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The Stacks - Chapter 7

Ships: Eventual logicality and prinxiety, slow burn

Summary: In this society there is a place where the poor and unwanted are placed and kept hidden away from everyone else, where poverty and crime are a frequent and life shines for no one. Stacked up high in the sky, this is the furthest anyone living there will ever reach. When a Depression consumes the land, and the government fails to bring an end to it, society turns even further on the residents of the Stacks, accusing them for bringing the rest of them down. What no one knows, however, is that it’ll take the work of four unlikely people to not only bring an end to the poverty, but also to this inequality.

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AO3 - Here

In one week, Logan would have to leave his city and his province and head for the nation’s capital of Clover in Moors, the largest province, and also the wealthiest. The senators, deputy senators—and their secretaries—of each province would meet in the capital for summit every two months for eight weeks. At the start of November, Logan, and his deputy Joan, would leave for Clover and would not return until January. That meant that he had to get as much work done as possible in the short time he had left in his home.

The council was not making it easy on him.

“Listen!” Logan slammed his hand on the table, attempting to regain the attention of the bickering representatives. “The mines cannot afford to be slowed. If we were to do that then many of the workers would be laid off and the unemployment rate would further increase!”

“But if we lessen the amount of coal, iron, and other natural resources that are on the market then their value will increase as stimulate the economy again!” Adriana, representative of the third district, the district that held the province’s capital Faun in, argued fervently.

“Who's going to buy those materials if no one has any jobs to pay for them? Think for a moment.” Lillian, representative of the fifth district, rebutted.

“You just want to protect your district's manufacturing!” Adriana accused, her plump face blushed bright red in embarrassment.

“I want to protect our people!” The tall, black-haired, politician defended. Adriana was about to counter her again, but was shut down when Logan stood abruptly from his seat.

“Our session is now adjourned!” He bellowed out in annoyed fury, “We will pick this back up at noon tomorrow. Voting on this bill will take place at three in the afternoon. Good day!” With that said, Logan angrily placed his paperwork into his briefcase and marched off, Jonathan following after him.

The session had been called into action five hours ago, and nothing was accomplished other than childish bickering between the council members. It had been Adriana who introduced this new bill before them to lower the amount of natural resources that could be mined in Flor annually in order to raise their cost on the market in an attempt to bring a larger flow of money into the economy. Adriana, although short and youthful, was a well-minded and direct woman who truly did have her people’s best interest at the forefront of her mind. However, she was often hardheaded and single minded, and didn’t like to admit her faults or mistakes easily. Lillian on the other hand, was more open minded and thorough, preferring to give deep consideration to an issue while having the flexibility to change her views if need be, though she was prideful and liked to flaunt her wisdom and opinions when it wasn’t needed. Trying to get anything done with the two of them was a recipe for a nightmare.

Although, when the two were not discussing work or politics, they got along quite well; they were actually great friends. If only they could bring that cordiality into the meetings.

As it stands, Adriana is more likely to lose on this one. Only one of the five agree with her, that one being Winston, while the rest all are in favor of Lillian. There were already so many out of work; they can’t afford to close off any of it.

Flor’s economy is built around mining, lumber, and fishing. However, due to the deforestation, there isn’t as much lumber being processed in the province. And since it was currently autumn, the mines were all that their economy had. The best time of year for the fishing harvest is the summer, which has passed; winter brings some fishing, but not enough to stabilize the market. Flor can’t afford to limit one of the few job-creating commerce it held.

The meeting had carried on longer than he would have liked, and taxed him of much of his strength and energy. Logan notified his assistant to request him a light meal from his butler for when he arrived back at his manor. It was past nine o’clock at night, and in order to not be keep up late due to gastric emptying it’d be best to eat a light dinner.

When he arrived home, Logan left his car parked in front of the porch steps in the courtyard’s roundabout, not bothering to park in his garage. His butler Elise greeted him as he walked in, taking his coat and briefcase from him, announcing that dinner was awaiting him in the dining hall. And indeed it was. There on the table before head chair, sat a bowl of lentil soup and a small basket of crisp bread. The presentation of the dish was limited, but the smell was so succulent that it almost swept him off his feet. As per usual, his new chef was nowhere to be seen.

It had been a little over a week since Logan had taken on the peculiar man as his new personal chef, and since then he’d only ever seen the rare ghost of him around the manor, as if the other was trying to purposefully avoid him. It’s not that he particularly minded, he was actually far too busy a majority of the time to really ponder on it, but it was quiet moments like this that made him wonder as to why that was.

The meal had been splendid as always and had been just enough to cure his growling stomach. Dabbing his face clean with his cloth napkin, Logan stood from the table and made his way out and up the stairs to his room on the third floor, prepared to lie down and fall asleep. However, something fairly unusual stood hiding behind the curtains of one of the many windows; or rather someone.

A pair of small feet poked out from the bottom, giving away their location and thwarting their attempt of secrecy. Quietly Logan walked up to the small figure and pulled back the curtain to reveal a small boy that he could only guess was one of his chef’s aforementioned sons. He was clad in a pair of worn brown shorts and a faded pink button up, a pair of old and too large shoes on his feet. His chestnut brown hair that was desperately in need of a trim was tucked neatly behind his ears. The young boy looked up at him in an excitement that quickly transformed into confusion and slight hesitation.

“Good evening young man,” Logan greeted the child, “What are you doing here?” The boy seemed to ease up a bit once no ill will was presented from him, but he still held himself in a way that looked skittish.

“I’m playing hide-and-seek with my pa and brother.” He replied in a murmur, not completely meeting Logan’s gaze. “It’s been about half an’ hour.”

“Does he know you are up here?” Logan asked, kneeling beside the boy.

“No silly, I’m hiding.” He answered as if was the clearest idea in the universe, and perhaps it was, but it had been well over a decade since Logan had played last. Logan sat crisscrossed next to the boy on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. The boy stared at him for a moment before deciding to do the same, seemingly much more relaxed than before.

“Do you play this game often with your father?” The little boy shook his head, fiddling with the laces on his heinous shoes.

“Pa is normally too busy with work to play with us, but since we came here he’s been finding more time. It’s nice.”

For a child most likely no more than seven years old, he held a look that spoke years of wisdom and experience. It was as if he understood more than he let on, but held in his knowledge for a reason that was unknown. Logan was surprised, but not in a pleasant way. He was all too familiar with having to grow up at such a young age as this; he had wished he’d never have to see it in another youth. Standing to his feet, Logan reached out a hand for the boy to take, offering his help in more than one way.

“Come along, I’ll take you to your father. I highly doubt he knows you’re here.”

As he had suspected, his chef, Patton Sanders is he did recall, was frantically searching in every place except the third floor, as Elise had told him that it was forbidden. He cleaned up that misunderstanding and clarified that only certain rooms were off limits unless otherwise stated by him and him alone. He’d have to speak with his butler later on the subject more thoroughly.

Patton had been incredibly relieved when Logan had found him in the dining hall searching for his missing son, his other offspring at his side practically glued to him. He had been thanked profusely by the distraught father, learning that the boy he had found was named Emile and was the younger of the twins.

“It’s quite alright.” Logan waved him off, “He is a rather unique lad.”

“Oh yes, Emile is my favorite little nerd.” Patton agreed with a bright smile, running his fingers through the boy’s locks, messing up his neat hair. Logan watched this with interest, gazing at the scene of his chef with his two sons. He noticed that the slightly ragged attire of Emile, which he had at first found to be odd, applied to the entire family. Each of them wore clothing that appeared to be well worn with time, he could even see stitching on his other boy’s, whose name he did not yet know, shorts. Logan felt a peak of curiosity at this.

Could the depression have spread so far, so badly? He wondered inwardly.

“Well, thank you for finding my son,” Patton spoke up, surprising Logan out of his thoughts, “But we better let you sleep now.”

“Actually, I’d like to have a talk with you about a few matters. Stay for a few minutes after you deliver me my breakfast.” He stated in command, coming off slightly intense although he didn’t mean to. His chef’s face fell, a small fear shining in his eyes from the implication of his words.

“Yes, sir.” Patton responded, the light shakiness in his voice not going unnoticed. Logan watched as the servant grabbed his children and started up the stairs from the main hall to the servant living area. As the left, Emile turned around in his father’s arms and waved goodbye. Logan couldn’t help but smile at the gesture, and lightly waved back.

Once the family disappeared around the corner, and the sound of a door opening and closing was made, Logan made his way up the stairwell. Once he was on the second floor, Logan glanced at the right hall of the manor, and saw room light shining under the doors into the hallway. He heard the sound of the new family talking, and of Jamie singing to himself as he always did, and the faint noise of water running on the far end from the bathroom. Looking at the opposite end in the left wing, Logan saw nothing but empty darkness, just as with the rest of the manor.

Silently he walked away and up to the third floor where his bedroom, two empty rooms, his private library, and office were. This part of the manor was even more quiet and empty. Stepping into his room, Logan went immediately towards his outside balcony. The cold autumn night air felt both refreshing and numbing on his skin, he let out a breath and watched as it materialized before him as steam.

Thinking back, Logan remembers back when he was younger, where he would sneak down this very balcony and go out to the garden in the middle of the night to watch the stars, naming all the constellations and planets he could. He used to want to be an astronaut, but that was a long time ago. His parents used to be furious with him when they found him out from his bed, but Ahmed had always been three steps behind him, so he was never in any real danger.

While he thought this, he noticed Ahmed patrolling the gardens, shining his flashlight in the shadows for any potential threats. Logan frowned and went back inside.

…

Patton had woken up the earliest he had in awhile, nervous for whatever his boss wanted to talk to him about that morning. His mind filled with skittish worries of the slight possibility that he might be let go so soon. He wanted to make a tasty, healthy, and safe breakfast to curve any thought Mr. Winchester may have been having. When he got up, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and his boys were still asleep on their side of the bed. These rooms were very luxurious for being servant rooms. While it only had one bed, it was a queen and was large enough to fit all three of them. Patton slept on the right closest to the door, while Thomas and Emile slept together on the left. Striding to the wardrobe directly across from the foot of the bed, Patton pulled out a blue polo shirt and brown khakis, which he considered to be his nicest clothes.

Once he was dressed, he gave a peck on the forehead to his boys and walked down to the kitchens. He planned to make Eggs Benedict with bacon and a side of hash browns.

It was around six o’clock that the manor began to become alive. The master would start his day in thirty minutes, so the staff had to start before that, and just as he always had since his first day here, Patton not only made breakfast for Mr. Winchester, but for the staff as well; except for Elise, who preferred to make it herself. Jamie was the first to walk in, as per usual.

“Good m’rning,” He yawned as he walked in, rubbing red, tired eyes. His short curly hair was in tangles and still a mess from sleep, he was still dressed in pajamas and without his binder. Jamie was one of those people who couldn’t function on an empty stomach, so he chose to eat before he got ready.

“Morning, Jay!” Patton smiled, using the nickname he had chosen for his new friend. He had actually run a few by him, asking which one Jamie would prefer, but he told Patton that any way was fine, so he decided on Jay. “Hungry?” He already knew the answer.

“Ravenous.” He grinned, setting himself down at the center table in the kitchen, where the staff often ate. Patton brought over a plate of eggs, bacon, and sliced avocado, complemented with a glass of orange juice. Jamie shortly thanked him before stuffing his face.

Next in was Ahmed, dressed in his security outfit, who immediately demanded a cup of coffee, which Patton had already prepared. He sat down next to Jamie in silence, neither one being a morning person and both not willing to start a conversation yet.

Out of all of them, Ahmed got the least amount of sleep, since he had to wake up every two hours during the night to conduct a sweep of the manor because he was the only guard. Patton hadn’t been told why, but apparently Mr. Winchester didn’t want or trust anyone else to guard him. The man was in his forties, but he was still quite strong and capable and more than enough protection for their employer, at least that’s what Ahmed always told him.

And at last Elise walked in, prim, proper, and fully awake and aware. Today she wore a long grey skirt and long black button up shirt with a grey vest the same color of her skirt. Walking for the refrigerator, she pulled out the milk carton and poured herself a glass. She plucked an apple from the fruit basket and cut herself a slice of bread for her breakfast. Patton had offered to make her something as always, but curtly declined.

Once everyone had finished eating they all gave their dishes to Patton and went to start their day. Ahmed went to start his first patrol of the grounds; Jamie went to go get dressed before he started on the west hall. Elise left to her office.

It was now six thirty; Mr. Winchester should be waiting for him to serve his meal. Setting the warm food and coffee on the cart, Patton pushed it out and down to the dining hall. When he entered he noticed that his employer had already arrive, currently reading the paper as he waited. Patton hadn’t read the paper since he left.

“Forgive me sir, have you been waiting long?”

Mr. Winchester looked up at his voice; his face was pale, as if he had barely slept.

“No, I’ve only been here less than a few minutes.” Patton nodded in relief and brought over the food, setting the meal and drink before him; Mr. Winchester pulled back his sleeve to eat. “Please sit.”

Patton did as he was told and pulled open a chair next to him and sat down on the edge. They sat there in silence for a few minutes that felt like hours to him. He didn’t want to say anything, but he felt himself become more awkward the longer they went without saying anything.

“Um, Mr. Winchester-”

“Please, Mr. Winchester was my father. You can call me either ‘Senator Logan’ or ‘Sir’ if you would like.” Logan interrupted, patting his mouth with a cloth napkin. Patton felt surprise swell within him.

“You’re the Senator?” He asked in shock. Logan looked back at him with an almost equal amount.

“You weren’t aware of that fact?”

Patton shook his head.

“The newspaper didn’t say what your occupation was, and no one else told me.”

Logan hummed in thought, looking down at his food in consideration. A short moment passed before he looked back up.

“According to your paperwork you’re from the sixth district, correct? What is life like there?”

Patton felt his heart drop to his stomach, panic filled his veins, but he tried to not let it show in order to not raise any suspicion.

“Uh, well, it could better.” He answered unconfidently, looking anywhere that wasn’t his boss. In truth he had only ever been to the sixth district while he was at the tram station and, or when he was passing through on the tram, so he only really saw glances. But he did see enough over the years to have an idea of what it was like. “It was nicer a few years ago, but more people are on the streets nowadays. There are some jobs, just not enough for everyone. In fact I’ve seen a few foreclosure sign popping up recently. Not much had been done to fix it and everything has only been getting worse.”

Patton hadn’t noticed that his voice stopped shaking a long time ago, or that he had been directly staring at Logan the entire time; he hadn’t noticed that his fist were clenched, or that he had raised his voice slightly as he was speaking; he had noticed that he had basically just criticized Logan’s work ethic to his face.

Logan listened closely while he unknowingly ranted; giving Patton’s words his full attention. His eyes were calm and calculating, warm and cold, boring into him. Patton felt unnerved by the almost robotic gaze, as if Logan was an android and not a real person.

“Is that why you left?” He asked composedly, seeming to have completely forgotten about his half eaten meal on his plate. Patton felt a small prick of annoyance, but pushed it way down quickly.

Yes and no. He hadn’t left the Stacks because employment was low; he left because it was nonexistent.

“Yes.”

The sound of tiny footsteps was suddenly out in the hall. Patton looked at toward the door, knowing that the boys were probably heading to the kitchen to look for him and have breakfast together as they always did.

“You’re sons?” Logan questioned, returning back to his meal.

“Yeah, they probably want breakfast.” He smiled warmly, still staring off towards the door. “I should get back to them.”

“Of course,” Logan agreed, standing up, “Are they in school yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Too young?”

“No, just haven’t been enrolled yet.”

Logan, pausing mid action, looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Well… then I shall have Elise enroll them right away. There is a private academy about a mile from here, they shall go there.” Logan decided, recomposing himself, straightening his coat. Now it was Patton’s turn to look at him as if he were crazy.

“Sir, please, that’s too much.” He tried to argue, “A private academy costs money that I don’t have, I was planning to send them to a public school.”

“Then I shall take care of it.” Logan said as if it were the most obvious solution, “While I have not had the pleasure of speaking with both your other sons, my chat with Emile has revealed him to be a very clever and perceptive young lad. He’ll need an education to sharpen his wit.”

“Sir, I really don’t deserve this, and I can’t ask this of you.”

“You are not asking this of me, I am offering this to you of my own will. Please do not feel as if I am causing you a burden, and please don’t force me to make this an order.”

Patton backed down, knowing he could not change his boss’ mind. Patton hadn’t had the time to go buy them new clothes let alone enroll them in school; it had been only ten days that they’ve been here. He had planned to do all that once they were completely settled and when he had gotten his first paycheck, which was in four days. Hearing that his boys would be able to not only go to school faster than he had expected, but also be going to a fancy academy was more than he could take at once. Despite what Logan had told him, he had already started to become overwhelmed. His eyes began to water as a surge of happiness swept over him.

“T-thank you sir!” His voice quaked out of his control, emotion pouring out into his words. The smile was small, but it was still there, present on Logan’s lips.

“You are very much welcome.”

…

The sun had risen; that much he could tell. Through the walls of the crate building Virgil could hear the sound of chirping birds and a low bustle, meaning that the day was just beginning. Virgil now had to rely on sound to tell him the time of day, seeing that Damien had taken his watch away when he had first stripped him down. He didn’t like reminders of Virgil disobeying him.

He hadn’t seen the sun in a couple days, although wasn’t exactly sure how many. The light from the oil lamp was all that he’s had. This room has no windows, and he wasn’t allowed to leave it, not yet at least. Without his clocks and without the sun, Virgil had loss almost all sense of time, only having vague ideas of when it was day and night based on sounds and the temperature of the room.

A low rumbling was made next to his ear and an arm wrapped itself around. Virgil jolted despite knowing who it was, apparently annoying the other by doing so.

“Don’t move.” Damien muttered under his breath, leaning his body in closer, pressing himself against Virgil’s back. Virgil did as he said, turning as stiff as a plank of wood, but this annoyed him as well. “Relax,” He shushed into his ear, “I won’t do anything to ya… For now.” He grinned, placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. Virgil begged and pleaded with his body not to respond, but despite himself, he shuddered out of discomfort and fear. Seeing his reaction, Damien did it again, but on his neck this time. Virgil tried to scoot away on impulse, but he was held in place by the arm around his waist. “I thought I told you not to move.” He spoke again into his ear. Virgil stopped, and true to his earlier word, so did he.

They lay there on the bed like that for the next half hour, but for Virgil it felt more like five hours. Eventually Damien sat up and stretched in bed, cracking his fingers, neck, and back. Sliding out of bed, he went over to his wooden wardrobe and pulled out a long black sleeved shirt and a yellow vest. Pulling open a draw on the bottom, he picked out a pair of slim black slacks that hugged his skin tightly, but left him room to breathe. His final touches were a pair of yellow gloves and a black bowler hat. Virgil didn’t watch, and he didn’t have to in order to get an idea of what he was wearing. He had a particular aesthetic that he likes to stick to.

“The tailor should be arriving with the outfits I ordered.” Damien spoke up, fixing his hair in the mirror of his vanity, “I’ll have Danni deliver them you, so get dressed and she’ll escort you down.” Damien looked at his image in the mirror one more time, realigning the glass eye in his left socket, and then turned and strode over to Virgil, running his fingers though the others blond bangs. “It’s about time we got back in business.”

And with that, Damien went out the door, and the sound of it locking was heard before his footsteps began to fade down the stairs.

Virgil waited until he was sure the other was gone to sit up, wincing as he did so and leaning his back into the headboard. Reaching up with his right hand, Virgil pulled at the yellow hair, glaring at it with contempt. The day after he had come here, just as Damien had said, his bangs were colored to symbolize his status, and then he was kept locked up in this room: no windows, one bolted door, and no way to escape. There wasn’t much to do in here during the day while Damien was away; there were a few books but he refused to touch them. When Damien was there, however, was the time he wished nothing would be done, but that rarely worked out in his favor.

Most days he would waste away his life lying or sitting on the bed or couch. He had a lot of time to his thoughts recently, something he had always hated, his thoughts would consume him at corrode his flesh. He lost himself a little more each day, his anger swelled higher with intensity, hatred bubbled up in him. Virgil knew that this was the plan, Damien’s goal to revert him back to how he was when they had met.

Virgil had been around fifteen years old, and had been living with Patton for four years. His new dad had planning to move them into the tenth district for a few years and had even put a payment down on an apartment in the tenth district. But then the depression spread out further into the other districts and their plans fell through, and Patton had found himself drowning in an unbelievably large debt that he could never dream of paying off. He had already been working two jobs, which soon turned into one, and was exhausted from the constant hours he had to put up with in attempt to get enough to pay off the bank, but the interest made that impossible. Virgil hated seeing his dad like that and wanted to help him get rid of his debt, but he could barely cover the costs for scraps with the pathetic work he had found and knew that they’d need outside help.

Virgil hadn’t met him at that point, but he knew of the Stacks mob owner who practically ran their lives behind the scenes. It anyone would have enough to help them then it would be this man. Now he knows that it would have been better to be starved by the bank, then to have received aid from Damien; the man basically owned him now because of it.

Thoughts ran through his head as he sat there in anger, curious wonders of all the different outcomes that his life might have led up to if he had chosen different paths in life. If he hadn’t gone to Damien for assistance, where would he be now? What if he had chosen to run away with Patton and the boys? What if he had stopped Patton from putting that payment down on the apartment? What if he hadn’t chosen to steal food from Patton and had never met him? Where would he be now?

He shook his head, trying to shut out the thoughts, clasping his hands on his head, in his hair, curling up and falling onto his side. No. He concluded. None of that matters now.

The door unlocked, Virgil covered himself with the sheets, and the door swung open. Danni stepped in, bending her head down slightly to fit in under the lower doorway. She carried in three boxes, one large and two small, and dropped it next to him on the bed.

“The boss wants to see you now; get dressed.” She told him shortly with an envious glare. Virgil opened up the box once she stepped out again, inside were three outfits. One of them looked to be an all black suit with a royal yellow bowtie. He could understand why she would be so upset; it was scarce that anyone in the Stacks would ever be able to own such nice clothes, let alone someone of his status. Next he looked at the next two outfits underneath the first. This one was, once again, all black and looked to be a longed sleeve jumper. There as a short, black neck scarf that came with it, most likely to be used to hide his face, and black gloves, to hide his fingerprints. Under that was the final outfit, which he immediately detested upon seeing it. It was a black crop top and short shorts paired with fingerless gloves. Virgil swore to himself that he’d never wear that around Damien.

In the other two smaller boxes were two pairs of footwear, one pair of nice dress shoes and combat boots.

Virgil grumbled, knowing he was wanted downstairs, and grabbed the outfit he knew he would be the most comfortable in, that being the jumper.

Once he had dressed properly he walked out the unlocked door and out through the short hall, descending from the stairs. Danni was waiting for him at the bottom and walked him over when he had reached the bottom.

The curtains around his little throne were pulled back this time, and the light around him was brighter and more telling of his complexion. Damien laid on his back draped his slender legs off the arm of his chair and kicked them back and forth as a child would out of boredom, plucking red grapes from a vine. Virgil stood there and waited to be noticed, not wanting to purposefully draw attention to him. Thankfully, or rather not, Danni announced his arrival. Damien curled around in his chair, now resting on his side, and grinned at his outfit.

“I knew you would choose that one, my dear.” He stated, popping a grape into his mouth and chewed cheekily, “Although I can deny that I would have preferred you in that other one.” Virgil bit back his disgust and just continued to stare at him with a blank face. Damien frowned and sighed, sitting up properly. “It’s been a few year since I’ve required your skills. Tell me, are they still sharp?” Pulling out a case and a screwdriver from the ground beside his throne and threw them on the ground in front of Virgil’s feet. “Unlock it in ten seconds,” He pulled out a handgun from his waist pocket and cocked it, “Or die.”

He began to count and Virgil dropped to his knees, working quickly. He had it open in three, child’s play, Damien may be going easy on him. Said man clapped loudly and cheered recklessly, making a scene of him to all of the other patrons in the makeshift casino bar.

“Never lost it, huh? Marvelous!” He praised, “Now look inside.”

Virgil did as he said and looked inside. The case was filled with all different sorts of tools: screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers, cutters, miniature saws, and throwing knives. To accompany all this was a utility belt in which to hold all of them. Even when he had worked for Damien a few years ago he didn’t have this much equipment of this quality.

“Now that we’re back in business I thought it appropriate to supply you with all the necessary tools.” Damien spoke, his voice closer than it was before. “You first mission in the Faun Museum of Science and Technology. My source says they have a rare metal in their archives that is quite valuable. It’s called adamantine, and I want you to steal it for me.”

Virgil looked at all of the provided tools and weapons right before him in the case. How easy it would be to swiftly grab a knife from the case and shove it into the man’s gut. It wouldn’t take long, if he was stealthy about it, no one would notice in time and he’d be able to plan an escape route.

He closed the lid instead.

“When do you want it by?”

…

Ten. How was it ten o’clock already? It seemed like it had only been thirty minutes since he arrived at the office at seven that morning, but apparently three hours had already passed him by. To be completely honest, Roman doesn’t even remember what he had been doing the entire time, but according to the paperwork on his desk, he had been going over some forms on something he didn’t even know about.

Roman groaned for his loss of time, pinching his brows together in frustration. He stood up awkwardly, his muscles stiff from sitting in the same position for so long, and went over to his personal coffee maker by the window. As he waited for the machine to make his brew, Roman gazed out of his long glass wall that doubled as a window. The Provincial office building was a bit in the suburban district, up on a hill, overlooking the skyscrapers the city’s downtown area.

The past week had been rather boring and stressful, with not many opportunities for him to take a break being presented. As the Head of Security of Flor, it was Roman’s job to oversee all of the police departments and correctional facilities in every city and town; sixty-four of the former and seven of the latter. That meant that Roman had to go through reports from seventy-one offices across the province almost daily. Much of it was boring paperwork that was rather unnecessary in the end, but he had to be attentive with each document in case in turned out to be of grave importance.

That’s why he was frustrated that he had ended up slacking off a good portion of his morning and had mindlessly gone through his paperwork. Roman knew what had gotten him distracted, just as it had almost every day, or rather, who had. That damn watchmaker gave him no leads as to who he is or why he was up in the rafters during Logan’s announcement. He found nothing that would allow the slightest bit of clarification for the boy’s intentions. Someone with the skill to break into a highly secured government building without being spotted was a threat that couldn’t be taken lightly.

Nevertheless, it appears that Roman had to take it lightly. This was not his job anymore; he ceased being a police officer once he was sworn into office and left behind the right to chase after individual criminals. He had to focus on the bigger picture here, and that was his job over the province’s safety. Roman hadn’t reported this occurrence to the police department yet because he wanted to be the one to turn the boy over, but now it seemed that he had no choice but to give up on his end.

The coffee maker beeped beside his hand, signaling that his drink finished brewing. Grabbing his favorite mug, with the label “Could Be Gayer!” on it, Roman filled it with coffee two-thirds of the way full, and then filled the rest with vanilla and hazelnut creamer and cane sugar. He returned to his seat and looked back through the documents he had evidently neglected, reading carefully, but skimming broadly to try and make up for lost time.

By the time noon had rolled around, two hours later, Roman had almost nearly caught up on his work and had decided to skip out on lunch for the time being in favor of completing it. His assistant Diana Meyers, however, firmly disagreed with that notion.

“Sir please, you haven’t eaten since this morning, a short twenty minute break to eat won’t take long.” She told him from the opposite side of his desk, about to head out for lunch with a few of her colleagues as well.

“No thank you, Ana, I’m at least a hundred and fifty pages behind schedule; I have to get this done. I’ll reward myself with some pizza afterwards.”

“Food should be a priority, not a reward, sir.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine, honestly I’m alright.”

Diana didn’t look too convinced, and in all actuality neither was he; he just said it so she’d stop babying him. At last, with an exasperated moan and a roll of her eyes Diana conceded.

“Fine, I’ll bring you back a sub.” She said, walking back for the door before halting, “Oh, you received a personal call today.”

Roman looked up from his paperwork in curiosity since he solemnly received any personal calls, especially while he was at work.

“Who was it from?” He inquired.

“They said their name was Talyn, they wanted to tell you that they’re back in town.” She answered, turning back towards him away from the entrance, holding the glass door, which had a metal trim and handle, open with her ankle.

Roman blinks a few times in surprise at hearing that name. Wordlessly he brought up his briefcase from the carpeted ground beside his desk and piled all of his paperwork in. Standing in haste, he went over to his coat rack and plucked off his beige jacket.

“Sir?” Diana called out in question, “Are you alright?”

“Of course, I simply forgot I had a previous engagement.” He smiled, slipping on his coat and walking through the door, “I’ll be back in perhaps a little over an hour or two, would you mind filing through my documents from most to least important?”

“You know I do, but I’ll do it anyways.” Diana said coyly, “Have a good lunch, sir.”

“I plan to.” Roman grinned, hitting the button for the elevator. As the machine took him down to the garage level, Roman pulled out his cellular and went to his contacts list with only three names in there. He clicked on the bottom icon, calling his friend that he hadn’t seen in years, and who was also an expert at finding people.

Roman sat by himself in a lumpy booth in a small downtown diner, his paperwork sprawled on the tabletop before him. Approximately fifteen minutes had passed since he had arrived there, so he figured that he might as well work while he waited on Talyn. Roman had called them while he was on his way out of the compound and asked them to meet up for lunch. Their lunch break wasn’t exactly at the same time as his, so they said they’d be about twenty minutes late. That wasn’t an issue for him though since it allowed him an opportunity to catch up on this morning’s workload.

A waitress had come up to him several times asking if he’d like a drink or appetite while he waited for the other half of his party, but each time he said he’d wait a bit longer, Roman didn’t want to start without them. Thankfully they arrived before the waitress could come over for the fourth time in row.

Catching the sight of bright green hair sitting atop of a short person, Roman waved his hand over, signaling to Talyn where he was sitting. He noted that they had grown out their hair and dyed it again. Back when they worked together as partners, Talyn would dye their hair about three times a year. Last time Roman had seen them before they were transferred to another city precinct two years ago; they had had short black hair.

“Hey Roman!” Talyn greeted, jogging over. They wore black, knee-length shorts and a grey checkered shirt with a white tie and a black blazer. Talyn had always had a unique sense of style and would usually refuse to wear uniform, much to the dismay of their chief.

“Hello Talyn, I see you look well.” Roman returned the greeting, standing up from the booth to give them a small hug. “I hope Sunville treated you well. Did you finish the case?”

“You know I did. All the evidence came down to a small splatter of blood left behind on a hand towel found two miles away from the scene in a trash can. This one was quite an interesting case! It was really peculiar because the murder weapon was-”

And before anyone could stop them, Talyn went into their little fantasy world, recollecting every single occurrence of her latest case. Two years ago a yoga instructor had gone missing, but her body was found three weeks later in a sewage pipe and she was almost unrecognizable. There wasn't much evidence to lead the police anywhere, so the police department in Sunville had called in a specialist, who was Talyn. Talyn is both a forensic scientist and a criminal detective who works all over Flor and often in other provinces. For a while the two of them had been partners when they worked on a case together three years ago.

“-The woman was sentenced to two life terms with no chance at parole. So yeah, I guess Sunville treated me well. How have you been? I heard you’re the new Head of Security.” Talyn gave him a smug look. Roman scoffed, shuffling his papers back in order needlessly.

“Yep I am, and here you thought I’d never become chief. I do believe you owe me five silver.”

“You didn’t become Chief, so I think I’ll hold onto it.” Talyn said plainly and patted their coat pocket. Their smile faded then, becoming more serious. “Now tell me what’s wrong, you’re facial expression is clearly screaming that you want to talk about something.”

Roman chuckled a bit and gave his head a small shake, placing his cupped hands on the table. He had been wondering how long it would take them to read his behavior; it was always a special talent Talyn had. Roman started from the beginning and told them about the first encounter with Logan on the street when he had a box and sheet thrown on his head. That got a laugh out of Talyn. Next he went over the spotting at City Hall and their shortly lived scuffle, how he managed to escape again through the vents, and his failed attempts at tracking him down afterwards.

“Are you obsessed with this guy?” Talyn asked when he had finished talking.

“What? No! At least not in that way.” Roman fervently denied, blushing slightly at his friend’s indication, “I just have a very bad feeling about this kid. The skills he’s displayed in the short amount of times we’ve encountered each other tells me that he’s a dangerous threat to society. Lord knows why he was stalking Logan.”

“Seems to me like you’re obsessed.” They teased with a playful hum, but took on a more stoic nature within the next second, pulling out a pen and notepad. “Can you give a description of him?”

“He had black hair with a purple fringe. He was rather lanky and slim, probably only two or so inches shorter than me. His clothes were patched up and messy, wearing mostly black with a bit of purple.”

“You got a name or age?”

“No.” Roman confessed, his shoulders sagging, “I don’t actually have any real leads on him, but he looked to be around maybe nineteen.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Talyn grinned, clicking their pen closed with a satisfied pop, “That’s why you have me.”

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 8 months

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“Ten Boys In Night Clothing Caught After Score Escape; Mimico Industrial School Boys Flee,” Toronto Star. September 11, 1933. Page 11 & 25. --- Superintendent Blames Staff as Much as Inmates for Outbreak --- HIDDEN IN PIPES --- During the absence of the new superintendent of the Victoria Industrial school, W. G. Green, 23 boys made their escape from the institution within the last 24 hours. Eleven of the boys have been returned to the school and the search is continuing for the remainder. Ten of the boys who escaped, those recaptured, were clad only in nightshirts.

The first two to take French leave of the school left at 4 o’clock Sunday morning and were found during the day. One made a break at 5 p.m. but was recaptured by an officer of the school a few minutes later. At 8 o’clock eleven more left via a fire escape and two have been returned. Again at 9 o’clock eight more made their escape, this time clad only in nightshirts, their clothing being locked in a separate room. They used bedding for footwear and made their way to the storage yard of the Mimico plant of the National Sewer Pipe Co., where they were found hiding in sewer pipes sheltering from the bitter wind.

Unseen by Residents The piles of sewer pipe among which several of the escaped lads are said to have hidden during yesterday and last night, at the top of Burlington Ave., are a considerable distance from houses on that street, and residents stated to-day that they have seen no trace of the boys. Some were reported to have been found near the railroad tracks.

C.N.R. railway police did not hold any of the boys, the sergeant of the Mimico yards stated to-day. ‘One officer was on duty last night and the only note he has left me is that two boys were reported missing from the Victoria Industrial School. At the head office I am informed they have no report of railway police capturing any of the missing boys.’

The eleven who escaped were older boys, around 15 years of age. They made their getaway by going through the library in the cottage where they were housed, and breaking open an old door, which had led, several years ago, to a fire escape. The door had not been in use for several years. The eight boys, clad in night-shirts, were about 12 years of age, and made their escape by removing the pins from the door leading to the fire escape in another cottage, and descending to the ground.

Two of the three boys who got away had escaped on previous occasions.

Escape from the institution, where the boys are not guarded and iron bars are lacking, is a fairly simple task during the day when the boys at work in the fields and around the cottages can easily make a dash out to the road or across country. At night, when the boys retire at 9 o’clock, the younger ones a half-hour earlier, it is a more difficult matter. The clothes are locked up, the cottages are locked, and a night watchman visits each dormitory every 15 minutes.

Regarded as Prank Yesterday’s outbreak was the largest which has struck the school in many years, officials having difficulty in remembering whether any larger break had taken place during the same period of time. Officials considered the escape as a boyish prank, done on the spur of the moment. It is not known whether there was a ringleader. According to one member of the staff, the boys who were captured could give no excuse for their actions other than they wanted to go home.

Municipal and railway police throughout the district and members of the school staff conducted a night-long search. The boys were captured as they sought shelter for the night, two of them as they were attempting to hitch-hike on the highway. One officer of the institution, with long experience, was of the opinion that most of the missing boys would be found shortly, more than likely hiding in box cars in the Mimico C.N.R. yards. Closer Watch Kept A little closer watch is being kept over the 175 boys at the school today until the excitement is over. The school is run more on an honor system than by close supervision. In this respect it is unlike penal institutions. It is regarded more in the light of a home and school for the boys committed to its care, many of whom did not get proper training from their parents. The lads are given a regular education and vocational training during the day, and in the evenings they indulge in sports both in the gymnasium and swimming pool and out of doors during the summer.

Blames Staff Capt. Green suggested to The Star that the cause of the boys escaping lay with the staff as much as it did with the boys themselves. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘I took over here last July and of course I have made a number of changes. Some of the staff have been here for a number of years and they resent any change. Their resentment of course communicates itself to the boys.

‘The boys themselves are well treated. In fact they have everything they want - except freedom. I suppose it is only natural for them to be very anxious for that. The meals they get are good, they go to school, have sports and recreation. We even teach them trades. You see there isn’t much more we could do with them except give them freedom, and of course that won’t do.’

Strap is Used ‘Every effort is made to keep any jail-like appearances away from the place,’ the superintendent stated. There are no bars on the windows, no walls about the buildings, no uniformed guards patrolling the grounds. The boys themselves are not required to wear uniforms.

Capt. Green was unable to say just how the boys who escaped would be punished.

‘Each case will be considered on its merits,’ he declared. ‘I will take each boy who escaped and talk with him. I will study the past history of the case to see just what I have to deal with. I may say that a great many of them will only be punished by having privileges taken from them. The privileges consist in motion picture shows, swims at the beach and other things; when boys misbehave, we just cut those things off.’

‘Might you whip the boys?’ The Star inquired.

‘We do not use the strap, but very infrequently. Only in special cases, and then I am the only one to strap them. I wouldn’t let any one else do it for fear they might be too severe.’

‘What about solitary confinement?’ ‘Yes, we have a place to keep them in confinement, but it isn’t used very often. They aren’t kept there very long, only a day or so. I think four days is the longest any boy has been kept there since I’ve been there. I go to see them every day.’

‘Will some of these boys be put in solitary confinement?’

‘Capt. Green replied that he could not say. ‘That will depend on what I find when I examine the boys,’ he said. Each case will get the punishment it deserves. However, I may say that I regard every boy as a mental case. Not that they are insane, but just that they got the wrong start in life, and have a distorted outlook on life. I never lose sight of this when I am dealing with them.’

Very Well Fed ‘Last night looks bad,’ Deputy Superintendent W. Pettinger told The Star, ‘but it is just a case of the boys going. The little fellows saw the others go from their windows and just went. As a rule the boys get homesick and want to see their mothers. It is all done on the spur of the moment. There is really no excuse. They are treated just as if they were at home. There is an atmosphere of freedom about the whole institution and they are very well fed - better than in any other place of its type we know of.’

Boys Used in Hunt Asked if boys at the school were used to search for those who escaped, Mr. Pettinger stated that as a rule ‘a couple of boys’ were taken with the officers of the institution when they went out to hunt for those missing.

‘I have never heard of them catching anyone. They regard it as a picnic,’ he said. ‘Yesterday, all the boys attended church. There was a good spirit among them. I watched carefully when they lined up, but there was no disturbance or restlessness following the escape of the two earlier in the morning. Sunday usually is a bad day, because there is no activity to occupy the boys and they are inclined to become a little restless. I took 35 boys to church service at The Salvation Army by myself. There was not the slightest sign of trouble.’

Superintendent Away Of the actual ‘break,’ Capt. Green would say little. ‘I was away over the week-end. When I came back late last night, I found what had happened. The boys are gradually being rounded up. We will have them all in a day or so. They will all come to me and admit that they did something foolish. You see, they don’t reason: they just act on emotion and that is part of their trouble. I haven’t seen any of them yet, and until I do, I can’t say what the punishment will be.’

The superintendent states he does not there there was a ringleader in the escape.

‘I think the chance to break away came and they just took it,’ he said.

The boys escaped in groups, but the moment they are out they separated, Capt. Green says.

Then each boy, almost invariably, makes for his particular home. If it be in Toronto, he starts for the city: if it is to the west or north, he usually goes to the highway and tries to get a ride.

‘I think one of the chief causes of boys escaping is homesickness. They always make straight for home when they escape.’

‘The boys here are now treated as they would be at a boarding school,’ Superintendent Green told The Star, ‘with the sole exception that they have not their freedom to go and come as they want. And this, of course, is probably what they want more than anything else. In a way I can understand this overwhelming desire to break free, for even a few hours’ freedom. You know how you or I would feel under the circumstances, and as can be seen, there are no bars or wall to confine the boys.’

Mr. Green stated that he had instituted a number of changes in the routine of the reformatory for the betterment of the boys. ‘I have a very definite ideal towards which I am working,’ he said, ‘but of course it cannot be realized all at once or even in a year or two years. The boys now probably have more freedom than they have had for the past two years. We go to a show occasionally, and last week all were taken to the Exhibition, where they had a great time. The boys have swimming parties down at the beach, and split up in groups for this. The youngest are the ‘tadpoles,’ and we have other groups for the older boys.

‘Every afternoon there are organized sports, baseball and cricket, and they are building a running track. We even possess a stop watch, so that the boys can strive to break their own records, even if they cannot approach other records. I do not mind, for instance, if they take 15 seconds to run the 100 yards. If they can do it next week in 14, it is a great incentive.’

Before taking charge of the Victoria Industrial School on July 1, Mr. Green had had considerable experience with boys’ work in Hamilton. He started, at the request of the board of education, a class for backward boys. This class grew to a large attendance, and later the courts asked permission to send ‘problem boys’ there.

‘I believe that the boys themselves are often not directly to blame for their troubles. In 95 per cent, of the cases unfortunate family life has been the cause,’ he said.

Not Enough Staff ‘Not enough sleep and not enough play for the boys, not enough attendants, too much work for the attendants, resulting in anything but a character-building atmosphere,’ summarizes the trouble at Victoria Industrial School, according to Charles F. Walling, Frenchman’s Bay, former carpentry instructor and cottage officer at the Mimico institution.

In an interview published in The Star Friday, Mr. Walling denounced the use of solitary confinement as a means of punishing the boys.

‘The thing that I put the boys running away down to is that there is not sufficient staff to look after them,’ Mr. Walling said. ‘There are only nine men to look after about 200 boys. There are also about 21 women, averaging in age about 60 years, although are a few young women on the staff, and there should be no women at all.

‘There should be a man all night in each cottage instead of only two night-watchmen for the entire institution after 8:30 pm. Each of these escapes, it has been estimated, costs an average of $25 per boy. There should be two officers for every cottage instead of one. There are five cottages with about 25 boys to each.

‘On Sundays there is nothing for the boys to do but sit down and look at one another,’ Mr. Walling said. ‘On Sundays there are only two men to look after 200 boys. Idle hands will find mischief. They should be allowed to play baseball, to go swimming and have gymnastics. There is no proper recreational provision for Sunday.’

Food is Good ‘The boys are always planning to escape,’ Mr. Walling said. ‘It is all bosh that talk of a real home - you can hardly make an industrial school a real home. I think the way to build character among boys of that kind is through athletics, but the athletic field out there is like a plowed field.

‘Also there is no proper supervision of their play, and no proper recreational instruction. The only time the boys have for play is an hour and a half at night, weather permitting, and Saturday afternoons.

‘The food at the school is all right,’ Mr. Walling said. ‘There is a rule that no boy, even if under punishment, ever goes without a meal. The boys work half the day and go to school half the day. The work is carpentry, shoemaking, printing, tailoring, laundering, baking.

Attendants Over-worked ‘Attendants are over-worked and are not in fit condition to handle the boys to the best advantage,’ Mr. Walling said. ‘Attendants get up at 6 a.m. and work until 9 p.m. - 15 hours a day, seven days a week less one-half day off. One hundred hours a week is a fairly short week for them. A man can’t take any great interest in the boys - he is half-asleep, he is dormant.

‘The boy’s day is: Rise, 6:30; breakfast 7; school 9 to 12 (or alternatively in afternoon); dinner 12:30; work 1.30 to 5.00; supper 5.30; bed 8.30 (or 9 in the summer). The boy doesn’t get enough sleep and he doesn’t get enough play.

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