Chapter 1

Jane Marie Blackwell was born on March 15, 1910 in Chicago, Illinois to Harold and Martha Blackwell. She, along with her parents and older brother Robert, lived in a small house in the city. Her father, a tavern keeper, was a large man, with a commanding presence. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Harold Blackwell- and therefore knew his family as well.
Martha was a slim, handsome woman. She spent the majority of her days alongside her friends- "keeping the family in good graces with the neighbors," as she liked to call it. Years later, Jane could still recall that phrase, always spoken in that same tone of voice, coming from Martha's painted red lips. It did not take her long to realize that what Martha really meant was that she could not stand to spend more than a few minutes at a time with her.

And then there was Robert. Her tall, boisterous older brother whom everyone knew not only in name, but on a personal level. He was eight years her senior, and as such considered himself to be her guardian of sorts. He talked to Jane when she had no one else, telling her stories before bed that Martha said were "feeding the child's already over-active imagination."
But Robert paid her no mind. He told fascinating stories. Sometimes he would read from his novels, and taught her to read as well- by age nine, Jane was already far more literate than most full-grown women she knew. And other times he would talk of distant, far-off places, and fascinating travels around the world.

"Some day, Janie, you and I are going to go there," Robert would say. "I am going to take you to Paris, and Rome, and then all the way to India, and China, and wherever else we want to see! We'll go everywhere."

She would smile and fall asleep happy, thinking of those strange lands that Robert had just spoken of, dreaming of going there with him. Robert was her best friend, and the person she loved most in the entire world.

In time, he would become the one person she would miss more than anyone else she'd ever known.

The 1920s brought forth the Prohibition Era in America, leading to the end of Blackwell's Tavern as it was once known. Harold would have been ruined, had he not found the one man he considered to be his "savior": Al Capone.

Harold brought his business underground, keeping the now-dry tavern open for appearances and opening a speakeasy that brought in the real business. Capone was the one to get him started, and to bring him whatever was needed. In turn, Harold paid a hefty sum to the infamous gangster, and was kept in his good graces.

As the 20's roared on, as it were, Capone grew more and more notorious. His empire skyrocketed- there was hardly a place in the city to turn without one hearing the man's name.

Jane, at the tender age of sixteen, was to be kept ignorant of the foul nature of her father's trade. She worked as a waitress in the tavern front, but Harold never spoke to her about all that also went on. He assumed his young daughter knew nothing, and wanted to keep it that way.

But Jane knew everything that went on inside of the tavern's back door. She was quiet and unobtrusive, and blended in well with the scenery. It had always been both her blessing and her curse that she was so unmemorable. While people didn't see her, she also got peace whenever she needed it. She was a good observer, with a knack for remaining unnoticed. Robert had always teased her about it. He called her "the invisible girl."

Robert, now in his twenties, had grown into a handsome and fascinating young man. He was still every bit his sister's idol, and his adoration for her had not diminished at all either. The only thing that had changed was that after working in his father's bar- the real one- he had grown much more jaded about the world around him. And he talked to Jane about it.
He figured she was old enough to know. Plus, the girl was not stupid. In fact, his sister was more intelligent than many of the well-educated men that Robert knew. She possessed a wisdom well beyond her sixteen years, and he thought it only fair for her to know exactly what was happening around them.

At twenty-four, Robert was still Jane's protector and best friend. He watched over his little sister, keeping her from all the harm he knew could come over her- especially in their world.

She worked for their father at the tavern, so she was subject to the men that inhabited the place. Robert never missed the looks they gave her, or the less-than-subtle jeers and innuendos they all sent her way as she passed. It angered him to the point of seething.

He was not blind, of course. He could see that his little sister had grown into a pretty girl. Not quite beautiful- she never stopped men on the streets, causing them to turn their heads in awe- but she knew that.

Jane had more of a subtle sort of beauty- all quiet innocence and hidden wonders. Her dark curls, which their mother absolutely refused to let her cut in the latest fashionable bob of the flappers, fell to her chest when it was left loose. She had pale, flawless skin- seeming all the more white because of her impossibly dark hair. Her cerulean eyes were framed by thick lashes, and her red lips often parted to reveal a brilliant white smile. But she was a bit too thin, and had always been a slightly gawky child. That, of course, only added to Robert's need to protect her.

He might have told Jane about their father's nefarious business dealings, but that did not mean he wanted her anywhere near it.

The year was 1926, and Al Capone and his gang were strong- very strong. There was not a soul around who did not know his name, or what he did.

Jane had only seen him once, peering into Harold's speakeasy from her hiding spot against the wall. He was a large man, much like her father, and he'd been wearing a white hat and smoking a cigar. He easily commanded the attention of every man in the room. They listened to him without question, hanging on his every word. Jane was terrified of him.

It was in mid-1926 when everything came crashing down around them. Jane always remembered that day, though it became hazy in her mind. She only recalled bits of it- sitting in the kitchen, reading a book, when Robert came barreling in, holding a newspaper and running breathlessly at them. Martha and Harold stared at him, and Jane looked up from her book.

"They've found us," Robert said, panting heavily. The two oldest Blackwells exchanged confused glances as their daughter looked on. Once he had caught his breath, Robert continued. "The police," he added. "They've discovered the business. I've just heard now through Tommy Rogers that they plan on arresting you tonight. We have to do something."

His brown eyes were wide with both the exertion of all he'd just said, as well as fear- something that Jane had never before seen in her older brother. It was that which scared her more than anything. She'd always considered Robert to be the most fearless man she knew.

Harold and Martha once again exchanged looks- but this time, they were worried. The entire family sat in silence for a moment. Harold was the one to finally speak up.

"We have to fix this," he said firmly. "Robert, go tell the guys everything you know. Martha, hide the stuff we got. Jane, if anyone comes to the door, for Heaven's sake don't answer it. I'm going out to try and fix this."
And before anyone could ask any questions, he had grabbed his coat and walked out the door.

It was several hours before Harold returned. When he did, he looked flustered and confused. By this time, it was late at night. Robert was still out warning his father's businessmen, and Martha had returned from clearing out the cellar to sit at the table, nervously clutching a cup of coffee that had long ago gone cold. Her own dark eyes darted to and fro across the room, not stopping long enough to focus on any one point. Jane sat in the darkness of the unlit living room, silently watching her mother at the kitchen table, and then her father enter through the kitchen door.

"Martha…I told them," was the first thing that Harold said. Martha looked confused by his words. "I told the police that it was Capone. I went out to try and figure out something to do…and I ended up at the station, telling them the whole thing. I figured it would get me out of getting arrested, placing the blame on another guy. But…what's Capone going to do once he figures this one out?"

Harold's eyes were wide with fear. He knew exactly what the gangster and his men would do. But he shook his head as if he wanted to banish away the thought.

"Maybe they won't know it was you," Martha replied. "Maybe Capone will figure someone else placed the blame on him. After all, he's got a hundred speakeasies in this town. Any one of them could've ratted him out. And at least now, the police are off of our tails." Harold didn't look very reassured, but still he nodded his head as if he was.

"You're right," he told his wife. "Maybe he'll never know."

But Al Capone wasn't the most notorious gangster of their time for no reason.

Jane, who had been sitting unnoticed and listening intently, knew this. Of course Capone would know that it was Harold. And of course he would do something about the situation. He was the most dangerous man in Chicago- and probably the whole United States!

Jane was certain of at least one thing- now that this had happened, their entire family was no longer safe.

And three days later, it finally happened: Capone and his men attacked.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the Blackwell family sat together at home. Martha cleaned the house while Harold sat at the kitchen table, lazily reading that morning's newspaper. Robert was taking stock of everything in their cellar, while Jane sat in her bedroom writing in her diary.

The house was quiet. No one spoke- they weren't quite sure of what to say to one another. This didn't bother Jane so much, as she was used to sitting in silence. But Martha was obviously unnerved by it, as she washed dishes with unfading vigor. Harold grunted or coughed every few minutes, breaking the thick stillness that had settled across their home. Even Robert managed to make some noise. But no noise came from Jane, the ever-invisible girl. Even the scratches of her pen across paper seemed muted.

And then, just as there had been silence, there came a deafening pounding at the front door. In retrospect, perhaps it had not been so loud after all, but only the quiet of the household made it seem so. The family looked at one another, not one of them sure of what to do, as they did not know who it was at the door.

Surely it was not one of their friends, seeing as they would use the back door. It was also unlike anyone they knew to knock that loudly. Could it perhaps be the police? Did they not believe Harold's story, and had now come to arrest him?
The four members of the house, now gathering together in the kitchen, exchanged glances all around. They hoped against hope that whoever it was would believe them out, and perhaps go away. Their wishful thinking, however, was completely in vain.

The knocker did not cease- instead, after not receiving an answer, he (for it must be a male) burst through the front door a moment later.

Apparently the knock had not been an inquiry as to whether they were home, but rather a forewarning to the person's arrival. He was getting in one way or another- and bursting down the door happened to be the quickest. It was the sound of it that first alerted the family.

There was a loud bang, followed by the crash of the thick wood hitting the floor. The intruder had torn the door clean off.
"Blackwell!" boomed a deep voice. "We know you're in here, so don't think that there's a chance in hell of us not finding you."

A couple of other voices joined the first one, calling out for Harold. Jane stood in the doorway between her bedroom and the kitchen, pressed flat up against the wall as if attempting to sink right into it and disappear. Harold's face paled to an unhealthy shade of slate grey. He mouthed one word to them.

"Capone."

The criminal had come for him.

Jane tried even harder to render herself invisible. If there was one time her uncanny knack for blending with her surroundings would come in handy, it was just then. She remained silent as death as the footsteps neared the kitchen. All four of them were frozen in fear. They dared not move an inch for fear of the men finding them faster. But they could not put off the inevitable.

A skinny, rat-faced man turned the corner and came face-to-face with the four hushed individuals. A foul grin spread across his face as he realized his luck. He would get to be the one to take credit for spotting them first. He had found his target, and the joy of that was now evident all across his hideous features.

"Boss!" he cried, his nasal voice piercing the thick silence. "I found 'em! The whole family, they's in here!"

Heavy footsteps thumped down the hallway as more men gathered in the entryway. Each one- there must have been at least five or six- drew their faces into a similar malicious smile as the first man's, overjoyed with the fact that they had found them. They laughed evilly, and then grew silent as another set of footsteps, a single pair, rang out in obvious authority.

A large man, partially hidden by shadows, swiftly made his way to the front of the group. He parted the men as if he was Moses parting the Red Sea, effortlessly sliding between them to face the family. It was then that Jane got a full glimpse of the large man's face. She recognized it immediately, and almost fainted in terror. It was Al Capone.

"So Harold," the gangster began. "I heard a funny little rumor the other day, from one of my friends down by the police station."

Harold paled even more.

"He said you ratted us out to 'em. That's an interesting story, now isn't it?"

Harold did nothing, and Capone continued.

"You should know, Blackwell…I don't take very kindly to traitors. You understand, of course, that you're gonna have to pay for this highly unfortunate little mistake."

Jane's father swallowed audibly, but still said nothing. Capone's men crept forward, clearly itching to deliver whatever this 'payment' would be. But with an outstretched hand, the man at the front held them back. He stood as if he was carved from stone, the only movement coming from his flaring nostrils. Finally, with a nod of his head so small Jane wasn't even sure that she saw it, he gave his consent. And then the chaos began.

All Jane could see were the silver flashes of knives and the hurtling masses of thick bodies around her. A gunshot sounded from somewhere around the room. A woman screamed- it had to be her mother. Jane couldn't spot any of her family members around the gangsters. She slunk down against the wall, trying to hide herself from the men. Finally- mercifully- Robert spotted her.

"Jane!" he shouted, terror evident in his wide eyes. "You have to hide!"

There was fresh blood on his face, flowing freely from an open wound. His right eye was swelled shut, and already beginning to bruise. Jane nodded, unable to say anything. She had to close her eyes, unable to look at her brother's face. She couldn't see him like that, in pain.

Blindly feeling around, she made her way back to her bedroom door. Her mother screamed again. More gunshots erupted, and Jane slammed the door behind her. She was alone, away from the horror. Gasping for breath, she sat down on her bed. The shouting and pounding was still going on outside, but Jane could barely hear it anymore.

She sat as still as she could be, trying to will her body to stop shaking. Her trembling was uncontrollable. She had to calm down, and then figure out a plan. It was just then that her bedroom door thrust open, and staring at Jane was the rat-faced man who'd seen them first.

"Well, well," he droned, his voice as oily as his hair. "Looks like the little pretty one was trying to run away."

He stepped closer, approaching Jane just as she stood up. She wasn't quite sure of why she had done so- perhaps to run away, or to seem taller as she faced him. But neither one was the case, as she stood in front of him in terrified silence. She just listened to him go on.

"Now I know you's not thinkin' you're gonna get away from me, right? Don't think 'ol Scarface would be too happy about that." He was inches away from her now. She could feel his foul breath against her face. "No sir…you's just too pretty to get away. We's gonna have some fun with this one…" He lifted a finger and ran it down the side of her face. Jane shivered in disgust.

"Get away from me, you horrid greasy excuse for a man!" she yelled, finally finding her voice.

The man's lurid grin disappeared, replaced by a murderous glare.

"Don't you talk to me like that, bitch!" he shouted back. "I think I's gonna have to teach you some manners!"

With that, he shoved Jane back against the wall. She heard the crack of her head against it before she felt it. His hands gripped her arms so tightly she knew she'd have bruises. Thrashing violently, she tried to shove him off of her. But the man was strong- stronger than he'd first appeared.

He held her down firmly, tearing her blouse open as he did so. Jane yelled and kicked, doing everything in her power to try and get him away. But so far, nothing had worked- and her energy was draining fast.

So her screams grew a bit quieter as she slowly resigned to her fate. But just as the man began pulling roughly at her skirt, Jane was struck with both replenished energy and an idea. With new-found conviction, she lifted her knee and struck him square between the legs.

"You stupid bitch!" he yelped, falling away from her as he curled into himself in pain.

Jane gasped for breath as she realized that it had worked. She tried to compose herself once again, trying to think of how to escape- but in the seconds that she did, she missed the man pulling out a long silver knife from his pocket.
She didn't see him charge back towards her, his own furious conviction burning in his eyes. Before she could comprehend what was happening, the rat-faced man had thrown her back up against the wall, this time plunging the knife deep into her side.

Jane saw the wound before she felt it. There was a sickening squelch of the blade being drawn from her body, then a moment before the blood started to flow. It spread across the white of her ripped blouse, increasing with every quick beat of her stammering heart. At first there was nothing. She looked down and saw the blood, wondering if it could really be coming from her. And then the pain began.

It was horrible- the worst pain she had ever been in. She knew the wound was deep. Her breathing grew shallower, but she screamed as loud as she could manage before sliding down to the ground. The greasy man looked self-satisfied.
The smile began to return to his face, as Jane slowly felt the life drain from her. Her eyes rolled back, but she forced them open again. She could not drift away. She had to keep fighting. She tried to raise herself, but her legs would not support her. Her knees buckled under the strain of trying to stand.

Just then, the door burst open once again. But this time, Robert stood on the other side of it. Jane's vision swam at the edges, but she could make out his face. It was even more bloodied than it had been before. He was pale, and looked tired. But then he saw the girl on the floor, and his eyes widened.

"Jane!" Robert shouted, and looked from her to the man in the room. "What the hell did you do to my sister?"

He charged at him, determined to protect Jane. But in the blink of an eye, the man had lifted his knife and stabbed Robert repeatedly in the chest. He laughed- an arrogant, disgusting sound that rang out across the room. Robert fell down, sprawled across his sister. Jane's vision was blurring dangerously.

"Robert…" she whispered, unable to manage anything louder.

The pain in her side had grown worse, and she could no longer even see if the man had left the room or not. She wanted to see if her brother was still alive. But she could no longer gather the strength. With one final shuddering gasp, Jane succumbed to the darkness that finally overwhelmed her.