Kit woke several times.

Each time he was met with a horrible throbbing pain coursing through his entire body before being pulled back into the depths of sleep that he tried to escape from. In those brief moments of consciousness, he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. The surface beneath him was soft, softer than anything he remembered lying on in the past, and he looked up at a white ceiling that refused to come into focus.

There were voices, too. Soft, encouraging voices, but Kit struggled to understand what they were saying. He had no control over his own body. His head ached with the brightness of the room whenever he opened his eyes, and the pain in his leg was unlike anything he'd ever felt.

The final time he fought the thick tendrils of sleep threatening to drag him under, he won. Kit blinked several times, the bright light momentarily blinding him as the blurry room slowly came into focus. He moved his right leg a little, groaning at the wave of pain that washed up his entire body. His body was stiff.

"Find Mr Masters. He's awake." A soft voice said in his left ear.

"Yes, Miss Masters"

Kit listened to the echoing footsteps move through the room. He blinked again, fighting back a slight headache and the nausea that came with it. Ignoring the pain in his back and chest, Kit forced himself into more of a sitting position. He almost threw a punch when he felt someone touch his arm and assist him against the soft furnishings behind his back.

It took him a few moments more to realise he was sitting on a large mattress in a room that looked like it belonged to a lord. It was certainly different from the dank cells of Newgate.

"You must be careful, you were gravely hurt."

"Where am I?" Kit asked, clearing his throat. He turned his head to look at the person who spoke, surprised to find a girl no older than himself. "What happened?"

"You were hit by my father's motorcar. It was an accident. Father insisted you come home with us to recover. You are in a spare room." She frowned a little, a strand of red, curly hair falling in front of her eyes.

"I need to get out of here."

Kit moved to swing his leg off the bed, but the pain halted him in his tracks and he almost cried out. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes. He did his best to blink them back, but the overwhelming pain made it nearly impossible to move. The girl grabbed him lightly by the arm and helped him reposition himself in the bed, his breathing ragged.

The door to the room swung open, and the girl jumped away, taking several steps back until she was almost up against the wall. Kit tried to clear his vision. A tall, middle-aged man stepped into the room, promptly followed by a short, stout woman with a white cap covering her hair. The man looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow before turning his attention to the girl, whose bag was pressed flat against the wall.

"You should not be in here on your own, Emily," he said. His deep voice echoed through the room, and Kit turned his head a little to look at the girl.

The girl, Emily, bowed her head a little. "I know, I'm sorry, Father."

"No matter." The man turned to look at Kit, who met his cold, steal-like stare with one of equal power. "Glad to see you finally awake, young man. I was starting to think I might have to call in a coroner. What is your name?"

"Kit. Kit Jones."

"Well, Mr Jones, welcome to my household."

"I need to go."

"I'm afraid that, for the time being at least, it is not advisable for you to leave. You have sustained a substantial injury to your right leg, not to mention the countless other bruises you attained. Although, I do believe some of those were not of my doing."

Kit looked at his hands, the skin of his knuckles heavily bruised. He remembered the fight. He remembered what he did to George Phelps. The memories were hazy, like a dream he couldn't quite understand, but he knew what he'd done. More importantly, he remembered the car that had struck him. A dark green Rolls Royce.

"It was a misunderstanding."

"Anything to do with this?" Mr Masters reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring box Kit had stolen. "And why you were running through the streets without paying attention?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is quite an expensive piece. How did you come by it?"

Anger bubbled up inside Kit's chest, but he did his best to push it below the surface. "I bought it."

"Hm. You can have it back when the doctor agrees you are fit to leave. Until then, I have made the decision that your injuries will be cared for here lest you come to any more harm." Mr Masters tucked the box back into his pocket. "I shall have some food sent up to you. Emily, come."

Kit looked at Emily. Her eyes briefly met his, a startling light green colour, and she offered him a small smile before hurrying away after her father. He thought there was an innocence to her, a naivety of someone who had lived a sheltered life away from the hardships he struggled through all his life. What he didn't understand was why she had been in his room in the first place, especially if it went against her father's wishes.

The woman who had accompanied Mr Masters into the room remained by the door, watching Kit with a quizzical expression. Kit ignored her. All he could focus on was the motorcar he'd been struck with, the same motorcar he'd been dreaming of since he was a boy. Luck had never been on his side. In fact, he often didn't believe that luck existed, but for once, his luck seemed to have changed.

Yes, he had been struck, but he was closer to the dark green Rolls Royce than he'd ever been before. All he had to do was play the waiting game.

~~~

First Published - February 2nd, 2024