Hi, everyone! This is my very first Oliver! story, so if some of the characters are a bit OOC, I apologise in advance. This story is for all the morbid/Dodger fans. I know I'm not the only one! Anyways, on with the story!

I'LL NEVER TELL

Chapter 1.

"SHUT UP! SETTLE DOWN!"

The deafening ruckus that echoed through the ancient house instantly quietened down. As Fagin placed a sizzling-hot pan of sausages on the wooden table, all the boys gathered round to fill their stomachs for a busy day of pick-pocketing ahead. Jack Dawkins, better known as The Artful Dodger, hurriedly washed his face before heading out the door with his good friend, Charley Bates.

Once they reached town, they split up and went separate ways in order to cover more ground. Dodger sidled up beside an old gentleman and pretended to examine the goods outside a local shop. When the man's back was turned, Dodger slyly reached into his pocket and carefully pulled out an expensively made, lined, very heavy wallet. The old gentlemen didn't budge. Dodger grinned and slipped away. As he wandered the streets of London, a hand suddenly tapped him on his right shoulder. He whirled around, and saw a young red-faced, apple-cheeked woman, possibly in her early thirties'. She was plain, not really that pretty, and she looked pale and unhealthy. Dodger stared at her, wondering what she could possibly want with him. She smiled at him; a strange, creepy, almost hungry smile. The smile made Dodger nervous and he started to back away. She took his hand and pulled into the alley she was standing in.

"Would you like to sit with me awhile, young man?" She asked him, with the same creepy smile. Her eyes looked hungry now, as well, and her grip on his hand was starting to hurt.

"No thanks, I 'ave to get goin'," he replied, trying to tug his hand out of her grip.

"Oh, come on!" She answers in a low voice, tugging him even further into the alley, behind some large dustbins. Dodger managed to free his hand from her grip and he stumbled and fell to the ground. He tried to sit up, but the woman pushed him back down so he was lying on his back, and, anticipating his cries for help, covered his mouth with her hand before Dodger could move a muscle.

Dodger had never felt so terrified in his whole life; he had no idea what was going on, or what she was going to do to him.

Still wearing that terrifying, maniacal grin, the woman straddled Dodger's hips. Realizing she would need two hands, she pulled Dodger's large white bow-tie up around his mouth and tightened it, leaving him unable to say a word. Dodger was struggling now. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his sides. Dodger was powerless. He kicked his legs frantically, trying in vain to free himself. He did everything that was humanly possible trying to get away. She pinned his hands underneath him, and one of her hands held him down, while the other tugged at the waistband of his corduroy trousers before pulling them down.

Dodger's hazel eyes widened in fear, shock and horror. He started to scream for help behind his gag. He prayed that someone would walk by and see them; but it was getting dark, and they were hidden behind the bins. He screamed even louder when she started to touch him. Tears streamed down the Dodger's face. He squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back, trying to free his hands. But the woman was stronger than she looked. Hearing Dodger's muffled sobs, she reached up and stroked the side of his face.

"Don't cry," she soothed. Dodger cringed away from her touch. She pinned his hands against his sides again and straddled him once more.

Dodger resumed screaming as she raped him over and over again.

His ordeal was over after half an hour. While the woman re-dressed herself and Dodger, he lay on the floor, trembling and crying. As if nothing had happened, she put his bow-tie back around his neck, then smiled, kissed him on the mouth and pinched his cheek as one would do to a baby. She then left, grinning as she exited.

Dodger just lay there, sprawled out on the floor, trembling, panting and crying. After about ten minutes, he finally managed to push himself up on his elbows, wobbling unsteadily. His heart was beating like he had just run a marathon and he was whimpering quietly. His bottom lip trembled as more tears slid down his cheeks. He sat up and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get his crying under control. When the tears had at last stopped, he managed to stand up, wobbling a bit as he did so. Wiping his face clean of tears, he started to head home. His hazel eyes were dull, blank and haunted; his face was expressionless. As he walked home, he tried to understand what just happened; but he couldn't. All he knew is that he would never tell. Who would believe him, anyway? Women didn't do this sort of thing. Besides, if he blabbed, he, Fagin and all the other boys would probably go to jail; he couldn't let that happen. Not to mention, the unbearable pain reliving the experience would cause.

As Dodger's eyes started to cloud with yet more tears, he mentally shook himself.

'It'll be alright,' he thought, as he ascended the rickety old stairs that lead to Fagin's home. 'It'll get easier over time.' He knocked twice on the door. "Dodger," he called out, and waited for the door to open. When it did, he casually strolled inside, trying to forget that he was over half an hour late. Fagin was pacing up and down the room, waiting for Dodger. When he caught sight of the boy, he grabbed him roughly and shook him by the shoulders.

"Where 'ave you been? We thought the traps 'ad got ya!" Dodger stepped back calmly the moment his shoulders were released, adjusting his previously askew top hat.

"'Course not," he answered breezily, making his way to the table where the other boys sat. "I 'ad to be careful; there was traps prowlin' about." Fagin accepted the excuse, and retreated mumbling into his lair, and Dodger finished supper with the boys, casually brushing off questions they asked him.