Eli Fletcher: Mark of the King: Book 1

Chapter One

St. Olaf’s Orphanage for Unwanted Children

The first twelve years of my life have been a little…inconsistent to say the least. I’ve never known my parents and no one can, or will, tell me what happened to them. I have no idea if they gave me up because they didn’t want me or if they died in some sort of tragic accident. Either way, their absence from my life has been my only constant.

I don’t remember all of the foster homes I’ve lived in, but I can tell you where I’ve been since the age of six: Chicago. That’s when all the weird stuff in my life began. My foster dad and I went to a museum in the city where I got a little distracted by something in the Native American exhibit and wandered from the tour group. I’d been hanging in the back so no one really noticed, not until later anyway.

So, right in the middle of this wax model scene of a Sioux hunter taking down a mountain lion with a spear was this golden ball about the size of a rubber kickball glowing brightly but nobody seemed to notice it. Nobody seemed to notice me either, so I ducked under the ropes and picked up the golden ball. Suddenly the world spun, the ball disappeared and I passed out in the middle of the museum. That’s when someone noticed I was separated from the group. Luckily it was Mr. Byrd, so he picked me up and gave me something to eat; a small piece of a chocolate candy bar…

“You okay, Jefferey?” he asks, looking around nervously.

I nod, biting off a nibble of the chocolate.

“What happened?”

I shrug. “I saw a gold ball by the hunter, so I picked it up.”

Mr. Byrd stares at the back of my hand holding the chocolate curiously, so I look at it also.

“Interesting birthmark,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, staring at it; I can’t remember it ever being there, though. Suddenly the smudged, orange-ish blob on my hand changes into a picture of wings.

I look up at Mr. Byrd startled but he’s smiling at me. “You’re special, Eli,” he whispers.

“Eli? My name is Jefferey,” I correct him.

“Right, Jefferey,” he apologizes. He pats the back of my hand and when I look at it again, the picture is smudged again.

“What just happened?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about that, Jefferey; one day everything will make sense,” he says cryptically.

When we get back home, I sneak away after dinner to tell my homeless friend who lived in the alleyway behind the apartment.

“That’s a crazy little mark on your hand,” he says, examining it. “But, it’s getting late little buddy, you might want to head inside before you get caught talking to the crazy homeless guy living in the alley,” he chuckles.

“Okay, Joshua, goodnight,” I say and then sneak back to my room.

A few days later the apartment building catches fire and Mr. Byrd is caught inside.

“He was trying to stop the guy who started the fire,” Joshua tells me while the first responders put out the fire and try to find Mr. Byrd.

“How do you know?” I ask him.

“I saw him chase after someone into the building, a minute later there was an explosion on the top floor,” he says.

“I’m going to another foster parents, aren’t I?” I ask him.

Joshua nods and then takes off his White Sox cap and hands it to me. “I’m moving on, too, little buddy,” he says. “Take care of yourself, kid,” he adds and then walks away.

“Eli?” says a young guy in probably his twenties.

“Jefferey,” I correct him, turning away from Joshua.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“Are you my new case worker?” I ask with a sigh.

“Something like that,” he says. “I’m Mr. Sparrow and I’m here to take you to your new foster father.”

Turning back towards Joshua, I jump back startled because he’s nowhere to be seen. Then with a sigh, I go with this Mr. Sparrow guy to a nearby car. Within hours, I’m in Atlanta with a teacher named Mr. Eagle. Mr. Eagle dies almost a year later to protect me, continuing a pattern of crazy events where my teachers sacrifice their lives: Miss Swan in Cincinnati fell off of the roof of her office building somehow while I was at school; Mrs. Stork in New York was hit by a bus driver; and then just two weeks ago, Mr. Finch in California died. That was the scariest one because I actually met the one trying to kill me.

The rest of the kids at the small group home were outside playing after lunch, but I’m a slow eater, so I’m a few minutes behind the rest of them. Mr. Finch waited with me and took my tray to the counter for the cafeteria staff after I finished, sending me to join everyone else on the playground. I don’t know why; it’s not like any of the kids ever played with me. Rumors of why I’ve bounced around form orphanage to orphanage have preceded me.

“Excuse me,” I say timidly after running into someone in the hallway. I look up at the person standing in front of me. All I can really see is a tan trench coat and matching hat which I found odd; he looked like a spy from a cartoon, but about twenty feet tall, not to mention it was late Spring in Southern California and extremely hot.

“Sorry,” I add as try to walk around him, but he side-steps to block my path. “Excuse me, sir, I’m supposed to be outside with the others.”

All he does is growl at me like a lion, so I take a few steps back and try to call for help, but suddenly no sound comes out of my mouth. My ears begin to hurt as if they’ve been plugged up by extreme air pressure. Mr. Finch fell through the cafeteria door a moment later, but everything was still silenced. He then body-checks the enormous guy in the trench coat and then places himself between me and the giant.

“You’ll have to go through me, his Watcher, if you want to get to Eli!” Mr. Finch shouts when sound finally returns to my ears.

Who’s Eli? I ask myself perplexed. What’s a Watcher?

The giant roars, swinging a huge sword, bigger than Mr. Finch’s entire body, right for him, but Mr. Finch holds out his own sword to block it. Light explodes when the two swords meet and I’m flung backwards a few feet down the hall.

“Jefferey! Run!” Mr. Finch shouts at me and I turn down the hall to my right and burst through the emergency exit door, setting off the fire alarm. The ground shakes and then the building begins to collapse. I run for the front of the building where the rest of the teachers and my fellow orphans are retreating from the building as far away as they can.

“Where’s Mr. Finch?” Miss Alvarez, one of the staff members, asks me as I join them.

I point at the collapsed building. In the distance sirens grow louder as they near the group home. Miss Alvarez walks me over to join the rest of the orphans and I ignore their glaring and terrified gazes. Everybody had loved Mr. Finch with his quirky games and jokes he shared with us; the fun and nerdy way he dressed in slacks and sweater vests and the rim of black hair around his balding head. I liked him a lot, too, but I knew he didn’t stand a chance next to a giant like the one in the hallway.

“What happened in there?” Miss. Alvarez asks, kneeling down in front of me.

I stare back at her dark, brown eyes, trying to find the words, but all I do is cry. Yes, twelve-year-old me cried in front of all the other kids. Their angry and scared faces melt into sad ones as well, but none of them try to comfort me like Miss Alvarez does.

“Okay, Jefferey, it’s okay,” she says, hugging me tightly.

The next day, Sparrow shows up to take me to the airport and I’m put on a plane to Colorado Springs, Colorado. I’m met at the airport by a young, pretty blonde woman.

“Hi, Jeffery, I’m Allison, but you can call me Miss O. I’m here to take you to your new home,” she introduces herself.

I grunt at her in response, unwilling to get to know her because I don’t expect her to last long. If Mr. Finch didn’t stand a chance against that giant, there’s no way this lady barely twice my age will be able to.

She smiles at me sadly and then directs me towards the luggage carousel. Duffle bags and suitcases are already piling up on the stainless steel belt snaking around an oval planter full of fake trees and shrubs.

I grab my large duffle full of everything I own: brand new clothes, bought by Miss Alvarez the night before I left California and a book by Frank Peretti titled This Present Darkness. I’m not even sure what all is in there as far as clothes go. Heck, I’m surprised I recognized the bag.

In the parking lot, Miss O leads me to a silver passenger van with the name of my new group home painted on the side of it: Olaf’s Group Home for Troubled Youngsters. Yep, that’s me; troubled. I’m almost thirteen years old and not one family has shown any interest in adopting me. The chances of getting adopted goes down the older I get.

“There’s Pikes Peak,” Miss O says a few minutes later as we turn onto a busy highway with three lanes going in either direction.

I look out the window to my left and see a lone mountain peak towering over the city. It’s the end of Spring and there’s still snow at the top of the peak. For the first time in what seems like forever, a smile spreads across my face. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

“There’s a railroad that takes you right to the top,” she informs me, smiling at me through the rearview mirror.

“Really?”

“Yep! Maybe we’ll take a fieldtrip up there with the other kids one day,” she suggests.

I grunt at her, returning my attention to the large mountain peak. “How tall is it?”

“It’s over fourteen thousand feet above sea level. It’s one of many peaks that high along our mountain range,” she says, and then goes on about the different trails and peaks throughout Colorado she dreams of climbing.

After a few more long minutes of driving, we pull up to an old building surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Behind the main building is a larger building with lots of boarded up windows, another square building that looks like it hasn’t been used in decades and one more with a large smokestack. All of them have the same gray color to their outer walls.

This place looks like a prison, I complain in my mind.

“This is one of the oldest buildings in the city,” Miss O says, pulling my duffle out of the back of the van. “They have plans to remodel and spruce it up. Just last year they put in a playground and a small baseball field,” she adds as I take the handle of the bag from her. “They mostly play kickball on it every Thursday.”

I give another non-committal grunt.

“Mr. Reese, our P.E. teacher, has a kickball game for you kids once a week. You have general education classes with me Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and you help with the pre-school through second grade kids on Tuesdays and Thursdays since there’s so many of them. Come on, I’ll show you to the bunk room you’ll be sleeping in.”

“Preschool?” I ask.

“Yes, we also run a small school in the main building. There are two dormitories out of the north side of the building; one for the girls and one for the boys.”

“Do the students live here too?”

“Not all of them. At least, none that are under the age of nine.”

“Why do people want their kids to go to school here?” I ask confused.

“It’s a small, private school, but the most affordable one in the state; it helps keep this place running, to be honest,” she says with a nervous laugh.

I follow her through the front doors of the main building. The inside is much different than the out. In here the white walls are littered with artwork done by kids over the years; pictures of directors since its founding until the current one: Mrs. Katz. She looks like a stern, angry woman I’d be too scared to cross.

“Miss O,” a little girl maybe three or four years old says, walking up to us; she’s dancing around with her hands covering her backside.

“What’s the matter, Abby? Gotta to potty?” Miss O asks and the little girl nods her head, but looks at me nervously.

“Jefferey, why don’t you wait here and I’ll show you to your room?”

I nod and watch her take Abby to the girls’ bathroom. The little girl looks over her shoulder at me again as they disappear around the corner. With a sigh, I drop my bag and slide to the floor to wait until Miss O is back from the restroom with Abby.

“Who are you?” a sharp, angry voice demands.

I look up in the face of the stern-looking woman in the portrait: Mrs. Katz.

“I-I-I I’m Jefferey,” I stammer as I clumsily stand to my feet again.

“Oh, right,” she says, “the new boy. Well, hasn’t Miss O shown you to your room yet?”

I shake my head. “She was helping a little girl in the bathroom,” I tell her.

“Abby?” she asks.

I nod.

“Of course, that girl has to pee every fifteen minutes,” she says annoyed. “Well, I don’t have time to take you to your room, but your room number is 309.”

“309?”

She nods curtly. “Yes, the first number indicates which floor you’re on. There are four to a room; you’ll be sharing a room with three other boys,” she explains. “Billy, Marco and Steven. Steven is a little younger than you other three, but he’s a good kid; quiet, likes to keep to himself. Tends to get picked on, though,” she adds sadly.

“I’ll look out for him,” I promise.

“No, you will report any bullying to me immediately. I won’t tolerate fighting in my facility.”

“Yes ma’am,” I say, nodding at her to show I’m listening.

Mrs. Katz allows herself to smile slightly. “Keep it up kid and the others might think you’re sucking up,” she says with a wink. “Now, if you go out those doors at the end of the hall, the boys dorms are on the right and the girls are on the left. We allow for boys and girls to enter each other’s buildings, but only in the common rooms on each floor. There is to be no boys in girls’ rooms and no girls in boys’ rooms; do you understand?”

I nod feverishly and then grab the strap to my bag.

“Remember the rules,” she warns and then begins to walk away. “309!”

I exit the building and cross the short courtyard to the building on the right. After crossing the soft lawn of bright green grass, I open the door to enter the dorm and enter a small cubicle of glass walls and rough carpet with what looks like slots cut into the floor. A sign on both of the doors in front of me says to wipe your shoes before entering the hall. When I obey the sign, I hear a dulled clanging of metal against metal beneath my feet. Underneath the rough, blue carpeting are poky rods or something to help clean your shoes. The dirt must fall into some sort of trap below.

Once the bottom of my shoes are clean, I enter through the double doors in search of the nearest staircase. Just to the left of the doors is another door to the stairs. I enter and make my way to the third floor. When I enter the hall on the third floor I find the door to my immediate right says 301 and across from that door is 302.

“I guess I’m at the end of the hall,” I say with a sigh and then hang my duffle over my shoulder and then trudge my way down the hall. The very last door on the right is room 309; the door is already open which makes me automatically suspicious.

“Sh, I hear somebody coming,” a voice whispers.

When I enter the room, I find four other people inside; two boys and two girls. Obviously they don’t listen to Mrs. Katz rules.

“Hi,” I say awkwardly to the four of them sitting on the lower levels of the two sets of bunk beds.

“Careful, guys; he might get you killed if you get too close,” the blond boy says with a smirk on his face.

“What?” I say confused and scared.

“You didn’t think we knew about the other group homes you’ve lived in and the dead teachers you left behind?” he says, standing up and the others follow, crowding around me at the door.

“Oh,” I reply sadly, looking at the floor for a moment, “that.”

“Billy, you hurt his feelings,” the mean-looking girl on his left says in mock pity.

The shorter girl behind them cranes her neck around Billy’s shoulder to look at me better; her eyes look truly sympathetic but she doesn’t say anything.

“Marco,” Billy says to the thick boy standing next to him. “Give him a proper greeting,” he commands and the large boy steps towards me, cracking the knuckles of his light brown hands.

Marco grabs the collar of my shirt, pulling me until we’re almost nose-to-nose; his dark brown eyes glaring into mine.

“You’re not going to kiss me are you?”

Then suddenly his other fist slams into my stomach and I double over, gasping for breath.

“I guess not,” I choke out between gasps of air. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Marco.”

Marco chuckles and then returns to Billy’s side, quickly wiping the grin off of his face before Billy notices.

“Remember, kid,” Billy says, kneeling down next to me, “I run this place.”

“Got it,” I say, rolling onto my back as my breath finally balances out again.

“Let’s go guys,” Billy says, stepping over me. Marco follows close behind but the mean girl stops and steps on my fingers with all her weight, cracking the knuckles. I grab her foot and lift up a little; she jumps away with a scream.

“What’d he do, Allaryce?” Billy asks, stepping up again.

“He grabbed my foot,” she says, pointing at me.

Billy swings his foot into my stomach, but I wrap myself around his leg like an anaconda, forcing him to fall onto his backside. I stand up before he tries to and he looks up at me terrified. After a few seconds of staring at him, I yank my bag off the floor and turn towards the bunkbeds.

I almost run into the short, cute girl who’d been hiding behind them. “Do you wanna say something too? Maybe stomp on my toes?”

The shy girl shakes her head, her raven-colored hair tossing from side to side. Her electric blue eyes are full of fear as she runs past me to join the others. I probably shouldn’t have snapped at her like that, but after what the others did, I didn’t trust anybody.

Once the others leave, I take a deep breath and step into the room and look around to find an open bed with a set of sheets folded up on the thin mattress. The room is empty except for me and the two sets of bunk beds. I cross the room to the empty bunk bed and drop my duffle on the floor in front of the small dresser between my bunk and the other one on the right. I open the drawers to find the top two empty, so I place my clothes inside and set my White Sox cap on top. In silence I make my bed, sliding the pillow into the blue and white striped pillowcase and then spread the fitted sheet over the corners of the mattress. Once my bed is made, I sit down and stare at the white, linoleum floor.

Tears well up in my eyes as I think about Mr. Finch and how he and so many others have given their life for mine. How could someone be so selfless to do something like that? If it came down to it, could I allow my life to be taken to save someone else? I’m not sure that I could. I mean, what happens after you die? A lot of the foster homes and group homes I’ve lived in talked about Heaven and Hell like they’re real places, but I’ve never found them very believable. Heaven sounded boring and Hell sounded too scary. Are those really the only two options?

“Jefferey?” Miss O says, stepping quietly into the room.

“Hi,” I answer, my voice cracking because of my emotions.

“Are you okay?” she asks, taking a seat on the messy bunk across from mine.

“I’m fine,” I lie to her; she sees right through me though.

“If you want to talk about what happened to Mr. Finch in California, you can talk to me.”

“Did you know him?” I ask.

Miss O shakes her head but for a moment I notice a flicker of fear, like she’d said more than she should have.

“You’re lying,” I blurt out but then snap my mouth shut. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Miss O grabs my arm gently. “It’s okay, Jefferey. I only knew him because our group home was connected to his.”

“Oh,” I say sadly.

“Why don’t I give you a tour of the place?” she suggests.

I nod and then follow her out of the room. “How did you know where to go, by the way?”

“Mrs. Katz found me in the hall waiting for you and told me were my room was,” I tell her.

“She didn’t bring you here herself?”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’m used to finding my way alone.”

“I saw Billy and his gang leaving the building as I was coming in; I hope he was kind in greeting you,” she says doubtfully.

I shrug. “Yeah, he’s a stand-up guy,” I tell her and she smiles.

Miss O leads me back into the main building and points out the cafeteria doors to our immediate left from the double doors we entered through.

“Breakfast starts around five-thirty for our early risers,” she says, “and closes to prepare for lunch at seven-forty five. Classes begin at eight, so there’s no need to enter the cafeteria after that time.”

We move on down the hall where two large rooms with rows of cribs catch my attention. Miss O notices and explains that they’re a safe drop for babies, much like the fire department. There aren’t many babies in there, though. That’s a good thing, though, right? They’re either finding homes for them quickly or not many get dropped very often.

Miss O shows me the admin office, which has a few other offices including Mrs. Katz’s office in one corner which are all behind a long “L” shaped counter with a couple secretaries behind it. After introducing me to them both, she then takes me to her office, which is across the hall from the main classroom where most of our core classes will be held.

“If you ever need anything, you can find me in here,” she explains as we step inside. It’s a small office with a single mahogany desk, a desktop computer to the right with a lamp behind it. Behind the desk is an old, black desk chair that creaks as she takes a seat in it. I sit down in one of the soft, maroon chairs opposite her desk. I eye the wall-to-wall shelving filled with books of many different sizes; most of them look dusty and worn, but they don’t look to have moved from their spot on the self for years.

“Where do you live?” I ask.

“In a room on the first floor of the boys’ dorms,” she answers. “I know, I’m a girl and girls aren’t allowed, blah blah blah,” she adds with a laugh. “But, our only live-in intern, Kayla, lives in the girls’ dorms. Do you have any questions?”

I shake my head. “No, not right now.”

“Good, let’s go check out what’s happening in the kindergarten room. They should all be back from their recess time now,” she says.

Just down the hall and across from the admin office is the pre-school/kindergarten room. Currently there are about twenty kids from the age of three to about six causing a raucous with Mrs. Katz trying to gain control of them. Billy and his gang are in there laughing with the exception of the short, dark-haired girl I’d snapped at earlier, trying to help calm the kids down.

“Mrs. Katz has her hands full,” Miss O says under her breath, though slightly amused.

“Can I try and help?” I ask Miss O before she enters the room.

With a curious smile, she nods and lets me enter the room first. I watch for a moment, as Mrs. Katz and the dark-haired girl try and chase kids down and take away things they shouldn’t have. I let out a sigh and step into the middle of the room and take a deep breath.

“OOOKAAY!” I shout, causing the younger children to stop what they’re doing to look at me, their eyes wide with shock; two boys playing tag even trip over each other, falling in a heap on the hard floor.

“That’s better,” I say as soon as it’s completely quiet. “Now, Mrs. Katz needs you all to start cleaning up, I think, so why don’t you each find a toy to put away?” I suggest, giving Mrs. Katz a quizzical look. She nods at me and then begins giving the children instructions as I rejoin Miss O at the door. On my way back into the hallway I glance at Billy, Marco and Allaryce to see that they still look shocked from me getting the kids’ attention. The short girl is smiling, but it quickly vanishes from her face when we make eye contact.

“That was incredible,” Miss O says, reaching for my shoulder. “Have you met any of the kids your age?” she asks.

I look back in Billy’s direction. “Yeah, Billy and his friends introduced themselves earlier,” I say, eyeing Billy. “They were waiting for me inside the room.”

“Were they?” Miss O looks at them suspiciously and then steps back into the room. “Why don’t you all come with me?” she orders them.

“We didn’t do anything!” Billy protests loudly.

“Not here, Billy,” Miss O says and then points towards her office.

I follow behind Miss O and Billy and his gang, unsure of what she’s going to say or do to them. I feel a little guilty, though, because the shorter girl hadn’t done anything and I’d snapped at her, but I also hadn’t told Miss O that Billy and the other two had hit me at all.

“Into the classroom,” she orders us all.

We do as we’re told and find seats at the desks facing the front of the room. Miss O sits on the edge of the desk in the corner just to my left. We wait silently as Miss O stares at all of us.

“Allaryce, tell me what happened,” Miss O catches us off guard.

She freezes for a moment but then a story spills out of her mouth at rapid pace. “We were trying to say hi to the new kid and introduce ourselves, but he shoved us out of the way to get to the dorm room. He knocked me and Billy to the floor and then yelled at Fiona.”

Fiona; so that’s her name. I look over my shoulder and find her sitting behind Marco. She gives me a timid smile which causes me to blush and turn away from her.

“Is that true, Fiona?” Miss O asks.

I’m forced to look at her again, curious as to how she’ll answer. She doesn’t respond; instead, she looks at her hands silently.

Miss O sighs. “Jefferey, can you tell me your side?”

I take a deep breath and shake my head. “I’d rather just let this go and forget about it, Miss O,” I tell her.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

I nod. “I’d rather not start off my first day in my new home with problems with anybody. I’m hoping I won’t have to move anytime soon.”

“Then don’t get anybody killed,” Billy mutters.

“Mrs. Katz’s office, now!” Miss O orders Billy.

Billy gets up and leaves the room, slamming the door on his way out.