[Disclaimer: Face and his A-Team buddies are the sole creation of Mr S J Cannell (RIP)]

Prologue

[Timeline: 7 December 1955 – Los Angeles] [Warning: this chapter contains mild references to prostitution and drug abuse.]

Samantha Bancroft sighed heavily as she lay in her bed, looking numbly at the money that had been flung casually on the pillow by one of her clients. "How did I end up like this?" she asked herself. She hated what she had become. She was nothing more than a heroin junkie who had fallen into prostitution in order to pay for her expensive habit.

She thought back to when it had all started to go wrong. Since her husband, AJ, had ran out on her two years ago, she had struggled to provide for herself and her young son, Richard.

Having been childhood sweethearts, she had fallen pregnant at 16 – outside of wedlock. This had caused shockwaves amongst her strict, catholic family. A hastily arranged marriage had taken place, which her parents were strongly opposed to. They had never approved of her young man and swiftly disowned her and her unborn child shortly after they were married.

AJ's mother had died when he was young, but his father had supported them during the first 18 months of their marriage. But after his death, it wasn't long before it all started to fall apart.

AJ had grown restless and found it hard coping with the responsibility of bringing up a baby. There were things he wanted to do and in the end his ambition took precedence over his family. He had lied and cheated to get what he wanted and at the same time had put his wife and son in great danger.

Shortly after he disappeared, strangers kept coming to the house, asking Samantha where he was. When she said she didn't know, they had become violent towards her and her son. They appeared to be above the law as there was very little the Police could do to help her. Becoming afraid for their lives, she decided to flee from their rented home in the middle of the night, to escape from the gangsters who constantly harassed her.

In fact, in the early days, she had frequently moved from one rented apartment to another in order to evade being found by her husband's aggressors. She became paranoid about making friends, in case her whereabouts was made known to the wrong people. Her predicament made her feel isolated and lonely. She had made an effort to get in touch with her parents, but she had moved around so much that eventually they lost contact with her and the letters stopped coming.

The paltry benefits she received were barely enough to live on and she became desperate in her efforts to make ends meet. So she started to take risks. She would leave little Richard on his own for a few hours in the early morning, whilst she worked as a cleaner in some nearby offices. When the money ran out, she resorted to stealing from local markets and shops.

When that still wasn't enough, she soon learned that her young, pretty disposition could work to her advantage. She was not proud of herself for the way she lived her life, or the people she had become associated with, but she would do anything to protect her son and keep a roof over their heads.

But eventually, as her anxiety continued to escalate, so her confidence and poise declined. Her seedy lifestyle had made it easy for her to obtain what she needed. It didn't take long to become addicted to the heroin rush that helped her to relax and forget her troubles. Her health began to suffer as the effects of the drugs took over her body. She lost weight from loss of appetite and her sleeping patterns became erratic. Her stunning good looks were beginning to deteriorate and her golden locks had faded and lost their shine.

She started to neglect her son, as the only thing that became important to her was getting her next fix. He often sat with her, his sweet, tear-stained face, full of sadness as he witnessed the coughing and sweating fits, wiping the vomit carefully away from her chin with a dirty towel.

"Mommy?"

Samantha jumped at the sound of his little voice. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts, that she hadn't noticed he had scrambled up on to the bed beside her.

"Hungry, mommy," he said in a pitiful tone that made her heart plummet like a stone.

She drew him into a defensive embrace. She knew there was hardly anything to give him to eat, except maybe a piece of stale bread and jam. Angry tears welled up in her once cornflower blue eyes, that were now sunken and bloodshot. Somewhere in the depths of her befuddled mind, she knew she had become a bad mother to her son. She looked with disgust around their grimy, untidy apartment, eyeing up his threadbare clothes with great shame.

He didn't deserve to live like this and she knew she couldn't look after him anymore. Damn it, she couldn't even look after herself, never mind her 5 year-old son. She remembered back to the days when he had been the most precious possession in her life – before she had become reliant on the harmful toxic contaminants that dulled her senses and stripped her of all reasoning and reality.

There was only one decent thing left she could do for him. With this thought in mind, she climbed out of bed and prepared him some toast and jam. He sat cheerfully at the table, humming merrily away to himself, whilst she quickly got dressed. She then packed a bag with some of his meagre possessions. She was careful not to put anything in it which would alert anyone to who he was or where he came from. She was still petrified that the bad people would get to him if they found out where he was.

She sat and watched him for a while, with a deep sense of pride. It had always amazed her that he had remained placid, gentle and even-tempered, despite the turbulence that had followed him around during his young life. As he threw her an irresistible, hypnotising smile, she knew instantly that he was going to have one of those special gifts that would endear himself to everyone he met. He was truly the one good thing that she had managed to get right.

After breakfast she bundled him up in his coat and hat. She grabbed the money from the pillow and together they walked out into the cold, December morning. After a short walk, she reached her destination outside the Sacred Heart Orphanage. She sat Richard down on a sheltered part of the steps near the entrance, where he would be shielded from the bitter wind and spoke gently to him.

"There you go, my precious," she said, her voice breaking with unfathomable guilt and remorse. "You stay here like a good boy and mommy will be back to pick you up soon. Okay?"

He nodded back at her, his eyes full of trust and expectation. She handed him a bag of liquorice that she had bought for him on the way to the orphanage. She gave him a big hug, which he returned, before delving into his tasty treat.

Samantha hurried down the steps and crossed over the road, anxiously keeping her son in full view of where she stood. After about 15 minutes, she saw a priest, whom she knew on sight as Father Magill, ascending the orphanage steps. He stopped in surprise when he saw the boy sitting at the entrance.

"Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the Saints!" he exclaimed, his accent heavy with an Irish lilt. "Who the devil have we got here then?"

Richard stared back mutely at the priest, still clinging on to his bag of liquorice. He couldn't tell the priest his name, because within their insular existence, he had never heard his mom call him anything other than "precious" or "baby".

Father Magill glanced around him, a puzzled look on his face. Seeing nothing to arouse suspicion he stooped down and held out a hand to the boy, who immediately withdrew back, frowning deeply.

"Mommy said wait here," he said simply, but firmly.

Father Magill smiled back at him with some concern.

"Well, little one, why don't we wait inside where its warm?" he said kindly. "Your mommy wouldn't want you to be sitting out here on your own, to be sure."

Richard held the priest's gaze for a few seconds, almost as if he was sizing him up. Finally he got up, taking hold of the out-stretched hand. The priest took one more furtive glance around him before leading the little boy into the orphanage. As the door closed behind them, Samantha heaved a sigh of relief.

"May God forgive me," she sobbed, as she started to walk away down the street. She looked back one more time, before adding in a hushed whisper, "I'll be back for you soon, baby. I promise."

[AN: Edited May 2016. After watching the pilot episode "Mexican Slayride" I realised that Face was in fact 5 years old (not 4) when he was abandoned by his mother and in fact it was Father Magill (not Father O'Malley) who found him.]