Deep in the half-forgotten dregs of Boston stood a building of brick and wrought Iron that many never knew existed and many more liked to pretend never existed. This building was known as the Newport Sanitarium of Boston.
The building itself was a monstrosity consisting of several wings off a large central rectangle sprawling over the space of several acres of prime real estate in the slums of Boston. Two entire floors of nothing but barred windows stood over a third that differed only by the presence of sporadic sets of double doors framed in by narrow, columned porches that opened out into grounds filled patches of overgrown trees, half-dead wee-filled lawns, and overgrown gardens. A half circle driveway connected the center entrance to two elaborately decorated sets of gates in the ten foot tall wrought iron fence that separated the dreary landscape within from the equally depressing landscape without.
The interior of the building, at first glance was not much better. Colossal, yet simple marble staircases wound down from either side of the main hall to the entrance. To either side were located massive gathering rooms with rows of tables where residents would gather to play simple games or to greet the occasional visitor. The entire top two floors and much of the first floor consisted of nothing but tiny little nearly cubical sized bedrooms.
Some had a single bed while others had a pair of bunk beds stacked on top of each other. Some of the rooms had locks on the doors from the outside, some on the inside, and others not at all. Some bedrooms had drawings, small stacks of books, ragged dolls, old music boxes or other such trinkets. Others had only IV stands, sinks, and straps. Each bedroom the home of at least one of the building's residents, the lost, the broken, the mute, the mentally ill, and the most bizarrely queer of the children of Boston.
In addition to bedrooms, the bottom floor of each wing held a unique feature. In one wing, a dining hall was the propionate feature. In another a library was the main feature along with a number of offices. In still another was a workshop. But it was the final wing where IT happened.
This wing held a room different than so many others. This is where the Special Cases gathered. The room started out almost as drearily as the others to the undiscerning eye. A more observant look, however, would reveal the presence of a harpsichord just slightly to the side of the middle; a large picture window and seat along one wall beside which was set up many painting easels and tables; a long bench with several half-carved pieces of wood along another wall; a scattering of faded lush chairs and coffee tables; and finally a long library table with a number of small springs, pieces of brass and tin, and assorted gears spread out across it.
Every day like clockwork the Special Cases would file into this room after breakfast and stay until bedtime, pausing only for lunch and dinner and sometimes not even then.
Thomas, also called Tommy, would sit down at the harpsichord all day. Sometimes he would pick at the keys slowly. Other times, his keys would almost fly over the keys playing elaborate pieces both pieces that were well known and pieces that seemed to just flow out of him at an intensity that would cause his hands to seem to fly across the keys and his hair to swirl around his face as he bobbed his head emphatically to the beat.
Kyle would often sit in a chair, a small crystal radio set on the table next to him as he would make seemingly random marks on tablets that he kept with him at all times and guarded like closely hoarded treasures.
Kaitlynn would plop herself down at the library table her blue eyes focused intently on the scraps of metal and clockworks in front of her. She would spend hours building small clockwork trinkets that she would amuse herself and others with for hours, occasionally stopping long enough to brush an unruly strand of her golden-blonde hair out of the way or to lift up a particularly delicate piece for a better look. Some she would give away to other children, others she hoarded for herself or kept for use in other more complicated pieces later.
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Brass Skies Vol. 1: The Battle of Chesapeake
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