Chapter 1

Three Days Later

Taylar, Michigan 3:37 am

Patrolman Jack Winston never could, even years after, know why he went down that alley that night. Call it luck, call it fate, he would never know. But what he saw, or rather who, would give him nightmares for months after. He pulled his patrol car into the alley slowly, showering it with light.

And he saw two sneakers sticking out from behind a big trash can. Taylar was a small town and he had never seen a homeless person on the streets in his entire fifteen year stint with the police, but he saw there was legs attached to the sneakers.

As he got closer he noticed that his lights still wouldn't show who those sneakers belonged to. So, after radioing in, he stopped the car and stepped out of it. The smell of the trash can reminded him of rotten food and rats. As he got closer, he noticed that jeans the person was wearing looked wet.

Now jack stood right in front of the figure. But the shadow cast by the trash can still obscured his vision. So, without really thinking about it, he pulled out his flashlight and turned it on. "Holy Mary, mother of God." He managed to breath out.

The figure, a boy, was leaning against the wall of the building with a vacant look in brilliant blue eyes. But that was not what startled him so much. And it wasn't the fact that the boy wasn't wearing a shirt. No, it was the fact that the boy looked to be covered with blood from head to foot. His face was caked in it and Jack could barely make out the blondness of the boy's hair.

Jack pulled his gun slowly, just in case. He didn't know if the kid was dangerous or not. "Hey kid," He started, getting close enough tap the kid's foot with his own. "Hey kid, you all right?" He asked, tapping his foot against the boy's again.

Jack noticed that the vacant look in the kid's eyes never changed. Jack got brave and knelt down to the side of the boy. "Kid, can you hear me?" Leaning in to get a better look.

Jack would say in the police station later that he never saw him move. One moment he was griping his 9mm, the next he was on his back with the barrel pointed against his forehead. He looked past the gun and looked into eyes so wild that they would have given a demon a run for it's money.

Jack knew to count his blessings after what happened next. The kid got a confused look on his face and his glacial blue eyes lost some of their fierceness. "You're a cop." He whispered in a ragged voice... And then feinted right on top of Patrolman Jack Winston.

Taylar County Hospital

Five Hours Later

Pain. Pain and confusion. These were the first things Michael noticed when he slowly started to wake. He left his eyes closed, from fear of making his head hurt more. What in the hell?? He thought, not knowing where the hell he was. The last thing he remembered was leaving the Red Razor with Mr. Jacobson to go meet David for a run.

What the fuck happened after that? He asked himself, his eyes fluttering open slowly. He looked at a white tile ceiling and heard a beeping noise. He also noticed that there was wires hooked to him. Hospital. I'm at a hospital. He thought, feeling a little better now that he knew a little about what was going on.

Michael took a quick check of what his body felt like. He felt pretty good, save for the pounding headache. He turned his head slowly to take in the room. It looked like a plain, ordinary hospital room. There was a small table beside the bed with a picture of what he assumed was water.

He took in the rest of the room, everything looked normal. Save one little detail: The cute blonde sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. She was wearing a light blue blouse with a pair of stylish slacks.

And her bright, vibrant sea-green eyes twinkled as she looked at him. "Ah, it lives," She said in a voice that was like honey, as she stood up. She looked to be no taller than five-foot, and no older than him. She picked up the chair and walked over and sat it beside his bed. Sitting in it again.

Ignoring the pain in his head, Michael sat up straight. Careful not to pull on the wires. But the pain in his head was almost too much to ignore. "Head hurt?" The girl asked with a smug look. Pretty or not, the girl was starting to annoy him.

Michael just looked at her with an impassive expression. I gotta figure out how to get out of here before I become a ward of California again. He told himself. "Nah, it feels great." He lied.

"You're a horrible liar, Michael." She said with a sparkly glint in her eyes.

Michael's head jerked her way. "How the hell do you know my name?"

"I'll tell you in time," She started. "But I think I should tell you my name for now." She said, scooting her chair closer, sticking her arm out. "Renae Jackson." She added simply.

Michael reluctantly shook her hand. "I guess you already know my name."

"I should, my mother adopted you about two hours ago." She dead panned.

"If you're trying to be funny, you need ta keep your day job." He replied with more than a touch of sarcasm. What the hell is she talking about anyway? "Everyone knows it takes months and sometimes years to adopt." And I'll be damned if I'm going to go through my old life again. He shuddered at the thought.

"Actually, my Mom has a few contacts that most people don't," Oops, I think I pissed him off. She thought wryly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Looking at his cold eyes and clenching jaw, she was pretty sure she pissed him off. I can't have him bolt, now that we've finally found him...

She watched as he turned his head and gaze away from her.

"Michael," She started, laying a delicate hand on his shoulder. "Michael, look at me... please?" And there was the voice equivalent to honey coming from her lips. Thank god he's at least responding.

Michael turned his head and leveled his gaze open soft green eyes that just exuded trust and honesty. "Myself and my mother have your old foster-care records... And I swear by everything that is holy, it will NOT be like that. Will you please trust me?"

Michael turned his eyes slowly towards the green-eyed beauty. Years of street wise sensibility told him not to trust the girl. His mind told him not to trust the girl. But, looking at the trusting and pleading eyes of the girl, his heart screamed something else.

The memories of the good times he had on the street were added up in his head, the memories of the bad were added as well. And Michael figured out right there, that the bad far out weighed the good. And Michael was about to do something that he had only did with very few people: Trust.