Masters's Son

Six

I wake up to the doorbell ringing.

Nothing, and I do mean nothing, will let me sleep peacefully even when I'm out of school.

I sit up and push my oh so warm covers aside. I grab my crutches and head down the stairs.

As usual, Jack and Maddie didn't bother with the door. Why do we have a visitor anyway? Are they expecting someone?

I open the door and see a tall, thin lady in professional clothing and her dark brown hair up in a bun.

She stands straight, in an important manner. She holds a dark brown case in her hands in front of her.

"Hello. My name is Abigail Dreame. I'm from Social Services of Illinois. We got a call from a miss Vega Michl. Are your guardians here?" She greets.

Social services? Vega Michl?

"They might be in the basement," I widen the door more and step aside for her to come inside, "you can sit, make yourself comfortable. I can get them if you want me to." I start to back up to the kitchen where the basement entrance is after closing the door behind her.

"No need right now. I would like to ask you a few questions." She sits on the smaller seat beside the couch. She gestures for me to sit on the couch myself.

And so I sit.

She begins, "We have received a call that you have experienced neglect and endangerment. Have you felt neglected or in danger in any way?"

You mean everyday since I turned four? "Yes."

"How long have you felt this way?" She reaches in her bag and pulls out a binder.

"Since I was four. Ten years or so."

She gives me a nod and writes something down in the thick binder. Her pen makes a quiet scritch scratch noise.

"How do you feel unsafe?" She looks up from her paper, pen on the ready.

"Their inventions. They work at home and so their occupation is strange, to say the least." I fiddle with my fingers. She writes more on her paper without looking, giving me her undivided attention.

"Is there a name for their occupation?" She asks.

I nod my head slowly, I cough. This will make me sound like I'm living in a fun house, for sure. "Ghost Hunters."

Her pen stops for a second. But she continues to write.

"What type of inventions to they create?" She goes a bit lower on her paper finally looking down to it.

I look at her. I guess going into her kind of field, you would need to keep an open mind.

"Weapons mostly. Traps. Their biggest project though was their portal." Her eyebrows furrow at the word 'portal'.

"That'll be all the questions for you. Would you be kind enough to get your guardians for me?" She clicks her pen and shuffles a few papers. I nod and get up to call for my 'parents.'

They're unfortunately related to me biologically, but that doesn't make them my family.

I crutch into the kitchen to step in front on the basement door. It's a wide, heavy metal door with a handle the size of my forearm.

I don't bother to knock and push to open the stubborn door. I go down enough step with my crutches to see them messing with an ectogun. By the looks of it, they don't have the tube of ectoplasm connected to the barrel. That's why they're having trouble. So simple, so easy to look over. Though, should be easy to find for someone who has worked on these kinds of things for their entire life.