The sound of thunder woke young Bergemo Grey in the middle of the night. He opened his eyes with a methodical nature that’d give a hardened war veteran a run for his money. He sat up with an even more methodical nature as the sound of rain pattered against his window and the flashes of lightning, which would blind anyone else, barely fazed him. He threw off his covers and placed his feet on a cold and unforgiving floor, the same floor he’d become accustomed to because of the constant beatings he’d withstood. The same floor where feet of the other children in the orphanage kicked at his face, the same floor where one child even tried to stab him to death, the same floor that lulled him to sleep and dried his blood. . .for young Bergemo shed no tears.
He sat with elbows rested on his knees and hands folded, thinking about that night. The night of fire. Infants usually don’t have the capacity for memory, however Bergemo, remembers this night clearly. His father, whose name he didn’t know, nor would the orphanage tell him, picked him up when he ran in the room. Fear and concern for his newborn son his eyes, he cradled Bergemo with arms of a loving father that would die so his son could live. Bergemo’s mother, whose name the orphanage also wouldn’t tell him, running out of the room and heading into Bergemo’s with the same intention of protecting the child. Bergemo’s father ran out the room and his mother followed immediately until the fire spread unusually fast and consumed her in an instant.
The last thing Bergemo saw that night was his mother being eaten alive by abnormal flames, flames that had malice and evil within them, flames that moved as if being controlled by another being.
Bergemo took a deep, measured breath and stood; the thunder roaring as a lion would after becoming the leader of the pride. The rain continued pattering until it began to pour, and the sound became a knocking, and then an avalanche. The anger and rage boiled inside him. Everything in the room came into extreme focus. He could hear the blood coursing through his veins along with the beating of his heart. His temples pounded and the sound was a rhythmic beat, like that of a drum. Footsteps sounded from Bergemo’s right which meant the headmaster of a staff member was doing their late-night rounds (for sometimes the children would sneak out and run about the city unsupervised). Bergemo needed to get out of the orphanage, and he needed to get out now.
* * *
Bergemo snuck downstairs with the stealth of a black-ops operative. Everything was still in slow motion and that intense, extreme focus was still there. He could hear the other children breathing as well as giggling and planning to sneak out for the night. In Vanguard Orphanage, dark and stormy nights were the best times to sneak out. The chances of getting kidnapped dropped dramatically as the rain served for perfect camouflage while running away, the sense of adventure increased tenfold as the children pretended to be their favorite heroes, or villains, from movies going on a right of passage. However, for Bergemo, his reasons were different. He didn’t want to be some pretend hero; he didn’t want to be a villain either. No, Bergemo wanted to fight. He wanted to become the number one fighter in the world.
And nothing was going to stop him.
The stairs creaked as the headmaster headed in Bergemo’s direction, all the laughter from earlier had ceased and Bergemo had about three seconds to decide: get caught and reprimanded or keep going no matter what. . . even if it meant never coming back. Three seconds was too much time for the decision was easy.
Fuck Vanguard, it didn’t give him good memories anyway.
Bergemo moved further into the shadows as he tip-toed down the steps; when he got to the bottom, he saw someone at the door, a security guard that usually slept on the job. Bergemo whipped around the corner and hid beneath the staircase as the headmaster came down. Bergemo watched the man intently as he searched for anything that could do for a weapon, for the man that made his life a hell even the toughest would beg to be put to death after enduring would get no mercy should they encounter each other. Bergemo never had the knack for picking fights or starting with people unprovoked, but, when people started with him, he finished them and he finished them well (unless he was being jumped, that was). The headmaster walked toward the security guard and woke the man up, he whispered something in his ear then turned back to go upstairs to his quarters, Bergemo hid behind the couch the other children stuffed him in and jumped on until he passed out and waited till the man was out of sight. Bergemo looked at the guard sitting in his chair casually, listened for the footsteps of the headmaster which he should still hear but for some reason has ceased and realized the headmaster knew he was down here and told the guard to use force if he had to.
As expected, Bergemo thought, he knows I’m here.
Everything came into an even more extreme focus as Bergemo calculated the distance from the door, recounted the amount of steps the headmaster took compared to the amount of steps on the staircase, estimating the headmaster to be waiting in the middle; he also estimated the length of the shadows consuming the room as well as timed the rhythm of the thunder roaring outside with the hardness of the pouring rain. He listened deeply for the headmasters’ heartbeat but only heard a faint, nearly imperceptible rhythm (as the headmaster knew about Bergemo’s uncanny focus) meaning the headmaster was concealing himself. Bergemo looked to the floor and realized he couldn’t tell the headmaster’s exact position due to the shadows being intertwined which left the situation at an impasse.
A stalemate, Bergemo thought, oh well, if he tries anything, he’ll get no mercy from me.
Bergemo shimmied along the wall with flawless stealth, he got to the corner when he stopped dead in his tracks and spotted traces of the headmaster’s shadow. He calculated the height, width, and trajectory to conclude the headmaster would see him if he proceeded further without a plan, specifically a distraction.
However, the headmaster and Bergemo have had many encounters. He knows Bergemo well enough to not take his eyes off him. Not even for a second.
Suddenly, as if on cue, footsteps sound at the other side of the hall. The shadow doesn’t move and Bergemo figured the headmaster prioritized him over the others which made things difficult. Bergemo listened to the rhythm of the footsteps and recognized them as those of the kids who actively beat him, as well as the kid who tried to stab him one time.
You sure you wanna let those three escape, headmaster? Bergemo thought mockingly, if my calculations are correct, on a night like this, they’ll be more trouble than the average orphans.
Bergemo waited patiently as the kids ran amok, causing general chaos. He could hear the headmaster’s heartbeat rising along with the tension in the room; the thunder roared louder with each flash of lightning and the weight of the decision began to wear on the man that made Bergemo’s life a living hell. Does he stop Bergemo or the three rebels? A tough question. All the staff members have concluded their rounds and won’t be out till morning, he’s outnumbered and, with Bergemo in the mix, potentially outsmarted. He knows Bergemo didn’t coordinate a plan with the three running around; in fact, the headmaster was acutely aware of Bergemo’s interactions with the other children and that Bergemo would just as easily use them as a distraction, let alone cannon fodder. And so, the headmaster weighed the pros and cons in his mind: if he went after the three running amok, it would look good on his part, ensuring the majority of the orphans are safe which would preserve the outstanding reputation of Vanguard (and perhaps help in his becoming eligible to start his own orphanage to help spread the influence of Vanguard across New York City and eventually the state). However, if he goes after Bergemo, his plans will be set back for at least five to seven years, as the loss of a child is irreparable by law; sure, he has a few connections that can pull some strings to prevent him from losing his position entirely; however, it would be a risk for Vanguard to keep someone who let three children slip through his fingers so carelessly.
The implications of this decision weighed heavily on the headmaster; meanwhile Bergemo, was inching closer and closer to freedom. . . Until the headmaster snapped out of his trance and rushed after him.
Shit, Bergemo thought, he chose me.
Bergemo sprints for the door with the headmaster gaining fast, the security guard stepped in front to stop him and Bergemo rolled under him while pickpocketing him at the same time.
“Is the door locked?” The headmaster asked.
“Oh shit,” the guard said.
“Useless oaf.” The headmaster pushed passed him and ran after Bergemo who was already outside and running toward the gate.
“Dammit!” the headmaster said, “call the authorities and have them conduct a search.” He handed the guard some keys, “these are for the records room, Bergemo’s file is on my desk. When you get on the phone with them, only use his physical description, nothing else. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir,” the guard said as he ran toward the room.
“Ignore all unusual information!” the headmaster called after him.
“Now,” the headmaster pinched his nose, “for the other ruffians.”
* * *
Bergemo knew the headmaster would call the authorities and conduct a search. However, these wouldn’t be just any authority. . . they would be the Orphan Collectors. Orphan Collectors search and capture children with special abilities that allow them to manipulate certain elements. What they do with the children upon capture is unknown. From what Bergemo gathered, the children would be analyzed and categorized by types; the more tangible the type, the more valuable the child, the less tangible types they discarded by kept under constant watch. The orphanages these lesser types were sent to are hellholes a lot worse than Vanguard. The only reason Vanguard has a reputation as one of the best orphanages is pure, unadulterated corruption. Now, Bergemo didn’t know nor care how deep the corruption went and if he could do anything to stop it. No, Bergemo only cared about being the number one fighter in the world, and the orphanage was a nuisance getting in the way of his dream.
He maneuvered through crowds, cut corners, ducked through alleyways until he was so deep in the city it would be impossible to find him without conducting a citywide search party. Which, Bergemo knew, wouldn’t happen because if word got out the headmaster lost a child with a special ability (a focus-type nonetheless), he wouldn’t have enough connections in the world to stop the top brass from chopping his head off and putting it on a pike.
Bergemo examined his surroundings and realized he was somewhere in Harlem, where he hadn’t deduced. It was a thunderstorm, and though he could hear the millions of people going about their lives regardless of weather, it still made it tough for him to read the cross streets and see the names of the open establishments. If that was the case, it meant his focus was fading and fading fast. He needed to get out of New York State as fast as possible as the Orphan Collectors are statewide, and Vanguard Orphanage is expanding at a rapid pace. While on the thought, Bergemo realized the irony of the implications of that, which lead to the thought that maybe the orphanage and human trafficking had something in common. . .he shook the thought as it had nothing to do with him. Those other kids had to face their fate, whatever it was.
Bergemo came across a train station heading to East New York and ducked in, his clothes dripping from the thunderstorm outside. The booth operator was preoccupied with a customer and there were no police present, so Bergemo took the opportunity to sneak under the turnstile as the 3 train came into the station. He looked about to see who was getting on board and didn’t see and police, so he deemed it safe and hopped on before the doors closed. The people of New York didn’t much care that a child was by himself, soaked to the bone, on a train at one in the morning for two reasons: one, they were all too focused on their phones, books, and newspapers to care or two, no one besides drunk twenty-somethings and homeless people were on the cart speaking pure gibberish. Luckily, for Bergemo, number two was the case. He looked into the next car and saw it was scarcer in back, so he opened the door and made his way there. When he got to the last car, there was a man in all black sitting in the back seat casually reading the New York Times. Bergemo focused on the man, noticing the five o’clock shadow, the sweat of his brow, the pace of his breathing, the beating of his heart, his laid-back mannerisms as he flipped from pages, the stoic gaze as his eyes read the lines of words. He looked away before the man could notice but kept watch from his peripheral, his focus in full swing.
The sound of the train screeching on the track and buckling from side to side occupied the space between them for a long time until the man flipped the page oh-so casually and said,
“That’s some gaze you got there, kid.” He chuckled, “if looks could kill, you’d be a sniper aiming from a thousand yards, at least.”
Bergemo’s eyes flicked to the man.
“Don’t worry, kid.” He flipped another page, “I ain’t wit the collectors.”
Bergemo’s eyes glare suspiciously at the man.
“You have right to be suspicious,” he sighed, “a strange man in all black starts talking to you and mentions an organization many shouldn’t know about. If I were you, I’d be on high alert too.”
“If you’re not with the Collectors,” Bergemo asked, “then who are you with?”
“Oh, you’ll find out in due time.” The man paused and glanced at Bergemo,” Bergemo Grey.”
Bergemo’s head turned slow and methodical, his mind already calculating how to incapacitate the man should it come to that. His surroundings coming into even more focus. The floor, the ceiling, the cup of coffee rolling around and spilling all over the place, the paper on the seat just a row over from him, the pen underneath the seat just across from him. Bergemo’s senses honed in on that and his confidence increased. He could get to that pen way faster than the man could approach and apprehend him. That was, until the man suddenly appeared in the seat across from him holding the pen in his hand Bergemo was planning to use.
“So,” the man said, “planning to take me out, were you? A good try, but no.”
Bergemo isn’t surprised. There are many intangible types.
“Hm, you’re not surprised.” The man feigns disappointment. “Seems they were right about you,” the man plays with the pen, “you’re not much of a talker, more like a sophisticated beast that’s hard to tame.
The man paused and examined Bergemo for a long time.
“Where are you going, Bergemo?”
“Anywhere but New York,” he responded.
“Why the rush to leave New York?” The man asked, “is it the Orphan Collectors?”
“What I’m chasing isn’t here.”
“Oh, so you’re chasing something,” the man chuckled, “may I ask what?”
“The number one fighter in the world.”
The man is surprised. Not many children get into fighting until their teens. And, even if they did, they would never have such high ambitions. The man smirked as he realized Bergemo was no ordinary child, abilities aside, to want something so coveted and difficult to attain.
“Do you know of what you speak, Bergemo?” The man asked. “That title isn’t for the likes of children.”
“I know what I want,” Bergemo said, “and I’ll take down anyone to get it.”
“Such bold words from one so young,” the man looked Bergemo square in the eyes, “but I can see you mean what you say. Tell you what,” the man slowly reached into his pocket and took out a black card and flicked it to Bergemo who caught it with expert precision, “seek me out when you’re fifteen years old. I’ll teach you what you need to know to become the strongest. Until then, do try not to die or get captured by the likes of Orphan Collectors.”
The train came to a stop, the doors opened, and the man exited without another word. Bergemo examined the black card, put it in his pocket and continued to ride toward East New York.
* * *
The train stopped at Borough Hall and Bergemo poked his head out and scanned the area for police. There were none. He walked out and began toward the stairs until. . .
“There he is!” Bergemo’s head swiveled to the voice and lo and behold, his least favorite people of all time. The three ruffians, aka Benny, Drake, and Leo. Leo being the one who tried to stab him.
“Let’s get the bastard!” Leo said as they charged and Bergemo sprinted up the stairs and into the streets. By the time Leo made his way up, Bergemo was already cutting the corner and headed up Court St.
“Don’t let him get away!” Benny said, “Leo, can ya sniff ‘im out?”
Leo sniffed the air and caught Bergemo’s scent instantly, “Yeah, he went this way.” And they sprinted after him.
Bergemo was a full block ahead of them when the smell of smoke hit him, and his focus became hyper-intense. He stumbled and almost fell into a lady with a stroller. He contorted his body just in time and kept running while holding his head in pain, it was as if his nose were trying to lead him to something. The sounds of heartbeats, indistinct conversations, the distinct heartbeats of the three chasing him, the unique siren of the Orphan Collectors sounding, all hit him like a tsunami and began overloading his senses.
“There he is, I see him!” Drake said, using his incredible sight despite the rain, “let’s kill the fucker!”
“Shit,” Bergemo said under his breath as his nose kept leading him toward the smoke.
“You won’t get away, bitch!” Benny called, “we’ll kill ya if it’s the last thing we do!!”
Bergemo ignored Benny’s proclamation when he finally saw what his nose was leading him to, a raging fire that should be impossible in this storm.
Instead of trying to figure out how the hell a fire occurred in a rainstorm, he dashed toward the house full speed. Why? Bergemo himself didn’t know. He guessed that dying in a fire was better than getting caught by those three sadistic lunatics.
When the three ruffians cut the corner after Bergemo and saw him running toward the fire, they stopped in their tracks.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Benny asked, “is he going toward the fire?!”
“Better yet,” Drake said, “how the hell is there a fire in the middle of a rainstorm?!”
“Doesn’t matter, let’s get him.”
“You crazy?!” Benny said, “the fucker’ll prolly die in the flames anyway!”
“If you wanna chicken out, fine.” Leo looked to the flames, “I’m gonna kill that bastard with my bare hands.”
Leo dashed off. Drake and Benny sighed and went after him.
* * *
Bergemo snuck past the firemen and crowd of people watching with ease and entered the house through the side window. He weaved his way through the knocked over furniture, burning wood and falling debris. He heard a heartbeat one level up along with coughing, hacking, and crying.
Someone was inside, and it, Bergemo surmised, was a little girl.
Bergemo slid, dodged, and shimmied his way to the stairs that were strangely not burning with the rest of the house and ran toward the little girl’s heartbeat. The door was shut, and the knob had a shiny look to it. Bergemo didn’t need to be a scientist to know that if he touched the knob that he’d get burned. Plus, he wasn’t strong enough to simply kick the door down and save the girl himself, but he had to do something. He intensified his focus and looked all around the hallway for anything that could be used as a weapon, there was nothing available. He ran past the door and went into the other room and found a broken bedframe which was, strangely, not burned with the rest of the wood. He didn’t waste time questioning why as he grabbed part of the bedframe with a sharp end and raced toward the door and jabbed at the knob until it broke. He threw the bedframe leg aside and kicked the door in to find the little girl on the floor barely breathing. He picked her up and took her out the room where the air was more favorable then put her down. He put his ear to her heart and was relieved to know she was still alive; he checked her pulse and it was strong but fading gradually. The girl, he surmised, wasn’t unconscious but short of breath. He thought about doing mouth-to-mouth but decided to punch her in the chest instead. The girl regained her wind and shot up with wide eyes, taking in deep breathes.
Guess that did the trick, Bergemo thought.
The girl looked around in horror until her eyes set on Bergemo.
“D-did you. . .?” She gestured to the fire.
“No,” Bergemo replied, “I was passing through till I saw it, then I heard you dying so I figured I’d give you a hand.”
“How did you. . .?”
“I have an ability,” Bergemo replied, “let’s leave it at that. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The girl nodded as Bergemo stood up, turned his back and gestured for her to get on. She took the offer. Bergemo then heard three more heartbeats in the building, two were pumping like pistons while one was calm and steady.
Shit, Bergemo thought, they followed me.
Bergemo sighed.
“What’s wrong?” The girl asked.
“We have guests.”
Bergemo ran back into the girl’s room and put her down.
“Stay close.” Bergemo said as he ripped the blankets from her bed and turned them into a makeshift rope. He realized the blanket itself wasn’t long enough and used the bed sheets and the mattress cover to give some extra length. He went to open the window until he saw it had that shiny look. He heard the Benny Drake, and Leo making their way to the stairs and said fuck it, then broke the window, kicked out the frame to prevent being cut by glass and lowered the blanket toward the ground and told the girl to climb down.
She took one look outside and shook her head vehemently.
“Look,” Bergemo said, “those people downstairs are here to kill me, and unless you wanna die too you’ll climb down and forget you saw me. When you get to the firemen outside, tell them you were trapped and had to make a makeshift rope to get out. When they ask how, say a good Samaritan came and helped out but died to prevent you from being burned.”
Before the girl could protest, Bergemo tied the blanket to a secure part of the girl’s bed and dashed out the room, closing the door behind him.
* * *
Bergemo grabbed the bed leg and dashed downstairs. When he was three steps from the bottom, he saw the three ruffians surfing through the debris.
“Shit, he ain’t here!” Drake yelled, “Sneaky little bastard.”
“Naw, he is,” Leo said, “I can smell him.”
Bergemo threw the bed leg at Leo’s head and he turned around and caught it at the last second, “Told ya he was here.”
Bergemo hopped down the stairs and dashed toward the way he came then banked left toward the back window. Leo gave chase while Benny and Drake went to cut him off. There were two windows, one of which Drake beat Bergemo to so he had to use the other one. Drake lunged at Bergemo but just missed as Bergemo broke through. When that happened, the flames erupted and began consuming the house at an alarming rate. The three ruffians were trapped inside and burning alive which left Bergemo with a decision: save them or let them die.
He ran toward the front and searched for the girl, he found her climbing down the window, landing and then running toward the front. He looked back to the house and saw the flame making its way around as if it were embracing the house in a motherly hug. The boys were screaming their heads off. He looked to the firemen, but none seemed to hear them, upon closer inspection he realized. . .
Those aren’t firemen, Bergemo thought, they’re Orphan Collectors.
Bergemo started to dash toward the girl but she was snatched up and stuffed in the back of the navy-blue van before he could move an inch. Shit, Bergemo thought as he went back into the house to save the three boys trying to kill him.
When he got in, he saw Drake and Benny lugging Leo toward the window which was blocked off by flames. Bergemo ran up and lent them a hand. When they realized he was there they almost dropped Leo until Bergemo stopped them and gave them a look saying do you wanna die or get out of here? The boys decided to put differences aside and accept his offer.
Bergemo ran up to the window where the flames departed like a row of knights when the king arrived and motioned them to hand him Leo. They did. Next, Bergemo offered Benny his hand and he looked and Drake, nodded and took it. When Bergemo got Benny out and Drake after, Drake punched Bergemo in the face and pushed him back into the house.
“That’s for Percy, you bastard!” Drake said as the flames consumed the house and it collapsed on top of Bergemo and anyone who was still inside.
The boys watched the house as it burned to ashes and fell to the ground to be sure Bergemo Grey didn’t sneak out some back way, that Bergemo Grey was dead. The sirens sounded and the boys dashed back to Borough Hall station and headed back to the orphanage.
* * *
After Drake punched him, Bergemo opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by flames and a collapsing house. His focus intensified to a level he’d never experienced before. The world seemed to be in slow motion and his senses were heightened beyond their natural limits. As the house was coming down, Bergemo saw a path that led to a side window. That side window led to the park where neither the boys nor the Orphan Collectors would notice him should he make it in time.
Bergemo dashed down the path, filled twists, turns, shimmies, and army rolls. He moved like a black-ops operative as he made his way past the burning furniture, falling pieces of wood and debris and unruly flames. The house started to come down a bit faster, which meant he as running out of time, so he hauled ass. As the ceiling came down, he sprinted like he was competing for the Olympic gold medal and lunged out the window just before the ceiling connected with the ground and everything went up in flames. He didn’t bother looking back as he got up and sprinted toward the park. When he was a good mile away from the flames, he stopped and caught his breathe as his focus and senses returned to normal. He looked around and sensed no one following him so he went deeper into the park until he came across a manhole. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to open it, but he tried anyway, he only got it an inch off the ground, which was more than he needed. He pulled it toward the side until he was big enough to fit and went in, not bothering to close it because it would take too long. Besides, by the time anyone found it he’d be halfway across the city.
When he landed at the bottom, he looked around for something to use as a knife. He found a broken bottle on the left-hand side and picked it up, cleaned it off with his half-dried shirt and carved a circle near his jugular. Blood ran down his shirt and oozed from his neck as he pulled out a small tracking device Vanguard uses to find children who run away. He threw it and the bottle into the sewage water and proceeded into the sewer. He felt something vibrate in his pocket and took out the black card the man gave him. He examined it again and it was pretty much the same as before, except for an address and a date and time. A meeting place, Bergemo thought. The date was three years from the current one. Bergemo smirked, put the card back in his pocket and walked toward freedom.
Alright, old man, Bergemo thought, I’ll see you in three years.
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