Orientation

The shuttle bus left the Chicago Airport Hilton at two o'clock. The sky was overcast, and there was a crisp chill in the air.

Around two thirty, there was a brief stop at the security booth at the entrance to Orpheus Group's corporate headquarters. The bus followed a winding drive through a hilly campus, past two large man-made ponds, and arrived at the unassuming office building: a low, architecturally elegant concrete edifice, clean and wholly modern. A small, empty public parking lot abutted a softball field and several acres of woods.

A blonde woman stood waiting at the main entrance for the small assembly, beaming a smile.

"Good afternoon, everyone!" she called after the passengers -- fourteen in all -- disembarked from the bus. "I have a roster here, and I've been told to divide everyone now into their orientation group, so please listen for your names. Group one, please gather to my right: Blightheart, Howard, Pearce, McCarron, O'Brien...." With the demeanor of a practiced tour guide, she directed the group into teams of five, five and four.

"These are your orientation groups; you'll have some time to get to know each other very soon. For the moment, if you could all follow me, please." She entered the building.

The reception room was spacious, with wide hallways, subdued colors, landscape oil paintings on the walls, and soft classical music piping in over the speakers: about what one would expect of the offices of a well-off law firm. She directed a group to a Meeting Room B, a simple room with hardwood floors, a long table, and twenty rolling office chairs. The chair at the head of the table was empty, but a black folder on the table reserved the seat.

"Please help yourselves," said their guide, pointing out two folding tables along the wall that offered refreshments and snacks. "When you take your seats, please sit with your orientation group. Make yourselves comfortable; Mr. Ciavarelli will be with you shortly." She exited for the reception room, leaving the door open behind her.

Jamie looked over the selection of snacks and refreshments, putting a few things on a plate. He took a coffee with him and sat down at the table, largely keeping himself to himself while watching the others. He'd offer a quick smile and a nod to anyone who approached from his 'group', but otherwise would not seek anyone out.

Aidan wasn't afraid to pile the snacks high on his plate, and grabbed a bottle of water to take back to the table, where he plopped into a chair by Jamie. "Pearce, is that right?" He offered a strong, weathered hand and a broad grin. "I'm McCarron. Aidan McCarron, from Burnt Point, Newfoundland."

Chris walked unceremoniously behind the group she was designated to. She smiled and offer a soft greeting, but nothing formal or that would bring any unnecessary attention to her. She seemed to be wide eyed and pleasant as she looked around on the walk studying both the surroundings and the people.

She waited patiently through the line offering people to go ahead in front of her if they desired. Eventually she collected as many carb free or otherwise higher protein snacks and some coffee before taking a seat.

Jamie wipes his hand on a napkin and shakes the proffered hand, "yeah, Jamie Pearce, from Ancorage Alaska."

"Good meetin' ya!" He looked to Christa, and offered his hand to her too. "Hello, I'm Aidan McCarron."

"Hello," Chris mused taking his hand.

"Christa Howard, but please call me Chris. Nice to meet you, and you as well Mr. Pearce."

She smiled and inclined her head to Jamie as well.

"You boys are quite a ways away from home here. I'm from Boston, Maryland. So how did you land at Orpheus Group's Chicago Orientation?"

Her eyes glinted from Aidan to Jamie and any others interested in joining the conversation.

Chris laughed embarrassingly at herself. Her cheeks flushed red and her eyes widened.

"No there isn't. I totally meant Baltimore."

Her hand moved to rub her forehead and she grinned sheepishly at Jamie.

"What a day! Now, I've never lived anywhere else, I don't know what got into me."

She knew what had gotten into her, but she wouldn't openly admit that to anyone.

Jamie's eye-brows knit in confusion, but he shrugs, "Baltimore, right."

"So how'd you wind up here Mr. Pearce?"

Jamie looks up from his plate. "I was approached and was curious to discover how long it would take before these people finally admit their mistake and admit I'm not the right guy."

"Interesting..."

Chris looked at the man thoughtfully.

"What makes you think that? That you aren't the right guy?"

Jamie smiles, "I'm just a mechanic with a motorcycle who likes to travel. I don't believe in ghosts. All this," he gestures around with his fork, "is all ... very well and good, but they'll figure it out eventually. You believe this stuff?"

Chris follows his gestures with her eyes, she shrugs lightly still looking around. She was analyzing his statement, wondering why the man devalued his skill set, trying to piece together types of experiences that could have led to that statement. She caught her mind wondering, so she looked at him and smiled halting her years of psychoanalytic training.

"I mean, I have a healthy amount of skepticism. But since learning more about this place I have noticed some connections in my own life. I'm open to it."

He shrugs, "oh well, yeah? Good for you." There's no malice or sarcasm in the statement, just a statement.

Karamia quietly grabbed a plate & grabbed a few snacks some of it was familiar yet some looked a bit strange. She grabbed a bottle of water & took a seat next to her assigned group. She was still tired from her long trip & a bit scared. She had rarely been out of Dingle & certainly never this far from home. She missed the sound & smell of the ocean.
She looked at the faces before her, strangers, something she wasn't really used to either. Sure Dingle brought in tourists, but most of the people she saw on a daily basis were people she had known her entire life.

Who knows how much time I'm going to have to spend with these people, so I should probably get to know them. She thought to herself. "What's da story?" She asked in a rough Irish accent.

Chris smiled as the woman sat down.

"Were just trying to figure out what we are all doing here. I'm Christa Howard, but please call me Chris."

"'Lo," Aidan said with a smile to the Irish woman. "Aidan McCarron, pleased ta make yer acquaintance."

He turned back to the conversation at hand. "Same thought crossed me mind, though" he said, pointing emphatically at Jamie with a pretzel. "Why'd they want a coupla binicky fishermen? Shouldn' 'ey be lookin' fer... I dun' even know. Ghostbusters, I s'pose?"

"Nice ter meet yer. oi'm Karamia O'Brien. Yer can call me Mia. It' s usually easier ter mind for de people who 'enny known me al' me life. So wha ye guys cum from? Oi'm from Dingle, Oirlan'. Oi'm still a bit knackered from me trip." She replied smiling at Chris & Aiden

She turned to the other man in the group, "An' what's yisser name sir?" She asked politely.

A more official-looking figure entered the room, walking quickly and purposefully toward the seat at the head of the table. He was a bit shorter than most, smiling, with wavy hair the color of sand plastered close to his scalp. He flipped open the folder that sat on the table and unbuttoned his suit jacket. "Good afternoon, everyone," he started, looking around the room and finally settling on anyone lingering by the snack table. "If we could all take our seats, I'll be happy to get started."

The fourteen orientation participants who gathered at the table looked like a cross-section of the American general population: a sampling from many ethnicities, age categories, and backgrounds.

"My name is Robert Ciavarelli; I'm Orpheus Group's Director of Human Resources. I've had the pleasure to speak with many of you on the phone, and I look forward to the opportunity to get to know you all over our time together."

Robert took an envelope from inside the folder and passed it to the woman seated at the table to the right of him. "Pass that around, if you would. Please find and wear your nametag; there's a lot to learn, and I'm terrible with names." He smiled. "I'm also terrible with Power Point, so there won't be any fancy slide shows. Sorry to disappoint." He removed his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. The room was silent while he cracked open a bottle of water and took a swig. He paced behind the chair instead of sitting.

"In 2008, Orpheus Group discovered the afterlife." He let the pause linger, an enthusiastic gleam in his eye. "We tend not to bat that around much, because certain figures in both the religious and scientific communities get riled, and nondisclosure agreements have slowed the release of our studies until our information is complete. We've learned so much about the nature of the mind, consciousness, the soul," he said, treating the last word delicately. "The brain, contrary to scientific thought, is not the source of the mind. It's more like a translator that lets the mind affect the physical world through an acceptable means."

A bald man with a double chin -- Ian, according to his nametag -- raised his hand. "I'll make time for all questions, I promise," Robert assured.

"Now, some minds develop traits that allow them to affect the physical by means that are... well, I don't want to call them 'unacceptable,' but certainly unorthodox. This is the source of a lot of documented paranormal activity: personalities who've moved beyond their bodies, trying to take care of what they left undone in life. People call them 'ghosts,' but in a politically correct, inclusive society, that's largely considered an insensitive word; Orpheus and our Investigative Consultants use the term 'post-life entities' instead. Not everyone remains as a PLE after death, only those with a strong will and attachments to this world stay behind, and even they don't seem to know what awaits them when they finish crossing over.

"A PLE's unfinished business might have to do with a person, place, or task, and they often try to communicate from the other side -- you've seen The Sixth Sense or What Dreams May Come?" Robert nodded and looked around the room for confirmation. "Most of you? Well, for most, the only kind of activity they're strong enough to perform can only confuse, sadden, or at worst, terrify the living. Maybe a PLE is afraid his daughter is about to marry a deadbeat, and the only way he can express it is to knock her fiancé's picture off her desk. Well, after Dear Old Dad has tried to make his point a few times, who you gonna call?" He grinned.

"Orpheus Group offers investigative consulting services to determine and resolve people's problems with PLEs. This is the kind of work we're recruiting for. We believe that everyone in this room could be a qualified Investigative Consultant.

"'Why me,' is usually the first question, so I'll try to address that now. The short answer is: you survived. You have nearly died, your mind has prepared itself to separate from your body, but then you've gone on living. You may not have an investigative background, but that's a set of skills that can be taught. Your strength of character, sense of self and unique experiences have cut you out to do a kind of work that no one else can."

Robert's attention flitted from face to face around the table. "I'll pause here for questions."

"I'm from Baltimore, Maryland."

Chris answered after struggling a bit to process the woman's accent.

Chris then turned her attention to the gentlemen looking to head the meeting. After his introduction she did realize that she'd spoken to this man over the phone. She hadn't known her own near death experience was the reason she was chosen. Her mind lapsed into recollection of that evening and her hand subconsciously stroked over her chest. She shook her head and lifted her chin to continue listening, a nod and confirmation was given when required. She suddenly realized that she might actually be a fit for this company.

Chris raised her hand just to the side of her head and spoke quickly.

"Is there a standard process that you use to help people with their PLE troubles? Or an example of a typical case and the resolution that the Orpheus Group achieved."

Karamia looked down at the table after the man concluded his speel. Her brush with death brought her here. Her face went pale as that day came back to her. She felt hot. She had spent so much time trying to forget it. She wasn't sure how she felt about something coming to bring it all back to her.

She reached for her bottle of water to take a drink hoping that no one noticed her momentary lapse.
She had flown all the way from Ireland for this. "Wot's expected ov us?" She asked.

Robert motioned an open-handed gesture toward Chris. "Excellent question, thank you for asking. There will be a Q-and-A session with one of our IC teams later this afternoon.

"Different PLEs require different responses, depending on their reasons for sticking around. Our teams need to be prepared to deal with unpredictable situations, and we offer extensive training to that end. Sometimes, it can be as simple as helping a less self-aware PLE figure out that it has died -- a haunting can be as confusing and frustrating for the living as it can for the deceased. Other times, a PLE might require justice for its murder... the team on such a 'Salvation' mission, as we call them, might have to unearth evidence and reopen case files. We frequently work for the police, and the FBI has our largest public sector contract. Cases like these are where the investigative training comes into play. We even offer licensing classes as private investigators to make better inroads with police departments.

"Great question. Anyone else?"

When Karamia spoke up, Robert thought for a moment about his reply, taking a sip of water first.

"Because of their close encounters with death, Investigative Consultants develop a talent for and may sometimes be called upon to perform extrasomatic projection. As you all read in our introductory letter, Orpheus Group's roots are in cryogenics. It turned out that our early methods induced extrasomatic projection on accident. In 2001, when Jane Kennedy was resuscitated from stasis, she reported several out-of-body experiences that she had while she was under." He drew a small stack of papers from his folder and passed it around in the manner of the nametags.

"We've refined the technology that gave her those experiences -- ICs become living ghosts. During the Q-and-A later, our on-site team will be able to tell you more of the specifics. What I'm handing out now is our standard nondisclosure agreement. Anything we discuss after this introductory meeting will be strictly proprietary. Please sign them and pass them back to me."

The form that landed in front of everyone was a simply worded NDA. Breach of contract, full extent of the law, and all that. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Anyone else?"

Karamia read through the form & signed her name at the bottom. She'd come this far might as well find out what all of this was about. She thought as she stifled a yawn.