margaret couldn't see the raven anymore, there was no sight of it above her head and she clasped her hand to her chest worriedly.

"We'll split it two ways," Mr. Rothstein was saying. "Plenty of city for Meyer and yourself, enough for me."

"Let me guess," Charlie said. "You'll take uptown?"

Wondering if she could will something as grand as an entire city full of sprites, Margaret tried to will the city away, to make it vanish from before her, closing her eyes tight.

When she opened them, she found nothing changed. The city was still there around them full of the imitation of life.

"Nah, no deal," Charlie growled, dragging her attention back to the men in front of her. "You wanted us here, but we ain't taking anything less. We split the uptown and the downtown, fair."

"Charlie," Mr. Rothstein began in his soft, calm tone. "You boys do better with the hard working men and women. I can handle the politicians and debutantes better."

"So? What? We ain't got enough class for you, AR?" Charlie demanded. "You know what—"

Meyer stepped in calmly, restraining Charlie as the younger man took a swing at Mr. Rothstein.

The older man stood there, eyeing him calmly with furrowed brows.

"Charlie," Meyer said gently. "We can handle the downtown half. Yeah? Better than nothing, yes?"

"Charlie," Mr. Rothstein said. "I brought you boys in on this thinking you'd be interested, you really shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Margaret held her sons to her, Benny moving to stand beside her as Charlie turned a shade of red that foretold of blood about to spill.

"Fine," Charlie said after a moment, shrugging Meyer off him and adjusting his jacket. "We'll take downtown. Good luck with your bean eating snobs, AR. We'll be with our own kind."

"Charlie," Mr. Rothstein began softly. "Don't be impetuous. I merely thought you'd prefer the downtown. You're more equipped to know what they'd like in terms of entertainment and alcohol."

"Yeah, sure, AR," Charlie said with a sniff. "I understand."

"I don't think you do," Arnold said.

"No, I do. You still think of me as that punk kid you pulled out of the gutter, I get it!"

"Start small, Charlie."

"I did!" Charlie growled. "I built an empire that lasted long after you bought it! I was on top after years of working underneath you as a bottom feeder! I worked hard! But fine! We'll take downtown!"

"If it means that much to you, Charlie," Arnold began. "You could always leave the city and start your own."

"No," Charlie growled. "We'll take our downtown shithole and we'll see who runs their half better."

Deciding her sons saw enough fighting for one day, Margaret stepped forward as Arnold opened his mouth to say something she was sure was condescending. She reached across his chest and grasped his upper arm, saying politely to Charlie.

"Fine, that's fine. You take downtown and Mr. Rothstein will take uptown. Everyone gets a share."

Arnold Rothstein eyed her arm, set across his chest with a quirked brow and a displeased look, but thankfully remained quiet.

Meyer did the same with Charlie, pushing his companion in the direction they were meant to go. "We'll take it, thank you, AR."

Realizing she should probably remain with her own road companion, Margaret smiled at Meyer as the man turned to follow Charlie, before she turned to Benny questioningly.

The young man raised his hands. "Shit no! I ain't picking a dog in this fight! I'll be in the Flamingo."

Watching the younger men as they went their own ways, Margaret turned to Mr. Rothstein, who was still staring disapprovingly at her arm.

"I suppose you'll be staying with me?" He inquired politely then, stepping away from her touch and turning on his heel, heading for what she assumed was their half of the city.

She followed, her sons in tow. "I suppose so. But I won't intrude. I'll set myself up with my sons."

"Nonsense," he said. "We may as well stay close together in the event we need to find one another."

"I won't be a burden," she insisted. "We can find our own place. I'm sure the city is ripe for us to pick lodgings."

He offered her his arm. "You won't be a burden," he insisted. "I like the company. Please?"

She took his arm, ensuring her boys were with her as they set off.

"My apologies for Charlie's temper," he said as they strolled the city.

"He had every right," she stated. "You were condescending to him."

"That was not my intention," he returned after a thoughtful moment.

Margaret eyed a sprite as it passed them. She wore everything right for the time and place, but her face was blurry, frightening a little and she didn't blame her sons for moving in closer to their mother's hip.

"This place isn't right," she murmured.

"Well, it isn't the world we left behind," he said, tipping his hat to another sprite who passed by them. "Good evening," he greeted.

The sprite paused long enough to return the greeting in a voice that sounded like someone drowning from far away down a long tunnel.

Margaret pressed in closer to Mr. Rothstein at the horror of the thing.

He smiled, delighted by it all.

"Good," he murmured as they carried on. "I won't have to put up with mindless patter from them at least."

Looking down at Harry who struggled to keep up, Mr. Rothstein smiled and said, "come here, young man, you're lagging behind."

The boy stepped towards him and the man hoisted him up easily, smiling at him.

Margaret took Teddy's hand and they walked towards the midst of uptown.

They just sort of house shopped as they strolled, which seemed funny to her, but at the same time she had to admit she had fun.

Mr. Rothstein allowed her to take her time, peeking into each home and going through it, looking for just the right one. The entire time he held Harry and allowed her to explore at her own pace.

Finally she came to a beautiful home set back from the main street surrounded by a wrought iron fence and set in the middle of a beautiful green lawn.

She knew that was the place she wanted. If she had to live her in this otherworld, a sort of semi-life, she wanted it here where the gardens surrounding the home made it seem less extravagant, rather, it made it seem quaint. Like a home ought to be.

"This one," she breathed, pushing open the gate. It gave easily, with not a squeak.

They all stepped into the yard and she hopped off the hard gravel that poked into her feet onto the grass.

Strange. She thought.

On the journey, she had stepped over many rocks and lumps in the earth, but it didn't hurt like this.

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind, putting it off as the fact that gravel looked sharper.

It seemed like days had passed, though it was hard to tell in this strange world.

Margaret, for the most part, spent her time indoors, avoiding the featureless sprites that served them in the house she had picked.

She played and read to her boys, trying hard to distract herself from the empty feeling of a world without time.

Avoiding thinking of her predicament too much, she thrust herself into being a full time mother for her sons, because she felt if she lingered, if she dwelt on where she was and what was happening, she would go mad.

Mr. Rothstein had retreated into his study and only came out periodically, going down the stairs and out into the city he forged with his will and he would come back quietly, like a cat in the night.

She didn't mind it that way, but she did wish for the company of an adult at times. There was only so much fairytales she could read before she yearned for talk of politics or history.

It was this desire that drove her from her rooms, boys trailing behind her as always, in search of a being with an actual face.

Mr. Rothstein wasn't in, he was out doing God only knew what, so she headed across town, moving for the building in the distance that somehow always seemed to be visible, despite the towering metal and glass buildings of the city.

She reached the building quicker than she expected, but it didn't surprise her. The world they were in was odd that way.

Pushing open the main door, she stepped in first, before motioning her sons to join her.

The building was quiet inside, empty and dim. The faint outlines of furniture she could see hearkened to an era that wasn't theirs. Not this old version of the dark world, but something slightly more modern.

"Mr. Benny?" She called out gently.

His last name escaped her.

"Hello?" She called once more as her sons suddenly dashed off into the interior of the building. "Boys!" She shouted after them, but they were already gone, disappeared into the shadows and the shapes of the place.

Hearing their distant giggles comforted her, but she remained determined to get them back, worried that the man who haunted the hotel would get upset.

Somewhere something crashed and broke and she gasped, hurrying along after her sons, deeper into the heart of the beast.

Bursting into a large room, she found herself facing a wall of liquor bottles and a bar. At the end of the bar, at the end of a long line of lined up bottles that ran the distance down the countertop, sat the young man from the cornfield, shoulders hunched over the bar, a half empty bottle and tumbler before him.

"Mr. Benny?" She greeted gently.

"They're in the kitchen," he murmured.

"Thank you. I'm sorry if they caused any serious damage."

He scoffed and turned around to face her, elbows resting on the bar behind him. For a moment his youthful face smiled serenely at her, before he calmly tossed his tumbler against the floor hard enough to shatter it.

Margaret stepped back from the chaos worriedly.

"Damage doesn't stick around here," he stated. "I wouldn't worry about it, sweetheart."

"My name's Margaret," she corrected. "You may call me Miss Rohan."

Benny beamed. "Sure, whatever shines your chassis."

She looked about at the bar. At the green patterned carpet, the red seats of the stools and chairs, at the brick and the wallpaper. When she looked back, Benny was sipping from a new glass as though his last one wasn't dashed against the floor at her feet.

Only it wasn't. The glass was gone, the scent of the spilled liquor was also absent.

Approaching the bar, she eased onto a stool beside him almost shyly and studied the line of bottles that ran from one end of the counter to the other.

"I'm gonna race," Benny said as he noticed her curiosity. "From one end to the other."

"Does drinking even do anything to you here?" She asked.

"It better by the time I reach the finish line," he returned plucking a cigarette from a holder and offering her one.

She shook her head.

"I didn't know him very well," he murmured as he lit his cigarette.

"Who?"

"Rothstein. Man came around but I never really knew him."

Margaret smiled kindly, unsure of what to say.

"You his side or what?"

"His side?"

"Skirt on the side," Benny clarified.

"Oh…I don't know."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Benny pushed away from the bar and turned to her.

"So," he began roughly, "talk if you're gonna."

"About what?" She asked.

"I dunno, you came here to me," he growled. "You have something brewing in that brain of yours or are you just pretty to look at?"

She smiled and struggled to find something to talk about with the man.

"Must be smart," Benny went on. "Rothstein wouldn't waste his time with no dumb Dora."

"What happened between Mr. Luciano and Mr. Rothstein?" She asked.

Benny inhaled deeply from his cigarette and slowly released the smoke from his lungs as he pondered her question, the furls curling around his head like a twisted sort of halo.

"Some guys know where they rank in life," he began. "Me? I'm happy just fucking and drinking, eh sorry, screwing."

Margaret smiled a little at his sheepish look.

"Keep the broads and the liquor flowing and I'm happy as a clam, Rothstein? He's happy with money and poker, doesn't want to take over the world, happy enough with New York. But Lucky? Lucky wants it all. Unfortunately he finds himself constantly getting yanked back by the collar by Rothstein. I dunno, they have a weird sort of father-son thing going."

"Do you think Lucky killed Mr. Rothstein?" Margaret asked.

"Nah," Benny said. "Like I said, a weird father-son thing."

"Do you remember how you died?" She asked, changing the subject gently.

Benny was quiet for a moment, smoking idly.

Margaret blinked and his face became a visage of death, blood poured like tears from his eyes and as she gasped, his face returned to normal as though nothing changed.

"I don't exactly remember the details," he murmured.

Feeling suddenly terrified of the place and the man, Margaret slid off the stool and whispered, "I should go."

Collecting her boys from the kitchen, she remembered taking one last look at Benny sitting at the bar in his empty hotel before leaving him to it.

That night was the first night in the strange place that she actually felt tired.