The Psycho's Revelation

"Trender's Orphanage. If you aren't familiar with it, that's because it is basically wiped from the media. Hard as they could, though, those fools could not wipe away the blood...or tears."

The six-foot-seven-inch lady looked down upon the white-haired boy, a metal staff as his only protection held in his lap. She conceded to his intrepidness, and so kept her custom goalie stick-styled blade down. She also appreciated him not staring at her scars around her mouth, usually covered with a surgeon's mask but for today; she wanted to be understood.

"Her name was Jennifer Marko Skinner."

"She arrived at the orphanage one summer night, having nowhere to go. She was six years of age, and tall for one so young. The owners took her in and had her settled, though she could provide little with her lack of an education. When asked about her parents, she could only shake her head; they took such as a sign of 'I don't know', but she knew; she just couldn't describe what happened to them."

"She would become quite athletic as she grew older, playing the sports of street hockey with the other boys and running around the blocks with the girls. She could outrun even the adults, and she was always picked for goalie, given her size and reach and surprisingly quick reflexes. Whatever trauma that used to plague her mind, she would blanket it with these times of fun."

"She got her education there at the orphanage, through tutors that the owners could bring in on a spare dime, and the children would gather with them as they would with any adult and hoped that this person would take at least one of them home. Jenn did not share in this pleasantry; she was only around them to learn. The tutors were informed by the owners to not pressure her about her past, especially her parents, lest she pull away from everyone and depart to the dormitory for hours on end. Mind you, there was no hate in her heart, only a loneliness that was desperately held at bay by the only family she had."

"A harsh March was on the heels of winter, dragging with it all manner of vermin, even bringing in three through the doors one day. They were not parents, but Federal Agents of the Department of Housing. They had a proposal for the owners; ten million for the orphanage, and the place would become a refuge for the homeless, to be given their 'second chance in life'. I have seen this 'second chance in life' when I was a child, a chance that costed me everything. The government before your time was tyrannical, boy, and it was in need of new soldiers wherever it could find them as they were facing resistance. Ironic, as the owners turned them away as they neither supported nor feared the authoritarian regime. When one of the agents grabbed the owner, Jenn tackled the fully-grown adult to the ground, and was about to pound him senseless when the owners pulled her off and sent her to the dorm."

She looked away for a few seconds, not wanting the boy to catch the anger in her eyes. "On her way back," she continued, "one of the agents called Jenn a 'psycho'. She knew not the meaning, but she knew the negative connotation."

"A week later, she was playing street hockey, the events prior not even surfacing to mind. Common sense had us vacate the street when any car approached, but the drivers always slowed down for us. All but one."

She kept her eyes down, her grip upon her blade suddenly tightening. "An unmarked van sped to our location, and we were clearing the area as quick as possible, but one of the boys was pushed and hit his head. As he stirred in a daze with blood seeping from his gash to the cold asphalt, the van hastened its approach. None of the other boys were close by to grab him, and most of the girls outside were only noticing the future roadkill to transpire. The heavy beast roared towards its prey, and practically leapt at the boy."

"In a blur, a new monster moved in and nabbed the scarred child, bounding to the sidewalk as the van sliced the air, disappearing around the corner of the block. The athletic girl, having saved the boy, stared at the last place the van had been, a growing vexation settling in her heart." She suddenly looked into his eyes. "Nothing happened for weeks, and April was almost over in scheduled days and as its raining season. The boy, fully recovered and rejoined with his friends, couldn't express his gratitude to Jenn enough despite her reassuring him that it was just the right thing to do." Hefting her blade, her eyes now fell upon its gleam; though she was not threatening him with it, the white-haired boy shifted his staff to a more effective defense. She merely waved the end of the blade playfully to him, quoting:

"No good deed goes unpunished."

She stabbed the point into the ground, surprising the boy. Shifting in her seat, she commenced with the story.

"Two storms came to our home, one after the other. The first creeped in like a thief in the night, destroying all that it touched. The owners were the first to notice and, despite the danger that the fire presented, tried to get the children out of their dorms. Jenn was the first of the children to wake up, and she sought to aid the owners in the evacuation. But the others were awake, and they became frightened and tried to shy away from the flames despite Jenn's attempts to get them out. The windows of the dorms were their only chance; she broke one of them and, using two blankets like ropes in each hand, helped to lower a few of the children down; the owners, in turn, emerged from below and helped to grab the children. But it was slow, the blankets were ripping, and the structure of the orphanage was weakening."

"It turned out that there were two separate fires on one building." She closed her eyes, as this was the hardest part; "The roof was the first engulfed, and therefore was the first to collapse. Out of sixteen children, only seven were rescued with the two owners. And then, before the seventh child even touched the ground, the orphanage collapsed."

A silence bounced back and forth between the two. "The firefighters had kept everyone back as the blaze was contained, swallowing all that was left. Where there were walls, rubble and ruin. Where there was a roof, timber and tile. Where there...were children...was ash. And her." She paused again, fighting back against the tears as hard as she fought against the unwanted urge to kill the boy. "She broke through the rubble, pushed through the fire, and fell away from all eyes. Wandering about, clothed in the dust of the orphanage and the orphans, she went into the alleyways, hiding away and expecting to die."

"But you didn't."

Though unnecessary, she would allow his interruption. "In a way, I did. That part of me died with eight other children, died screaming silently into the night for their names, for them to return. They can't! They won't. Only I, this me, survived. It was something about me, something in my blood, that kept me alive and healed the wounds but for the scars left to remind."

"The owners would be forced to sell the plot of land to the agents, using some of it for the funeral of the dead children. There was a commemoration for me as a hero. That girl was the hero, not me."

"But you tried to save them-"

"AND I FAILED!" she roared, launching herself to her feet with blade in hand. Immediately, the boy flipped backwards and positioned his staff, one end down and one end up, waiting. He was unafraid; such shocked her more than her sudden outburst. Still, she resumed:

"I hunted down those agents, you understand? Hunted them like animals, with far worse outcomes. As their crude construction of a recruitment shelter spoiling the land of a once-great home was being built, I tracked the first agent, the deal-broker, back to a hotel. I broke through his door, and then I used every piece of that door to punch through his body as if he was a hoodoo doll!"

"The second agent, a woman who owned the van, tried to keep a low profile by avoiding public areas. I ended up cornering her and breaking both her arms even after she shot me; the bullets, in turn, were just pushed out of my body with the wounds closing up into thin scars. I demanded the whereabouts of the last agent; it took a little convincing, but one destroyed kneecap got that sinner to confess. I granted her leniency, sparing the rod just to bury her alive in the same graveyard as her last victims."

"The third wasn't hard to find, as he decided to utilize his new shelter, my former home, as his own personal base. He had police and a reserve guard watch for me. I chose to face them head-on. After being shot up again, I collapsed, wondering if I would really die this time. I didn't; whatever was in my blood actually retracted all of my pieces, pulling them via strands like fishing lines, down to the last drop of blood. Whoever was still alive after standing against me was wishing that they weren't, and I entered the shelter."

"There he was, hiding as he did when he first came into my orphanage! The fool actually pulled out a pistol, and I expected him to waste his ammo as did his guards. Instead, he reminded me of who I was when we first met; a psycho. Then, he put the gun under his jaw and said, 'See you in hell, kid!' Bang."

Exhaustion seemed to take her, and she sank to her knees. "My revenge was robbed! I screamed in frustration, the call of blood answered except by my own hands! With nothing left, I pulled myself out of the shelter and, within a week, as far from that city and state as possible. I fell into a pit of despair, boy; no family, no friends, no one to turn to who would remember me when I was alive. This is what is left, the monster that fell into bad favor and a worse crowd."

"Jennifer Marko 'The Psycho' Skinner."

He never wavered. The boy kept his guard up even at the end of her story. She closed her eyes, feeling the cool air upon her forehead. Clutching and unclutching her weapon, she waited for his response. Finally, he spoke:

"Your story isn't over."

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"Because I believe that you can still change. You're right, you aren't the same girl you once were. But, Jenn, you don't have to be a monster!"

Her eyes popped open as she stared dead-straight at the white-haired boy. Only her friends called her that. She gripped the blade once more.

"Don't I?"