Across the Sea of time

Chicago, 1917

Summer 1917, Chicago, Illinois

St. Mary's Asylum and Orphanage for Boys

Darkness.

Flash of a blue glow with silver.

Confusion and fear.

Strange incantation.

A flash of light, the face of a young man, framed with black hair and bright green eyes, looking horrified, hand stretching out and screaming.

A loud roar and a bright flash of green.

"-ED-"

He shot up, gasping and panting. His heart was beating in his chest hard. It was the same nightmare over and over.

"Ed?" An elderly woman in black and white habit tottered to the bed, peering down at the teenage boy. "Alright there, dear?"

Ed, the teenage boy, not relatively young but almost an adult, nodded. "I'm fine, Sister Julia. Is it time?" He asked, wiping his forehead to find he was clammy. He sighed and ran his finger through his bronze locks.

The elderly nun pulled out her pocket watch and replied, "Fifteen to. We have a busy day. Best to get up and about now."

"Alright," Ed replied and watched the nun leave. He swung his long legs to the edge of the narrow bed. He glanced around. It was still dark, but there were lights from the street lights outside the window streaming in. Dozens of beds lined up in two rows filled the room; he was near the end of one of the rows nearest the door. Being the eldest orphanage boy, he would be first to rise and last to sleep. He had come in about six months ago and became a favorite of the nuns, always helping out with the younger boys. He would rise early to grab the luxury of washing alone, get ready, and then wake up the boys, from fifteen years old to the youngest at three. They all looked to him as the oldest brother and took to him immediately when he first came in.

He stood and stretched his stiff muscles, feeling his bones pop. He grabbed his folded clothes and headed into the washroom.

He didn't bother to turn on the lights; the street lights gave the washroom a soft glow through the frosted windows. He grabbed a bucket, filled it halfway with cold water, and went to the wood stove at one end of the room; one of the nuns had put water on to heat. He poured the boiling water into the bucket, refilled the large kettle, and sat it back on the stove for the other boys later. It was not much, but it was something.

He went to the washing area, set his bucket down, undressed, sat on the bench, and started washing.

He dropped his hand with the terry cloth into the warm water and pulled it out, wringing the water over his hair. He thought back to his occurring nightmare. It was his only memory, his only clue to his past. He must have faced something horrible to lose all of his memory.

He recalled the day he woke up sprawled out in the middle of an alley. He had wounds on his face and hands and wore a trouser and a dirty, torn-up silk shirt that was strangely half-yellow and black. He was holding a wooden stick in his hand.

A policeman found him and questioned him, to discover that he had no idea who he was or where he came from. The policeman, luckily, was understanding enough to bring him to St. Mary's Asylum and Orphanage for Boys, and he had been there since. He was given a new set of clothes, and his old ones were taken and thrown away. However, one of the nuns had recycled his shirt into handkerchiefs for him. He had two sets, one in yellow and one in black. The black one had a fancy shield with a badger. It was a clue to his past. The policeman tried to investigate and came up with nothing.