Chapter 1: Hello Mr. Jones

I woke sensing someone in my room. Skank was out after curfew again, not that anyone here cared as long as he was here for his morning chores. It was after three and I could see the light under the door meaning it was closed. The sock that we used as a marker was still in the same place, so the door hadn’t been opened since I fell asleep. My eyes closed, I relaxed and listened. Growing up in an orphanage, those that didn’t sleep lightly were preyed on. It was a skill that all twenty-seven of us had mastered in Saint Hamlin Orphanage. Even the newbies learned that one quickly.

The room suddenly lit up with an eerie green light. No use pretending. I looked for the intruder in the shadows. The Sisters that ran the place always knocked once and the guards were instructed to always follow that rule, not that they did unless a Sister was around.

After years of raising desolate orphans, not even the Sisters were unscathed by the System. They ignored the guard’s behavior unless it was physically damaging to the children. It was the same way that, there was no such thing as an honest cop. Too many criminals were out there, and cops had learned to turn their heads and play the odds, prioritizing the ones that were catchable first. The Sisters could only do so much, even starting with the best intentions. After years of failed social programs, incompetent judicial personnel and negligent schools, there was no stopping the downward spiral of their charges or themselves. There were no innocents in the orphanage business. Everyone was dirtied by contact of the system.

The green glow radiated from an area under a tall middle-aged Caucasian in a pinstriped suit and a bowler that I had somehow missed on my first glance around the room. He even carried an umbrella on his left forearm like in the old British shows. His Magnum PI mustache looked odd and outdated, but I knew enough not to laugh. The Suit was probably another inspector. The Sisters would be irritated when they found out he was in my room unescorted and I would be punished for not informing them right away.

“Good evening Mr. Jones. My apologies for interrupting your rest.” He opened with a heavy British accent, like from the ones in the WWII movies that Sister Kate likes. ‘It’s ok’ “Could I have you get dressed and come with me please.”

He was polite, which was rare when someone from the system was not accompanied by a Sister but from his tone, not that he left me the option of refusing. I threw on a pair of raggedy jeans over my boxers and a discarded t-shirt, waiting for him to let me know what this was about.

“Shoes too please, Mr. Jones.”

I acquiesced, putting on my socks and tennis shoes...

I felt his uncaring observation of me and of the room. He didn’t move all the while I dressed. I approached the door, expecting us to leave the room. Startled, I noticing for the first time that the faint glow under him was actually an encircled pentagram, like in video games, slowly spinning counterclockwise with odd runes highlighted in a pale blue.

I hesitated, weighing my options ... Shrugging, I stepped into the six-foot diameter circle which covered most of the bedroom between our bunks. Not, like I had much of a choice beyond yelling for the guards or the Sisters. Once my feet were planted inside the circle, the room lit up a brilliant orange blinding me. When the lights dimmed, and I could see again, we stood on top of the Renaissance Center. I recognized the view of Woodward and the wagon wheel street layout from pictures in geography class. The wind was blowing, cold, hard and loud. I had never been on top of a building before let alone the famous Detroit landmark.